She swallowed. “That isn’t what I meant, Ewan,” she whispered.
He turned away and she reached for him, slowly placing a finger to his chin. He looked at her and her heart ached. Ewan had always been complex. She had been able to read him even when others couldn’t. His pain. His fear. His anger.
Tonight all she saw was his regret. Regret that cut her deeply, for she knew there were two sides to it. The regret she shared that they couldn’t remain isolated in this dreamland forever. But also regret that he had allowed things to go so far.
“What will happen to you and me?” she asked, holding her breath as she waited for his answer.
There was a pause that felt like it lasted an eternity and then he lifted trembling hands and signed, “I thought we had agreed that this was not permanent. That this is all we can have?”
“Is that what you really want?”
He pulled away and paced to the other side of the room before he dug into his pocket and pulled out his paper and his pencil. Her heart jumped. Ewan rarely wrote to her to communicate. Their secret language kept there from being a need.
That he wished to do so now meant he was trying to distance himself even more than she had feared. She stared as he scribbled an answer and then held out the response.
“What I want is irrelevant. This is a stolen moment out of time, Charlotte. I will look back on it with great pleasure, but it changes nothing.”
She lifted her gaze back to him, but he’d turned his back to her and was adding logs to the fire. She wanted to lunge forward and scream that she loved him. She wanted to demand that he see what could be, that he allow for hope and a future in his heart.
But she knew this man far too well. He didn’t respond to demands. If anything, they sent him further into his shell. If she wanted him to see the future, she had toshowhim the future. Demands could come after surrender.
She stepped closer and reached out to touch his shoulder. He jolted a little, just as he had the first night after they made love. Slowly, he faced her, his expression hard and unreadable.
She forced herself to smile. “No one has arrived yet. Let’s go upstairs, Ewan. Make more memories for us both to look back on. Perhaps you’re right that now isn’t the time to worry about the future.”
His lips tightened just a fraction and she could see him warring in his head. That was what she wanted, really, for him to battle with himself, because that was the only way his heart had any chance to win over his head.
And tonight, in this battle, it did. He reached out and took her hand. His big fingers folded around hers and he led her from the room, up the stairs, to his chamber.
She sighed as he let her in. This wasn’t perfect, but it was a step. With every step closer to the life she wanted, she knew there was more reward possible. And so much more risk to her body, her heart and her soul.
Chapter Eight
Winter morning light had only just begun to brighten the edges of his curtains when Ewan woke. He lay still for a moment, his eyes still closed, reveling in what he felt and smelled around him.
Charlotte.
Her body was curled back into his, his arms were around her and the vanilla scent of her hair wafted into his nostrils. He’d often imagined that was what heaven would smell like.
Slowly, he allowed his eyes to open and looked at her. She fit so perfectly against him. She was a tall woman, so she didn’t look ill matched to his own size. Her body lined up perfectly with his, as his hard cock was letting him know right now while it nudged the softness of her backside.
How he wanted to just slide inside, feel her grow wet and moan as she woke to him making love to her. How he wanted to spend a day just lying in bed with her, laughing and talking and making love like this was the future he would share with her.
But that was the problem. Itwasn’ttheir future. He’d allowed for her to ease into the fabric of his life over the past few days. The emotional side of him never wanted that to end.
The rational side knew differently. What he’d said to her about the difficulty of the future was only half of what he feared. He couldn’t even begin to express the rest. Even to her.
He sighed as he carefully extracted himself from around her. She stirred a little, just a whisper of his name in the dark, but then she settled deeper into the pillows and her breath grew heavy again.
He grabbed his trousers from the floor and then moved into the adjoining room where his wardrobe awaited him. He had a valet, but he didn’t call for the man as he swiftly dressed himself and then went downstairs.
The servants smiled and acknowledged him, accustomed to seeing him up early. He’d never been one to lollygag about in bed all day. As he passed through the hall, he caught sight of Smith in one of the foyers, talking to another servant. He entered the room with a rap on the door to alert them to his presence.
“Your Grace,” Smith said. “Good morning.”
Ewan reached into his pocket and pursed his lips as he realized he had no notepad with which to communicate. Smith said nothing, but whipped one from his own pocket, along with a stubby pencil.
Ewan nodded to him in thanks and swiftly wrote, “Any word from those who have been monitoring the sandbag dam?”
