Michael caught her eyes and smiled at her over the flames. She smiled back. Every part of it was genuine. She hadn’t trusted anyone in so long that she was still afraid to make the leap. But she trusted him to catch her.
He made his way over and nudged her with his shoulder. “You’re quiet. Pensive,” he said for her ears only.
“Just watching you.”
“And thinking.”
Her smile widened. “About you. What else?”
He chuckled and buried his hand in his hair to pull it away from his face. “Well, now you have to tell me what you were thinking about me.”
“Very well,” she gave in with a giggle. “I was thinking how I love feeding my friends with you.”
“I am enjoying this with you as well,” he said in his sorcerer’s voice. “We can do it more often.”
“We can?” she asked wide-eyed and excited. “Where would we get the money?”
“I told you. Charitable events. Your father could have one of his gatherings and invite all his friends. They can donate. They all look like they have money.”
“What if they don’t want to be charitable?” Charlotte asked him. “I don’t know about some of them caring about the less fortunate the way we do.”
“We’ll figure it all out, love. We…”
She didn’t hear the rest. Did he just call her love? Was he falling in love with her, too? Oh, this was happening too fast. A few hours ago, Preston was the man she was still waiting for. Now, she only wanted Michael. Was her heart so fickle to love a man yesterday and a different one today?
No. She had stopped loving Preston long ago. There was no passion between them. He only wanted what she could rob for him and for what kind of trouble her father could get him out of. Coming to think of it now, her father had done much for Preston, for her sake. He hated the cocky viscount, but he had whichever justice of the peace was involved drop all charges. For her.
What would Michael think of that if he knew?
She thought about how disillusioned he had become with his world. She didn’t want that to happen here. The longer he stayed, the worse it would be for him if he didn’t know the truth about some things. She had to tell him. Tell him everything, and then if these magical people came to bring him back, he could make a better decision as to if he wanted to stay or not.
“Michael?”
He turned from clapping for Rosie and Warren when they got up and began dancing to a merry tune sung by Robbie.
“’Tis not important,” she told him, joining him in the clapping. He was so happy tonight. She wouldn’t take it from him. She would tell him when they returned home.
She refused to think about anything else and, instead, enjoy the happy time with the people she loved.
She danced when Rosie pulled her up and laughed at Michael’s protests when she pulled him up next.
They danced together and then switched partners with Rosie and Warren. When the other women insisted on dancing with Michael, Charlotte knew the ladies were a bit drunk. Michael was patient and courteous with them all, making her proud to show him off to Rosie.
They ate and laughed and danced some more. Michael even sang a ballad about them being champions, which they all learned quickly and sang along.
They finally put out the fire well into the night. Rosie wouldn’t hear of them traveling home at such a late hour and invited them to stay in the empty cottage of their other neighbor, Enid Albertson. Enid, a widow, died last year from a malady of her stomach. Most likely caused by hunger. Rosie brought them fresh linens, washed this morn, for the bed. The small, single bed.
“I can sleep on the floor,” Michael offered after Rosie made the bed and left them alone.
Charlotte nodded, not really wanting him to sleep there, but loving him for honoring her.
“But tomorrow,” he said, pulling off his jacket and justaucorps, “I will speak to your father about making you my wife. You have until then to decide if you want me or not.” He turned away to throw his clothes over a small chair.
His wife. He was ready to give her everything she wanted. Should she tell him how he made her feel? Or hide it and deny him such power over her? “Michael?” She stepped forward while he stripped of his black shirt next and tossed it aside.
Her eyes beheld him colored with images of everything from the Lord Jesus and crosses, to crisscrossed guns, a snake, and two long, square vertical towers with a stairway coming from them, leading up his side to his heart. She wondered if she was brave enough to climb up. “I already know what I want,” she told him, touching his arm. He turned to look at her. “I want you.”
He took her in his bare arms. She ran her hands up and down the corded sinew in his forearms, the interplay of muscles in his back. “You frighten me, man of the future,” she whispered across his painted chest. “Your determination to fix what is wrong here is admirable. But I am wrong, too, Michael. I have done many things—”
