He felt like a fool, and damned if it didn't feel good. "Must you always say what's on your mind?"
She touched his cheek, a lingering caress. "I cannot speak what is on your mind."
"Ah, Selena." He sighed. She stared up at him, smiling, her face streaked with tears and sand, her hair clotted with leaves and pine needles. That absurd necklace around her throat. She had never looked more disarm-ingly beautiful. He realized in that second that he'd never understood beauty before, never revered it as he did in this moment. She was beautiful on the inside, in her soul. "You are ... perfect," he whispered.
"No. I am damaged."
He could have kicked himself for what he had taught her. "You are all that a person strives to be, Selena. Good, kind, caring, loving, honest. Don't let the world-or me-steal that optimism from your heart."
She pressed toward him. "You think such things can be stolen. It is childish, Ian. Silly."
"But-"
"And you are honorable. You became a doctor to save people's lives. This must be honor. You touched me when you were afraid to, and this surely is honor." She pressed closer, close enough for a kiss. He felt the whisper-soft flutter of her breath against his lips, and it made him ache for more. "We are the same, you and I."
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The moment mesmerized him. She mesmerized him. "What do you mean?"
"Perhaps I was a bad woman before my brain damage. But I do not care what I was, I care only what I will be. The future is more important than the past."
"The future." He whispered the awesome word. Ah, the hope, the need. For years he hadn't allowed himself to think of tomorrow, let alone whatever came after that. And now here was this exquisite woman, telling him to believe in a future, to reach for it and believe in it. To believe in himself.
"I will make a begin with you, Ian." She gave him a heartbreakingly earnest look and got to her knees, taking his hands in hers. "I shall be honest and honorable-always. Will you vow the same?"
He got to his knees beside her. "Being honest is easy. Being honorable is damned hard work."
Her gaze didn't waver. "I shall not fail."
Fear washed through him, then an exhilarating sense of hope. She was right; he knew it. He'd always known it. Honor, morality, optimism, they were all choices. Long ago, he'd made the wrong choices, taken the wrong road.
Did he have the strength to change his course?
"This is not so hard, Ian. Just a promise to try."
He knew he would fail; he always failed. But right now, in this magical moment, he couldn't deny her, couldn't deny himself. It was his last, best hope for his soul. "For you, Selena. I'll try."
"Psst."
The lisping sound seemed to come at Ian from a great distance away, floating in the darkness of his slumber. He turned slightly, pressed his face tighter into the feather pillow.
"Psst. Ian. You forgot to teach me to play croquet."
Ian blinked, came slowly awake. Grit burned across his eyes. "Wha . .."
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Selena was sitting on the bed beside him, hunched over so that her face was inches above his. Candlelight cast a golden net across her face. She was gazing down at him through those beautiful, liquid eyes, and her lips hinted at a smile that was seconds away.
"You promised to teach me to play croquet," she said again.
He frowned, rubbed his eyes. Some hazy part of his mind thought this was a dream, that he'd somehow willed her here beside him in the middle of a cold night. "Tomorrow."
"You said today. Soon it will be midnight, and Johann told me that at midnight the day is over."
"Johann the genius? What does he have to do with this?"
"He helped me to set up the game in the backyard."
Ian wedged up on his elbows and looked up at her. She sat blithely beside him, wearing nothing but a wisp of a lawn nightdress. "Go to bed, Selena." His voice was hoarse and thick.
She flipped back bis coverlet and pushed her small, bare feet in beside him. "All right."
He felt her slip into bed beside him. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, he was so stunned. He felt the heat from her body, the firm length of her thigh along his. His heart started pounding, sweat prickled his brow. No one had ever told her that a maiden doesn't crawl into bed with a madman.
Honorable man, Ian.
A promise to try.
He jackknifed up and threw the coverlet back. "Fine. We'll play croquet."
She didn't move.
Reluctantly he glanced down at her. She lay still, her hair a tangled red-brown mass on the candlelit-gold pillow, her breasts a gentle curve of white lawn. There was a serenity in her eyes that stole his breath. "I knew you
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would keep your promise," she murmured, her voice husky and soft.
Sweet Jesus, he wanted to touch her. In the flickering candlelight, her skin looked petal-soft. A desperate groan caught in his throat. He staggered out of bed and stood there, breathing hard. Finally he forced himself to look away from her. He went to the window and stared through the tarnished glass until his breathing normalized.
He heard the quiet creak of the bed boards and the whispered pat of her bare feet hitting the hardwood floor. She came up behind him and stood there, waiting.
He tensed. Don't touch me. Please . . . The plea winged through his mind, took on the strength of a prayer.
She touched his shoulder. "Shall we go?"
God help him, for a second, he leaned into her hand, felt its heat on his skin. With a muffled curse, he ducked and spun away from her. Yanking his pants off the chair where he'd thrown them, he stabbed his bare feet into the black wool and buttoned them up. Then he grabbed his wrinkled woolen coat and shrugged into it. He was careful not to look at her. "You'll need a coat."
She laughed, a low, throaty sound that aroused him as much as any touch ever had. "I shall get a rope ... a wrap and meet you in the yard."
Ian bolted from the room in front of her and hurled himself down the creaking steps. He burst onto the back porch and slammed the door behind him, drawing deeply of the fresh night air.
He buttoned his coat against the chilly night and walked down the sagging porch, onto the blackened new spring grass. He was so deep in thought, it took him a minute to notice what she'd done out here.
Squat, yellow candles dotted the squared perimeter of the lawn. There was no wind, and the burning pockets of light danced and pulsed against the velvet backdrop of the forest beyond. Overhead, the sky was thick with
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bright stars, and the moon was a scythe of blue-white light that reflected itself in the metallic wickets scattered across the lawn. The sea was a distant, humming murmur in the background.
It was a lovely, magical setting, created by a woman who believed in fairy tales and happy-ever-after endings.
For years and years he'd stood on this porch, beneath the shadowy, wisteria-festooned overhang, and looked out over this yard. All he'd ever seen was a cold, square patch of grass bordered by towering trees. It had never occurred to him that it could be anything else.
When had he stopped seeing such beauty in the ordinary world around him? And why had he let the ability to create magic slip away from him without a fight? Even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. He'd never let the ability slip away; he'd never possessed it in the first place. Even as a child, he'd seen the world in cold, rational terms. It was something he'd learned early on. Life wasn't fair or just or kind. He wouldn't-couldn't-have conceived of creating a place like this.
The door whined behind him, then cracked shut. "Are you ready to play with me?"
The velvety bourbon of her voice washed over him, reminded him that for all his experience with women, he was out of his league with her. Her quiet naivete undid him, left him defenseless and vaguely out of control Are you ready to play with me?
He shivered at the subtle sexual innuendo, knowing that she had no idea what she'd asked. Or what his answer could be. He stepped
back from the candles and turned to her.
She stood at the top of the steps, tall and straight. She'd twined her hair into a thick braid that lay curled over one shoulder. A pale yellow wrap as sheer as a wedding veil hung in shadowy folds over her nightdress. Big, muddy men's work boots stuck out from be-
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neath the hem. Smiling, she reached down to the small leather case beside her and flicked the latch. The case fell open with a thump, revealing a row of mallets and multicolored balls.
She grabbed a handful of balls and two mallets and glided down the steps toward him.
He took a mallet and red ball and gave her a mallet and blue ball, then he tossed the remainders back onto the porch. Stepping back, he tried to keep some distance between them. "Now-"
She moved closer. "Now what?"
He stepped back. She stepped closer.
"Selena, I'd like to keep a little distance between us, if you don't mind."
She moved up next to him. "I do mind." She tilted her face up and gave him a radiant smile that shot straight to his heart.
Ian stiffened and forced a weak smile. He wished he'd never promised her a thing. "Fine. Let's get on with it." He gripped the mallet and bent over, showing her how to knock the ball through the first wicket.
Her gaze never left him as he slowly straightened. "Your turn," he said.
"Show me how to hold the mallet."
Reluctantly he went to her. She promptly turned her back on him and bent slightly forward.
He stared at her back. The pale skin at the base of her neck glowed in the meager light, reminded him suddenly that she was naked beneath the sheer wrap and gown. No corsets or chemises or drawers ...
"Ian?"
He banished the erotic images and moved closer to her. Cautiously he eased his arms around her body and gently took hold of her hands, guiding them to the correct hold on the mallet. She released a shivery sigh at his touch.
"Concentrate," he said sharply. "And hit the ball through the wicket."
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Suddenly she released the mallet and spun in his arms. Her smiling face filled his vision. Her puffy, kiss-able lips were a whisper away from his. He could feel the soft strains of her breathing against his chin.
"Why should I care whether the ball goes through the wacket?"
For a second, Ian couldn't breathe. She was so lovely, everything a woman could be. Earthy, sensual, innocent, seductive. How could he ever have thought her damaged? He tried to find a voice, and when he did it was throaty and harsh. "Those are the rules. You wanted to learn to play the game."
"Perhaps I would rather play something else with you, Ian."
The way she said his name sent shivers dancing along his spine. He gazed down at her, losing himself in the liquid chocolate of her eyes. Moonlight streamed through her gown and highlighted the shadowy body beneath. Without thinking, he touched the tip of her braid. The cinnamon-hued strands coiled around his finger, catching him in a soft, silken grip that he had no desire to break.
"We should go in," he said, knowing it was true. Knowing he'd rather die than give up this moment and return to the cold, black seclusion of his room.
"I do not want to go in. I want. .." Her voice trailed off.
He felt breathless, a little light-headed with anticipation. "What do you want?"
"You." The last word was no more than a whisper.
One little word, spoken quietly and with such conviction. Ian sighed softly, unable to fight his own nature even a second longer He leaned toward her.
The kiss was nothing at first, a light touching of lips that was over almost before it began. He heard her sharply indrawn breath, saw her eyes widen in surprise.
Reluctantly he drew back, gave her time.
"What was that?" she asked.
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He touched her cheek tenderly. "A kiss."
"Why did you do it?"
"I wanted to. I shouldn't have done it."
She frowned. "Why did you want to?"
"A man has ... needs." He looked away, aching for her so badly in that moment, he felt weak in the knees. "I don't want to talk about it."
She smiled. "Me, too."
"Me too what?"
"Such needs are inside of me, also. I liked it very much."
He groaned at her honesty. "Ah, Selena. You're so trusting, so naive. I could crush you."
She gave him one of her blindingly bright smiles. "But you will not."
"You shouldn't believe in me so much," he said in a thick voice. "I'm not a good man."
She laughed. "It must be easy to become a doctor."
The topical change caught him off guard, though he ought to be used to her by now. "Why do you say that?"
"Because sometimes, Ian, you are very . . . braindamaged."
He laughed in spite of himself. "Selena, don't be so damned charming right now. I'm trying like hell to be honorable. And it is not honorable to take advantage of a scantily clad virgin in the middle of the night."
"What is a virgin?"
"Someone who has never ... slept in the same bed with a man."
Her face scrunched in thought. "But what if I have slept with a man before? Then I would not be a virgin and it would be honorable for you to-"
"What?"
She gave him a blank look. A cool breeze molded her nightdress to her shivering body. "What what?"
Ian felt as if he'd just been punched hard in the gut. He couldn't catch his breath. Jesus, how had he missed
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it? How had he so blindly accepted her as a lost soul, unconnected and alone like everyone else at Lethe House?
What if she was married? Oh, Christ, what if she had children out there?
He covered his face with one hand, trying desperately to hang on.
"Ian? You are to scare me... ."
He'd never been so frightened in his life. Someone could be out there, waiting to take her away from him.
He thought about the trip he'd taken a few weeks ago, the lawmen he'd spoken to, the descriptions he'd given, and he felt sick with fear. "Oh, Lord, Selena, what have I done?"
She pressed onto her toes and touched his cheek. So soft was her touch, so firm and gentle and loving, that he wanted to cry when she drew back. "Kiss me again."
He grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her to him. He wanted to draw her inside him, to a place where only he could see her, only he could touch her. "You're mine," he breathed. "Mine."
"Ian-"
"I won't let you go."
She frowned. "I do not want you to let me go."
He wanted to lose himself in her innocence, but it was too late. He drew her into his arms and held her tightly, clinging to her, breathing in the sweet perfumed scent of her.
"You're mine," he whispered into her hair, knowing he'd said the words before, hearing the desperate whine in his voice, but unable to change it, unable to think of anything else to say.
She laughed, a bright, clear sound. "Oh, Ian." She hugged him, whispered against the sensitive flesh of his throat. "Of course I am yours."
God, he'd give his soul if it were true. But he'd lost his soul too long ago to bargain with it now.
"Can you hear the music?" she whispered.
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He was so deep in thought, he barely heard her. "There's no music out here."
The breeze whispered through the trees, flapped the skirt of her nightdress. She slid out of his arms and looked up at him. In the distance, the sea was a droning murmur as it crashed against the rocks. "Listen more closely. Johann said music was a beautiful sound. I hear it all around me."
"Selena." He said her name in a throaty voice. Just that and nothing more.
She gazed up at him. "It is all so extraordinary, isn't it?"
He envied her her innocence, her ability to spin dreams. 'There is no music out here, Selena. Just the wind and sea. Ordinary sounds."
She smiled. "You will hear it someday."
Chapter Seventeen
Selena stood at her bedroom window, staring down at the still-darkened yard below. Dawn was a distant blur of bloodred against the black horizon. She wakened, as always, refreshed and excited. Ready for the new day to begin.
Time didn't matter to her as it did to the others. She had relearned how to read the clock, and she knew that now it read 4:30. To Maeve, it was a completely unacceptable time to rise. It was a time for sleeping.
But Selena had slept enough in her life. Too much.
She leaned forward, pressed her forehead to the cold windowpane. Anticipation thrummed through her. The memory of last night wrapped her in warmth. Ian had kissed her, and it was the most wonderful sensation she'd ever imagined. She couldn't wait to feel it again.
Outside, the dark world beckoned her, called to her in a thousand subtle ways. She lifted the sash window, listening to the wonderful creak of the old wood as it reluctantly slid upward. A gentle breeze rolled through the bars, bringing inside the tangy scent of the tide flats. The leaves whispered and danced.
She shouldn't go outside. Ian had warned her not to. She should not be so curious; it had hurt the woman Pandora. But Selena couldn't care about that.
She simply had to be out there, feel the breeze on her 210
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face, touch the dewy moisture on the grass. She put on her robe, then crept down the stairs and slipped outside.
Night clung to the velvet blue sky. In the distance, the sea and the forest were a giant, whispering black shadow.
"You should be in bed."
Selena jumped at the unexpected voice and spun around.
Andrew sat huddled in the shadowy corner of the porch, his legs drawn in close to his chest. His pale, thin face appeared disembodied above his black-clothed frame. Dark hollows accentuated his tired, bloodshot eyes.
She moved toward him, sat down. "What you are doing out here?"
He shrugged. "I don't like the daylight. You've probably never noticed...."
Selena was ashamed for never having noticed something like that. "You do not leave the house except at night?"
"No."
Selena couldn't imagine such a thing. "When I feel the warmth of the sun on my cheeks, I think that God is touching me."
"Not me."
She heard pain in his quavering voice; it reached out to her, wrapped around her heart in a tight grip. She took his hand in hers and urged him to his feet. "Show me the night."
His eyes brightened. "Truly?"
"Yes."
A smile worked itself across his pale face. He tightened his grip on her hand and half dragged her down the steps and toward the trees. "We have to hurry. It will be dawn soon."
Hand in hand, they ran through the trees to a small clearing. All around them, jet black trees pushed up to
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the sky, enclosing them in a murky circle pierced by spears of moonlight.
She was struck by the primeval beauty. What she'd tried to create last night with candles and light, God had wrought with shadows and silence.
Andrew lay down and patted the cold, black earth beside him. Then he pulled out a long strip of flannel. "It is even more beautiful in my imagination," he said, blindfolding himself. "Close your eyes."
Eagerly Selena stretched out beside the young man. Once again, she threaded her fingers through his and held fast.
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