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“What bird?”

She giggled, and the two of them wandered toward the house, their voices and laughter carrying on until the sounds disappeared on the air.

All the while, Lark did not step back from Mr. Branok, and Mr. Branok did not remove his hands from Lark’s arms.

Instead, they stood there, silent, staring, hearts beating wildly as their longing for each other became so palpable, Lark felt as if she could almost grasp it, never to let it go again.

That was what she wanted, for Mr. Branok to be hers. She wanted to be his wife, for him to be her husband. She wanted to spend the rest of her days in his arms, observing birds, creating challenges together, believing in each other.

And as Mr. Branok stared down at her, she could only hope that he wanted to be with her the very same. He leaned closer, his hands finally moving, sliding up her arms, cradling her neck, tipping her chin for him to better place a kiss upon her lips.

She leaned back, eyes closed, lips parted, and waited.

But a sound pierced the air, a chittering loud and long, and Lark’s eyes flew open.

She met Mr. Branok’s gaze, excitement alight within them that matched her own.

“Is that…” he began.

Her heart skipped. “The nightjar!”

Chapter 35

There could be only one thing that would stop Henry from kissing Lark Fernside, and it wasn’t a bird.

It was Miss Fernside hearing a bird.

Had it been up to him, he would have ignored the sound of the nightjar altogether, kissed the woman until they were both senseless, then maybe, if there was time, gone to see if the bird was still there.

But he knew how excited she would be at the sighting, so he’d stopped before they’d even begun.

Sure enough, her eyes brightened, and her grin grew as she stared in the direction of the sound.

He dropped his hands as she did the same, and together, they slowly followed the chittering through the trees. The noise grew as they drew nearer and nearer until finally, it was so close, Henry knew they could spot it, so long as they positioned themselves in the right location.

As Miss Fernside searched the trees, however, Henry had a difficult time focusing on anything aside from the memory of her body pressed against his. The way she’d cried when she’d heard of him defending her. The way she’d listened to his side of the rumors again—believed his words again.

Her goodness knew no bounds.

“I can’t find it,” Miss Fernside whispered in the darkness.

Henry once more pulled back to the present. He needed to focus. He needed to find this bird. Not for himself, but for her.

He leaned down, shifting back and forth to see the silhouette of the trees against the moon above. He’d learned how to find night herons this way in the West Indies, and he could only pray it would work the same for the nightjar.

A few minutes later, he spotted it. The bark-like feathers were impossible to see in the darkness, only a black silhouette visible with the lack of light, but he was certain it was the bird they sought.

With a stuttering heart, he tugged at Miss Fernside’s arm until she leaned closer to him.

“There,” he whispered in her ear.

She peered down, looking back and forth with a shake of her head. “I can’t see…”

Knowing he was simply allowing himself to drown faster, Henry wrapped his right arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him until their faces touched. There, he pointed with his left finger where the silhouette of the bird stood out against the dim light, perched at the very edge of a leafless branch.

He knew she’d seen it when she breathed out a sigh. She’d done the same when she’d found the redstart and the kingfisher. Would her eyes be sparkling as they’d done with every other bird?

He forced his attention to remain on the nightjar still chittering away, the bird’s chest puffing out with each call. But before long, Henry was once more drawn to the woman beside him.