Which makes this the worst place I could have chosen. But also the best. I need to know—what sort of man have I thrown over?
Nothing happens for a long, breathless stretch. The roof tiles warm beneath me as the town shifts below. This quiet is dangerous, and oddly peaceful. It allows my mind to wander, and fresh images roll through my mind without my permission. The instant thrill of his approach when first we’d met, the energy he radiated as he looked up at me in the tree. I’d been grieving terrible news that day, and the world was heavy. Then he walked up carrying my dropped book, his face, entirely handsome and vibrant, turned up toward me.
Towardme.
Grief parted for a moment and I saw brightness on the other side.
He raised his hand. “Come on, jump,” he said, and one didn’t simply ignore that radiant smile.
So I jumped. I fell into his arms and slid down the length of him while his gaze took me in, hovering on my face. “Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire…” His smile was quick and bright, and he did not release me as he continued quoting Elizabeth Barrett Browning. “But only he who sees takes off his shoes.” He tapped my stockinged foot with the toe of his boot, and his smile deepened. “Hello.”
“Walk with me?” I said brazenly.
“Anywhere,” he said, gently turning us in a circle. “Shall we reside in Italy?” As the Brownings had.
“That seems a sufficiently long walk. You’ll need your shoes.” Then he offered me his arm.
“Just a walk,” I said.
“For now.”
“There isonlynow,” I said quickly. “How do you fancy this scheme? One walk, no names, no titles, just us, enjoying companionship on a fine day.”
“And the Brownings.”
Even now I can feel the electricity of that moment. “I suppose they may come.”
That walk ended after a merefour hoursbut continued the next day without either of us acknowledging it. We simply allowed our paths to converge again in the park, exchanged rapid-fire words, hardly able to get them all in before dark, and then parted once again. It picked up again the following day and the day after that, going on for just over three weeks until I suggested marriage in that sudden burst of hope, wishing to cling to the delight I’d discovered in that park, that lovely lifeline in the midst of loss and darkness.
And he agreed.
Which shouldn’t have happened, because now I am breaking his heart. My own too, if I am honest.
I lean forward to witness his reaction—will he be angry and storm out, or be hurt and slink off, burying his face in his hands? Perhaps something else entirely?
The door opens, then gently closes.
Hurt. I have injured him with my foolishness, my selfish and impetuous nature, because I haven’t any idea what I’m doing.
Then the door below slams open. I lean forward, straining to see his familiar tousled hair. The triangle of his back.
“Who are we hiding from?”
I jump at the whisper right behind me. I turn. “AJ!”
Chapter 4
Hehangsoutthedormer window, forearms folded on the sill. “You can probably see Lady Treadwell’s gold gown from up here.” A flash of his smile, and a teasing glance my way. “Like Cleopatra of Egypt she was, and her poor balding husband was nearly blinded by the gown. And possibly by the tiara as well. It reflected off his shiny pate.”
My hand flies to my mouth, covering a laugh. Something heavy melts and floats away. “She wore atiara?”
“But you missed the glorious Lord Stanley of the Banleys.” It is our nickname for the pompous gent who strolled through our park every day, a regular victim of our commentary. “Three of the ladies he’s been shamelessly flirting with all approached him the moment he walked in. Which put him in quite a pickle.”
“Poor sot.”
“Mmm.” AJ takes a long, deep breath of fresh air, now moist with the start of a light drizzle. “Might I join you?” he asks, waving a hand over the expanse of mossy shingles.
I open my mouth, but all the words disintegrate from my mind. I inch to the right and pat the space beside me, dippingmy face to hide the warmth creeping up in waves as the man I have jilted comes to sit beside me. I do owe him an explanation, at least.
