“If you like, but not too early.”
She led him to the reception hall, and the door. “I promise to wait for whenever you choose to come.”
She realized he no longer walked with her. She turned to see him leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching her.
“You will not have to wait on my arrival, Eva, because I am not leaving tonight.”
He meant well and it charmed her, but she did not want him hovering like an angel. “I do not need you to be here. I promise I will not stay awake all night, cringing with fear.”
“All the same, tonight you will not be alone in this house. Do not argue with me. I will not be gainsaid on this.”
“Do you intend to stand guard? Sleep on the divan with your own pistol at the ready?”
“That was my intention. However, since you are completely, absolutely, and totally recovered, I have decided your bed would be more comfortable.”
She did not think he believedsheshould sleep on the divan instead. The implications instantly had her imagining the sensations, remembering the ecstasy. Her attempt to summon indignation over his presumptuous announcement saw little success. Desire became a living force in the space separating them.
He came to her, kissed her, then led her to the stairs. Up they climbed.
“I had intended to think a while before we did this again,” she said. “I really should.”
“Think all you want. Starting tomorrow.”
“I cannot have an affair with you. You must know that.”
“All I know is I want you and you want me.”
“Still, we should—”
He stopped and pulled her into his arms. His kiss ravished her mouth and showed none of the restraint of last night. “No moreshoulds. Not now, or I will make you wait until you ask again. I will make you beg until you are screaming.”
“I had rather counted on your doing that anyway.” It just blurted out, leaping over all theshouldstrying to get a good foothold in her thoughts.
The look he gave her caused her legs to wobble. With a quick scoop he lifted her into his arms and strode up the stairs.
It was different this time. No desperation. No shocks. Pleasure did not riot through her body. Rather it lapped through her in waves, controlled by Gareth’s masterful caresses and kisses.
Nothing especially wicked happened either. He took her carefully, almost sweetly, and they entwined in an embrace that permitted her to hold him close. She knew incredible pleasure, but little delirium. Instead she felt him around her and in her, in a stunning intimacy. Even the power at the end did not obscure that, but rather intensified it. And as she rested in his embrace afterward, she knew this was the more dangerous passion of the two she had experienced, because it was the one that touched her heart.
***
Eva woke first. She stayed in Gareth’s arms for a while, savoring the calm and peace. Then she eased out of his embrace and left the bed.
She donned an undressing gown and slipped downstairs. She quickly walked down the garden path, bucket in hand, to get some water. Upon opening the springhouse door, she froze.
Someone had been here since she last used the spring, and not merely to get water. A big box that held her gardening tools no longer had the hoe and shovel on its top. They had been moved to the floor. Peering into the box, she saw that its contents had been rearranged haphazardly. She looked around the little hut.Nothing had been broken or destroyed, but she suspected her house invaders had come here too.
Gareth must have seen this when he came for water yesterday. He probably had not realized something was not normal. A shiver up her spine spoke the answer. If this springhouse had been searched, someone had been looking for something specific, not merely taking advantage of an empty house to see what could be had.
She carried the bucket back to the kitchen and warmed it by the hearth. Then she carried it upstairs to her dressing room and washed and dressed. Back down in the kitchen she readied a pan to cook some of the eggs Gareth had brought back from town yesterday. She set the table. Ever since she began doing for herself, toting all the food up to the dining room made little sense.
With all prepared for cooking breakfast, she went up to the library. Her new canvas and paints still sat on the floor in a corner. She removed a small hammer from a drawer and began prying one of the ruined paintings out of its simple frame.
She planned to use the new canvas for copies and reuse these ruined canvases for her own work. The idea of creating a composition of her choice, of allowing the symphony to play, excited her. She would make some sketches at the lake, and perhaps paint a long view that took in the lake’s western shore—a sunset view, with purples and oranges streaking the sky and trees casting long shadows on the water. The result would be much improved on the painting that had been destroyed. She just knew it.
She looked down on the roll of fresh canvas. As for that, she needed to find paintings to copy. Good ones, so Mr. Stevenson’s new patron would want them.
She set about wiping even more turpentine on the painting, finishing what the intruders had begun. The painting had beenwell dried, so removing all the paint would not work. She managed to reduce the landscape to a ghost of its former self, however. New paint should obscure it enough.
