When she stepped outside, a cool breeze floated over the lawn with just enough strength to swirl her gown about her ankles. A chill travelled up her spine, and with it, a sort ofrestlessness as well. Suddenly, the thought of toiling away in the garden lost its appeal.
She could simply go for a stroll instead.
Discarding her initial plan, and without any particular destination in mind, she found herself marching along a path that led to the edge of Tempest land where a rushing creek separated it from Crescent Park. It was only partially worn, she knew, as Lucinda and Lydia had described it when they’d admitted to walking over on a few occasions.
What would be the outcome if Naomi kept right on marching, across the bridge and up to the door, demanding to see him?
She had half a mind to do just that, but it was a considerable distance, and she’d need to feed Amelia again in an hour or so. Still, she picked her way along the charming little path and didn’t stop until she heard the bubbling of the creek.
When she finally glanced up, her heart became whole once again. For there, standing on the bridge, silently watching her with eyes the color of the sky, was Luke.
Her Luke.
She paused only a moment to take in the relief she hadn’t even realized she was seeking before striding purposefully in his direction. It was as though he’d been waiting for her.
The other half of her soul.
He sawher coming long before she’d realized he was there. He’d been staring down at the water as it swept its way down to the hill, berating himself for not leaving for London and yet also berating himself for not simply taking Naomi and Amelia awayto somewhere no one would know them. Then, almost as though he’d summoned her with his imagination, she’d appeared.
Would there ever be a day that the sight of her didn’t steal his breath?
“Good morning.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. There was a time, brief as it was, when he’d been able to hold her, to reach for her, to cradle her in his arms almost whenever he wanted, and his body remembered that time even after months spent away from her. She had left an imprint on his soul, one which he could not easily discard.
He couldn’t touch her. If he touched her, he wouldn’t be able to let go of her.
“Good morning,” she called, coming to a halt at the opposite end of the arched footbridge. “You haven’t left yet, I take it.” She was smiling at him, bright and open, and it settled something in him that he hadn’t known needed settling.
He couldn’t keep himself from grinning back like a fool—a lovesick fool. But then reality reasserted itself, and he remembered why he had been on his way to Galewick Manor in the first place.
“I promised I would say goodbye.”
When she’d first approached, she’d done so in a lighthearted manner. Pacing closer now, she wrapped her arms in front of herself protectively. Luke hated for her to be uncomfortable, especially because of him.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
Her eyes flew open wide. “No!”
Neither of them made any move to go.
“Do you walk here often?” There were so many things he wanted to ask her. She belonged in his life. Now. Not months or possibly years from now.
“I haven’t yet. I often bring Amelia outside for walks but this is too far for me to bring her. She’s sleeping currently though, and I needed to get away…”
Luke hummed agreeably.Get away from what?a little voice inside his head chimed. Or perhapswhowas the better question. “How is he? Arthur, I mean.”
“He is… different.” Which wasn’t what Luke had been asking, but he was inclined to agree.
“Walk with me?” He crossed half the distance between them and offered her his arm. Surely he could control himself enough to walk a lady through the wilderness?
She only hesitated a moment before stepping forward and sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow.
Even through his shirt and coat, her touch affected him. And her nearness in general. Her scent hadn’t changed.
“This is my favorite part of the property.” He led her to the Blackheart side of the bridge and when he turned to walk her farther up the hill along the water, he adjusted his gait to match hers.
It reminded him of when he’d met her last spring. When she’d been tentative and innocent. When she’d flirted and neither of them had any other worries beyond the scope of the Season.
He pointed out a few bluebells growing along the edge of the path—"They were my mother’s favorite, though Father never missed a chance to forget that fact. One year, he tried to convince her that she’d expressed a preference for violets, actually, and so, of course, she must be the one who was mistaken.”—and in return, she described the garden she’d enjoyed while growing up in her parents’ home. His heart beat at a normal pace and for the first time in ages, he felt… whole.
