Page 18 of Secrets of the Heart

There was a vast difference between Jessica’s and Miranda’s situations and hers, of course. They both loved their husbands deeply and were loved by them in return, whereas she and Michael—Well, she was not sure quite what lay between her and Michael, but clearly it was not love. A kind of friendship, she supposed, despite the awkwardness that often hindered them. Certainly she knew that she could depend on him, and there had been times when she had gone to him with a knotty problem. Rachel admired and respected him more than any man she knew. But none of those things involved the sort of heart-stopping emotion she had felt for Anthony Birkshaw those many years ago.

Still, he was the only man in her life. She had not seen Anthony since their ill-fated elopement, just as she had promised Michael, and there would never be any other man. She would never do anything to betray Michael or sully his name.

Therefore, she knew, if ever she was to experience what normally occurred between a man and woman, it would have to be with Michael. So when she thought now and then—with strangely increasing frequency, it seemed—about how it might feel to kiss a man or to feel his hands upon her, it was Michael whom she imagined herself with. It seemed an odd and unlikely thing, however, and at the times when her thoughts strayed in that direction, she was quick to pull them back.

It was silly, really, to think about what she was missing. She knew many a married woman who would have told her that she was lucky, that she had all the advantages of a married lady and none of the difficulties. It was probably true, she knew. It was just that sometimes, like tonight, she could not help but wonder what it would be like to…to have Michael watch her as the maid removed her dress until she was standing in next to nothing…or to have him take the brush from her hand and begin to brush her long, thick hair himself, as she had heard Miranda once say Devin did…or to lie with him beside her in the bed, to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing and feel the warmth of his large, masculine body.

She felt a faint flush creep into her cheeks at her thoughts, and she glanced across the room at Michael. Now that Veronica and Gabriela had quit entertaining them at the piano, he was listening to Miranda describe the renovations she had set in motion around the house. Rachel watched as he nodded, smiling, at something Miranda said, and leaned forward to speak earnestly to her. Around the others of her family, Rachel had noted, Michael was rarely as reticent as he was with her. His gray eyes were alight with interest, and his firm, well-cut lips curved up into a smile.

He was a handsome man, she thought—not devastatingly so, as her brother was, for Dev’s green-eyed, black-haired good looks were the sort that made women swoon—but Michael was agreeable to look at, nevertheless. His hair was dark blond, streaked through, particularly in the summer, with lighter strands, and his gray eyes were wide and intelligent. And his mouth was really quite attractive, she thought, with that small scar near the corner that gave his well-bred face a hint of devilishness when he smiled.

Rachel wondered how he would react if he knew what she was thinking. Did he ever regret the decision he had made not to share her bed? Or wonder what it would be like if their marriage was different? She wondered if he had thought about tonight, when they would go up to the same room, and if he had, whether he’d felt the same strange flutter of nerves in his stomach that she did.

So deep in her thoughts was Rachel that she did not notice that Jessica was speaking to her until the second time she said, “Rachel? Did you hear me?”

Rachel started and glanced over at her friend. “What? I’m sorry—were you speaking to me?”

Jessica laughed good-naturedly. “Yes, I was, actually. But I’m afraid I must have been putting you to sleep.”

Rachel blushed. “No, of course not. I apologize for my rudeness.”

“No need. You are doubtless sleepy, as I am.”

Dev, listening to them, added, “We have all turned into country folk, I fear. Here I find I get up about the time I used to be going to bed in London. The light is too good in the morning to waste.”

Rachel smiled at her brother. “I am so glad you have returned to your painting. The work you have done the past few months is beautiful.”

He smiled. “Thank you. But it is all due to Miranda, you know.” He turned toward where his wife sat, gesturing enthusiastically as she talked to Michael, and the look on his face told Rachel everything she needed to know about his happiness. “Look at her. Have you ever seen such a woman? I think she is talking about crop rotation now.” Dev chuckled. He looked at Rachel and added more soberly, “It was a good turn you did me when you steered me in her direction.”

“I am so glad,” Rachel answered honestly.

“Now if only—” he began impulsively, then stopped.

“If only what?”

Dev shook his head. “Nothing. I find sometimes that Miranda rubs off on me and I want to step in where I have no business.”

A little self-consciously, he turned away and raised his voice to speak to his wife across the room, “Miranda, my love, I know that you never tire, but you might have some sympathy for poor Michael. He has ridden a long way today, and I suspect he would like to seek his bed.”

Miranda looked instantly contrite. “Oh! I am so sorry, Michael! I did not think. It was so wonderful to have someone to talk to who was interested in such things that I quite forgot you must be tired.”

“I was far too intrigued by what you were saying,” Michael assured her, smiling. “However, I imagine that you probably need your sleep.”

“I am never tired,” Miranda protested, then cast a smile at her husband and added, “However, Dev worries—far more than is necessary, but I try to indulge him.”

She rose as she spoke, and as abruptly as that, the evening was over. The others began to rise, smiling and saying their good-nights to one another. Rachel’s pulse skittered wildly, though she managed, she hoped, to keep her face perfectly calm.

Michael came over to where she stood and extended his arm to her. Rachel curled her hand around his arm, hoping that he could not feel the trembling of her fingers, and walked with him out of the room. Behind them came Dev and Miranda, talking happily to each other and now and then chuckling. Rachel searched her mind for something to say to break the silence between her and Michael, but she could think of nothing that did not pertain to the fact that they were climbing the stairs to the bedroom that they would share. The more she tried to think of something else, the more it occupied her mind. The silence between them grew until it seemed solid and huge. Rachel was certain that the others must notice, and that thought made her feel even more uncomfortable.

Michael stepped aside politely at their door for her to enter first, then came inside and closed the door behind him. Rachel turned to face him; her hands felt like ice.

Michael walked over to the door of the dressing room and glanced inside. “Good,” he said, his voice far calmer and more matter-of-fact than Rachel felt. “They have set up the camp bed for me.” He turned back to face her. “You can ring for your maid if you wish. I will go down to the library and find a book to read, so you can have your privacy.”

“Oh. Of course. Thank you.” Rachel wondered why she had not thought of the solution herself. It was quite simple, really, and removed much of the awkwardness from their situation.

Michael nodded and walked to the door. He paused, not looking at her, his hand on the knob, and said, “Good night.”

“Good night.” Rachel watched him as he opened the door and left the room.