All those things piled up over and over, taller and taller, and made her head feel hot, like she would explode skyward. “I know that!”
A coy smile played across his lips. It made her want to kiss him and slap him all at once.
“So you’ve come to be with me because you like my company?”
“No!” she insisted. “I mean, yes. I mean—” She let out a frustrated burst of air.
Suddenly, he gripped her hand. “Justine, I—”
“Herr Vogel!” cried a man’s voice from below.
Justine snatched her hand back. She didn’t want to make small talk with someone she couldn’t even speak the same language as. Before she could change her mind, she whispered, “Come to my room tonight?”
He nodded, his expression grave. And she fled.
**
Climbing the stairs, the last bits of evening summer sun in the windows, Karl felt more nervous than he had on the lasttraverse of Hörnli Ridge. His hands were actually sweating. He wiped them on his pants. He was reading into her invitation to come to her room. He had to be. There was no other place for them to meet, as the dining room was still occupied with Lord Rascomb.
This was merely a climber who’d experienced a hard and failed expedition who wanted to talk through what had happened. He’d seen it before. In fact, he’d been the climber needing to go over the failure points. That’s what this was. He was the guide, she was the client. This was a one-on-one expedition debrief, nothing more.
Still, when he stood at her door, he wiped his hands on his trousers and gently tapped the wood with his knuckle.
The door swung open in moments.
Waves of chestnut brown hair cascaded down her shoulders. Karl’s breath caught. He didn’t know why in this moment she looked so beautiful, perhaps because the other times he had seen her with her hair down, it was in the low light of the dining hall. Here, with the lamps blazing, he could see her fully. Her pert, upturned nose. Her lips pink and full. And her eyes filled with relief at his presence.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” She stared at him, her chest rising in shallow breaths, as if she were as nervous as he was.
“May I enter?” Karl balled one hand into a fist. Was he doing the worst possible thing? Was entering her room, alone, dishonorable? Yes. And he knew it. If she initiated any physical act, he was vulnerable to it all. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.
Before, she’d been pretty and capable, funny and energetic. But now he knew the truth of her, having been on the mountain with her, having faced disaster with her. She was calm in a crisis. She was loyal to her friends, willing to risk her safety for theirs. Before she’d slept at Schwarzsee, she’d checkedon everyone to insure their health and comfort. Tante Greta had told him about how she’d tried to help here at the inn, even though she was a guest. This was a woman he wanted to make a life with. She was more than a pretty girl from England. This was Justine Brewer, vulnerable, needing him.
“Please come in,” Justine said, moving aside.
Her dress was a plain whitish color, but the pop of dark red buttons down the top seemed to call to his fingers. Around her waist was a plain ribbon, the same color as the buttons. The waist ribbon was finished in a bow that seemed so easy to undo. As if he only needed to simply touch it, and it would unravel. He shook his head. No, he was here to listen. To speak with his client about the failed expedition.
“Tea?” she asked, her voice sounding hopeful.
He looked around, then noticed her unfinished dinner tray, with a teapot arranged on it. Tante Greta had been so proud to order those teapots last autumn, as if those dishes proved she had English guests arriving. “No, thank you.”
She sighed with relief. “Oh good. It’s cold, anyway.”
They stood staring at each other. Where was he supposed to sit? Or stand? There were two beds in here and a high-backed wooden chair. The chair was the obvious choice, but it was on the other side of the room, and covered with what was likely her dressing gown. He certainly didn’t want to be so presumptuous as to touch her night things.
“Justine, if I may call you that—”
“I want to kiss you.” She wrung her hands together, as if she were unsure of his answer.
“Pardon?” Surely she didn’t say what he thought she had said.
“I do. Because I miss you, and I want comfort, but the only comfort I want is from you.”
Karl blinked. He had never thought of himself as the comforting sort of man, but he could adjust. “That . . . is fine.”
“Good.” She stepped forward. “Do you want to kiss me, or are you only letting me kiss you out of pity? Because if it’s pity, I don’t want to.”
Karl stepped forward. “I feel many things for you, but never has it been pity.”
