“Of course.”
He shoved off of the bank and set the oars into the water, steering them back toward the inn.
Chapter 5
Miranda needed some time to think. It had been so much easier to hold on to her hurt over the years, to imagine that Anthony had forsaken her. However, to hear that he had never forgotten her, but rather he had lost himself—it was almost too much to bear. As he’d told her his story, the breath in her lungs had tightened. It pained her greatly to picture him in so much abject misery. She had always known he’d suffered, but she hadn’t made herself face the harsh reality of it. She’d found a way to dupe herself into believing that it wasn’t as bad as Jacob had claimed.
But it was.
She packed her things away in her valise as they returned to the inn; however, she kept the painting out to let it fully dry. Anthony offered to carry it for her as they walked inside. When they did, he asked if she would like to join him for lunch.
“I would like that. Just let me put my things in my room.”
She started to leave, but he fell into step beside her. “I’ll walk with you.”
They said little on the way, mainly remarking on the inn. When she unlocked her door and went inside, he surprised her by following. She set down her things, but when she turned to go, he had found his way to the painting she’d been working on early that morning.
“Is this the reason you were still abed this morning?”
“It was,” she concurred.
He bent down to inspect the work more closely, and she wondered if it was because of his poor eyesight, or if he wanted to gain a better perspective. Either way, it was almost surreal to see him standing in the same room with her again after all these years. So much had changed, and yet so little. She still adored him as much as she had when she’d been a child, but now that she was a woman fully grown, the awareness of a man in her chamber was rather… unnerving.
“It’s enchanting.” He straightened and looked out the window, as if trying to picture what it was she had seen. “You have a keen eye, Miranda.” He turned to her. “Did you always want to paint? Or write?”
She shrugged. “I never thought I was very good at poetry, but there is something about painting that brings the words to life for me. I might not have any idea of what I intend to say, but when I finish a scene, like the two I’ve started, it will start to come together, like the stories in my books.”
He smiled. “I imagine that many children are entertained by them.”
“And adults as well,” she pointed out. “I’ve had many women come up to me and tell me what an enchanting story I’ve written.”
“I’m not sure it has anything to do with your books, but more to do with the factyouare enchanting.”
Miranda’s heart faltered, but then she reminded herself that this was Anthony. He was merely being kind. She waved a hand with a laugh. “Don’t be nonsensical. Of course it’s the entire story I’ve put together that gathers the reader’s attention. Most don’t know me.”
“I do,” he returned softly. “And I guarantee that a part of you reflects in your work. You would not be as successful without the personality to match.”
She turned away, finding that this subject was going into deeper waters, more so than she was comfortable treading. “Perhaps. Shall we go?”
She started for the door, but a masculine hand covered hers. She closed her eyes as Anthony spoke at her back. “Don’t think so little of yourself, Miranda. You were the only thing that saved me all these years when I had lost the will to live. I read your letters countless times, and prayed for the day I would see you again.”
Miranda started to tremble. “It’s not wise to say such things.”
“Why? Because they are true.”
“That’s exactly why. What could possibly come from it, except to cause one, or both of us, further injury.”
She held her breath and waited as he reluctantly released her. The heat from his body slowly ebbed as he moved away from her. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.”
It was all she could do to hold back the tears that wanted to burst forth. This was all she’d ever wanted or dreamed about, and yet, she knew that he was still too raw to truly mean the sentiments. He was still healing, and with her mother’s death, she was too vulnerable to believe it all. “Let’s enjoy the rest of this lovely day.”
With that, she opened her eyes and walked out into the hall. As a single tear seeped from the corner of her eye, but she quickly brushed it away and pasted a bright smile on her face.
He was a fool.He had never had any intention of pouring out his innermost thoughts to her like that, and yet, he was desperate for her to know how much she meant to him. How much she hadalwaysmeant to him. But he could tell that he’d gone too far. He’d scared her. He could but hope that he hadn’t pushed her completely away.
Either way, he would have to live with whatever consequences arose from his actions. He’d had to do so for years, ever since he’d had the dream of fighting for the honor of his country.
When Miranda started to head for the hotel dining area where they’d shared breakfast together, he gently steered her toward the door. “I had somewhere else in mind.”
