“Thank you for my spectacles.”
His eyes were shadowed by the darkness filling the carriage. The sun had begun to set. I wanted to know his thoughts. I wanted to believe he was happy with me now, as things were. Spending time together. A few stolen kisses. Though, nothing was stolen. I readily turned my face to the beautiful bear.
“You broke your lenses during the eviction, my dear. It’s the least I could do.”
“I need nothing more. You’ve been so sweet to Chris and me this week. Walks, teas. He’s still talking about Hyde Park.”
He lifted my hand to his mouth. I felt his furry jaw. I giggled a little.
“My pleasure, sweet Ruth. Thank you for allowing us to go. It would have been perfect if you’d come, too.”
“Knitting Tuesday.” I said the explanation fast, so he’d know I was well and not begging off from a fit. I needed him to know that I was good, better than ever. I felt like me again, the me before Adam’s death. Was it bad, to think that way?
“You love your knitting and your knitting parlor. Will I ever see any of this work?”
“I took apart a scarf I was making. I don’t believe in giving something that was promised to another.”
I meant the barrister’s scarf, but my mind twisted my words. Part of me feared I was still Adam’s.
Wycliff lifted my chin. “Did Mrs. Carter show? Is she still miffed?”
My mind couldn’t quite grasp the contrast of how rough his hands were to how gentle his touch was.
His business had violent enemies, and yet he was sweet and relaxed with me.
“Well, Ruth?”
I held on to his hands. My grip was tight. I wanted to enjoy Wycliff. “Mrs. Carter is still miffed at you and now at me.”
“What did you do, Ruthy?”
I let his raspyRuthywash over me and absorbed the intimacy, the closeness. “I asked for proof that she was from Jamaica to show you.”
“Wicked.”
He brushed those wonderful lips against my nose. Almost like instinct, my head tilted, and he accepted the invitation.
So gentle the pressure of his mouth on mine.
I opened for him, wide, almost wanton.
He caressed my neck, and I let him.
No squirming or wishing for his affection to pass.
I was present and enjoyed this man’s touch. I’d never thought it possible, but no one had kissed me this sweetly, not since Adam.
Adam.
The minute that name crossed my mind, I froze. I was heavy with guilt.
Wycliff stopped and swept me deeper into his arms.
And I felt warm and loved and guilty.
I didn’t want to make him Adam, but I didn’t mind Wycliff being so like him, the good parts. Was it possible for Adam to have a twin? A furry sweet twin? Why were they so similar? It often felt as if Adam were kissing me when it was Wycliff.
“I’m glad you are letting me take you to Blaren House. A proper tour.”
