“I would, of course, say so.”
He smiled at her as if she'd said something darling, something which confirmed for him some unspoken suspicion, and for an instant, she merely basked in that smile.
“Celandine,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I saw the first celandine of spring today. Immediately after I saw you at the folly.”
“Did you? Is it a favorite flower of yours?” She was hungry to know everything about him.
“I always think it looks like the forest is suddenly sprinkled with little suns when they begin to bloom. Every year, whenever I see the first celandine in Pennyroyal Green, it’s a sign to me that something new and hopeful and beautiful is about to begin. When I was a little boy, I would wish on the first one I saw.”
Well.
For the second time tonight, he’d stopped her breath.
The slightly challenging tilt at the corner of his mouth told her that he knew it, too.
But his eyes were serious.
She suddenly felt out of her depth.
This bold, cocksure boy had just said this unexpectedly poetic thing, which somehow managed to be both subtle, vulnerable, and frank.
His meaning was unmistakable.
And it also felt like he was daring her to ask a question.
When she did, her voice was low. “What did you wish for?”
He didn’t reply. But his slow smile wound round her heart like a lariat.
And then the vicar’s wife applied her fingers to the keys in a sprightly minuet, and Jacob and Isolde found themselves opposite each other as dance partners.
After an exchange of bows and curtsies, the gathered guests began to move in the figures of the dance.
Nothing frightened Jacob Eversea. Or so he’d said.
But his smile vanished the moment their hands met for the first time. His expression went grave and intent and almost dumbfounded. As if he didn't know quite how she'd done it, but she'd taken him captive.
Oh, hewasfrightened, she’d warrant.
Because she was, too.
She suspected he, too, could feel a current rush through him from where their hands joined. As if they’d been swept up into the same, fast-moving river together.
Perilous stuff, indeed.
“Well, Miss Sylvaine. Have you arrived at a word to describe me?” His voice was gruff.
“Enchanted,” she said shortly.
He blinked. Something raw and almost furious flashed across his features, as though he'd been caught naked.
Her own audacity amazed her. Still, she thought he ought to know that he wasn’t the only one with the capacity to surprise. Her instincts told her that her entire being—the shy parts, the bold parts, the clever and stubborn parts, the worthy and unworthy parts, every bit of her—was safe with him. She supposed this was her way of testing this theory.
He regarded her with a certain cautious appreciation, which softened into something like surrender.
