“Golly.” I look at him, flabbergasted. “Well, I’ve no idea why you’d think that. You’re quite the catch. You can even cook, for heaven’s sake!”
“Sadie. It’s not because of anything I can or can’t do—it’s because of how I look.” His lips press together in a thin line. “And if you’re merely offering your ... attention out of pity, you can stop the charade.”
“Pity?” I sit up, my eyes widening. “I ... Beckett, no.”
“Women like you don’t want men like me. No woman wants half a man. A cripple.”
“That’s not true.” A fierce burning makes its way up my neck, and I realize I’m angry. I take a sharp swallow of my drink to quell it. “You’re not half a man. At all. And if you think I pity you, you don’t know me. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. You’re beautiful, Beckett. You are.”
He leans forward, elbows pinned to his knees, the uneven arch of his back on full display. “My condition hurts me. Often. It will only worsen with age. I wear binders and braces, beneath my clothes. Lifts for my shoes. The ointments and balms Doc Gallagher gives me help, but they don’t take all the pain away. On the very worst days, I take morphine, but mostly I’ve learned to live with it, because I don’t want to fall into oblivion.” He takes a deep breath, letting it out in a rush. “I don’t know if I’m even capable of making love to a woman, Sadie. Or fathering children. The doctors ... when I was young, the doctors said sterility was a possibility with my condition.”
“But if that’s the case, we would cope.” I take his hand, press it between mine. “How can you know, if you never give things a chance? I’m willing to try. I want to, because I wantyou.”
He looks up at me, his eyes glazed and vulnerable. I lean forward and kiss the tremble from his lips, pressing my mouth to his again, and then my body, boldly straddling his lap. I guide his hand up my thigh, pushing my dress over my hips, showing him where my want lives. My desire. My hands tangle in his hair as his lips softly press against my neck, my pulse thudding. I feel his body respond, his hips rising to meet mine, and I smile. “See, we won’t have any problems at all,” I purr, my hand going to his waistband to unbutton his fly.
His head falls back as he relinquishes himself to my coaxing touch. I’ve never felt more powerful, more alive. For all these years, I’ve been claimed and taken by men who asserted their dominance over me, who pursued me, who took ownership of my body. This—this is new. And it is decadent. Heady. Delicious.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoes from the hall. Beckett’s eyes fly open. He pushes me off his lap, hastily buttoning his trousers. “Marguerite,” he rasps, and rushes to the door. I follow him, panic replacing my desire.
But when we get to the hall, there’s no one there. Only the same potted palm little Katie upended the other day, lying on its side once again, dirt spilling across the floor, the pot now irretrievably broken.
“How did that happen?” I wonder aloud. I check the single window in the hall. It’s locked, not the faintest hint of a draft around the sill.
“I don’t know. I’ll go get a broom.”
I remain in the hall, an eerie sense of watchfulness pervading the air. Outside, a soft misting rain begins, gently pattering on the windowpanes. The perfect weather for making love. I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder, brushing aside my hair. I turn, expecting Beckett, hoping to fall into his arms and regain the ground we’ve lost to this strange distraction. But there’s no one there, only an empty hallway, lit with clouded moonlight.
Chapter 23
In the days that follow, Beckett and I have very little time alone. Marguerite has grown more restless, her moods scaling up and down. She wakes one morning in hysterics, swearing there are strangers in the house, hiding in the walls. Harriet and I take her from room to room, opening cupboards and closets. Still, she clings to the notion well into the afternoon, insisting they’ve come to abduct her. Sometimes my aunt’s delusions and hallucinations are harmless—even beautiful—like the musical flowers she sees blooming on the ceiling. Other times her hallucinations are so frightening they make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Given my encounters with Weston, my own sense of reality has warped a great deal since coming here. Who’s to say what is truly real, and what is not? The mind is a powerful engine.
Despite Marguerite’s decline and my increasing responsibilities, I still manage to write to Ted’s wife, and she sends me a telegram a few days later. We make plans to meet in town the following week, at the same coffee shop Marguerite and I visited. Thankfully, Marguerite’s moods settle, and on the morning I’m due to meet Blanche, Harriet assures me she has things well in hand. I dress demurely, pinning my hair into a tidy bun, and go out to meet Beckett in the drive. I haven’t told him or Harriet the true purpose of our trip—only that I want to have coffee with a friend in town on holiday.
But as I take my place next to him in the car, a twinge of guilt convicts me. I need to tell Beckett the truth about Ted. I want to build ourrelationship on a foundation of honesty, because that’s what he deserves. What I deserve. After learning more about the faulty scaffolding in my family—lies stacked upon lies—I don’t want to make the same mistakes as my forebears.
I look over at Beckett and smile as we turn onto the road leading to town. It’s a beautiful day, with a bright azure sky arching overhead, but the gorgeous weather does little to soothe my apprehensions. He shifts gears, then places his hand over mine on the leather seat, glancing at me shyly through his lashes. When he pulls alongside the curb in front of the coffee shop, I turn to him, my nerves raw. “Beck, there’s something I need to tell you. About why I’m here.”
“Here? You mean the coffee shop?”
“Yes.” I hedge, twisting my hands together in my lap. “Do you remember when you asked me what happened with my fiancé?”
He nods. “You said things didn’t end well.”
“No. They didn’t. They didn’t end well because he was still married to someone else.”
Beckett is quiet for a moment, and my apprehension grows. “Did you know?” he finally asks.
“Not at first. But later? Yes. I did.” I reach out, place my hand on his arm. “It wasn’t my intention to fall in love with a married man. Ted pursued me. He was relentless. But I’m—I won’t deny my own guilt in the matter. We carried on for over two years, well past my knowing about his wife.”
“Is it him you’re meeting here, then?” I see the fear in Beckett’s eyes. The vulnerability. He’s afraid of losing me, just as much as I’m afraid of losing him.
“No. No! His wife. She sent me a letter and asked to meet me. She’s suing for divorce and needs my help.”
Beckett’s shoulders fall. He lets out a long breath.
“Beck, I’m only telling you because I want you to know everything about me. If this changes how you feel ...”
“It doesn’t, Sadie. Do you know how crazy I am about you? I was just afraid ...”
