The Whisper Of Wings

by Cassandra Ormand

  Unable to concentrate, he stood up and went to the window of his office. It had taken all the self-control he could muster to stay away from it this morning, but Mason's call had brought him full circle. He could think of little else now. He might as well stop fighting it. He wouldn't rest until this issue was resolved.

  He stared out over the landscape before him. It was all his, as far as he could see. Somehow, it seemed so much more rewarding since Michaela had arrived on the scene. At times, if he stood at his window at just the right moment, he would see the object of his interest on her way to the stables. The idea of joining her was a proposition that had often become too tantalizing to pass up.

  He had a new habit of staying home more often than usual. He wanted to be near her, wanted to watch her progress. He liked seeing her blossom, enjoyed watching as bit by bit her trust began to unfold like a tiny bloom. He liked seeing her happy, smiling, content. Safe. When she had first come to be in his care, she'd been so nervous all the time, afraid to even look at him. Now, on that rare occasion, she would actually meet his eyes, and it always made his heart constrict with something inexplicable, something timeless and untouchable.

  Michaela had slowly begun to relax among the family. She got along famously with the servants, who adored her, and every day she seemed more spirited. Christopher was pleased. His only concern was that she seemed rather too satisfied with her present state, comfortable with the fact that she had no past, no future. Perhaps it was a safety mechanism. Maybe she chose not to face her past because she simply didn't want to deal with the trauma. The happiness of her current circumstances was far more appealing.

  The psychologist had been a mistake. Christopher had been a fool to force the man on her, forcing her into something she hadn't been ready for. He still felt guilty about it. He should have never pressed her so soon. The gesture had put a rift between them. The small amount of trust he'd previously gained had been swept away, and he hadn't been able to get it back. Now she avoided him even more than before.

  Blast his curiosity! He should have better control. But he didn't seem able to help himself. Something altogether foreign had taken over his senses. He had to know things about her. The spartan amount he did know wasn't enough. He wanted to know everything.

  He knew where she had come from, knew that she'd been born of a relatively wealthy Louisiana cotton planter. Her father hadn't been nearly as wealthy as Christopher was, but Michaela had been given all the proper things, a finer education among them. He knew at least some of her circumstances. And he knew her name now.

  Michaela Dunne. It seemed odd. She'd come to be simply Michaela to him, to all of them. The sweet, quiet woman who lived so unobtrusively among them. It was both strange and tragic that such a beautiful soul had been born of such a detestable creature as the one he had spoken with last night. Mrs. Dunne was a hard, unforgiving woman. She must have spent her lifetime taking her bitterness out on other people, most especially on her youngest daughter. Perhaps because of her own oppressed and pitiable existence. Still, that was no excuse.

  He stared at the lawn. Michaela was down there at the stables now. She had become fond of Leo, and she enjoyed spending time among the horses. He'd never been able to bring himself to go down there, to infringe on her enjoyment, though he'd questioned Leo about her to the point of embarrassment. But the thought of joining her today was too tempting to pass up.

  Michaela was smiling as she carefully lifted the hoof of Mr. Standeven's prize stallion and gingerly cleaned the frog. She had been delighted when Leo suggested that she groom Mr. Standeven's personal mount, the most beautiful horse in the stable. Although he was a stallion, he was a gentle animal who loved the attention she gave him, and she didn't spare the pampering.

  "He's such a beautiful boy," she crooned to the animal, so caught up in what she was doing that she wasn't aware Christopher had quietly come up behind her. "Just a big sweetheart."

  Christopher smiled as he watched her. She was so absorbed in her work that she'd quite literally forgotten to be unhappy, and it showed in the joy on her face. Joy of living. Joy he had somehow managed to provide for her. It was something he would defend to his last breath. He never wanted to see her unhappy again.

  Leo wasn't far away, carefully shoeing another horse. When he noticed Christopher, he stopped what he was doing and came to stand next to him, tipping his cap in his convivial way.

  "She knows quite a bit about horses," Leo whispered in an aside to his employer.

  "Yes, I can see that," Christopher murmured, his eyes never leaving Michaela.

  "The stallion absolutely adores her," Leo added, also watching his young friend.

  "Mm," was Christopher's only reply.

  "There." Michaela finished the last brush stroke and ran an appreciative hand over the horse's gleaming coat. The horse nickered and turned its head to nuzzle her palm. She laughed in delight and gave his snout one last rub before stepping back to admire her handiwork. "He's perfect now, soft and silky. What do you think, Le—"

  She'd been in the process of turning to seek Leo's approval when she realized they were no longer alone. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened when she saw Mr. Standeven standing there.

  Christopher dismissed the stable master with a bare trace of a nod and then approached her.

  Michaela was glad she still held one of the grooming brushes. At least, she had something to clutch to keep herself from wringing her hands together in that disturbing habit she'd formed. Anything to keep him from seeing how nervous she suddenly was.

  "I h-hope you don't mind," she managed, her eyes darting toward her toes. She instantly glanced back up, determined to meet his gaze. She was forever and always trying to hide herself from him, and it simply wouldn't do. But, Lord, if she'd displeased him, she would be more unhappy than she cared to admit.

  "Not at all," he answered, running an appreciative eye over his horse. "He looks wonderful. I dare say no one else could have done a finer job."

  He turned his eyes back to hers, and she nearly swooned at the smile he gave her. She'd never seen such an expression on his face. "I've discovered something you like, and that pleases me," he said.

  She tried not to read anything particular into his words, but she couldn't stop the warmth that spread over her. Or the hope. He seemed different today. Almost...approachable.

  He took a step closer, so close that she could feel his warm, sweet breath fanning her cheek when he spoke. She needn't will herself to stay there this time. She was rooted to the spot by the very heat of his nearness, willingly drowning in it, almost shamefully reveling in it.

  "Michaela," he said in that rich way he had of speaking, that way that melted her bones and left her shivering with breathless anticipation. "At my request, Mrs. Avery has prepared a picnic. I would be very pleased if you would join me."

  She felt her pulse quicken at the prospect. It actually sounded like he was inviting her to be alone with him. The idea gave her a surge of excitement.

  "What about Gerald?" The words were out before she could stop them. She immediately regretted the question. She could see that it had been a mistake because something in his expression shifted, closed a bit.

  "He's gone for the day."

  "I would be happy to have lunch with you," she said, eager to amend.

  "Good."

  She relaxed when the smile returned to his face. Perhaps she hadn't ruined it after all.

  "We shall be driving to our destination," he said.

  She felt a momentary panic at the prospect of leaving the grounds, but the thrill of having an opportunity to spend some time alone with him overrode her fear.

  "Would you like a moment to change?"

  "Yes, thank you," she managed, still a bit doe-eyed over the circumstances.

  "I'll arrange for the car while you prepare," he answered.

  She realized then that she'd just been standing there rather stupidly staring back at him, waiting...for what she
wasn't even sure. She managed to pull herself together, and put the grooming brush aside before turning to go back up to the house. Now that it was settled, she had a hard time containing herself. She wanted to run to the house, kicking up her heels and rejoicing in the fact that he wanted to spend time with her. But at the same time she was intimidated by the idea of being alone in his presence. She hoped he wasn't arranging this time alone so that he could question her about what had transpired between herself and the psychologist. In the past few days, no one had uttered a word to her about it, except for Gerald's and Mrs. Avery's constant apologies. Still, she was sure they were all curious, most of all Mr. Standeven.

  Too excited at the prospect of being with him and not wanting to accept anything but the hope that he simply wanted to share her company, she set aside her concerns.

  She only took a few minutes to freshen herself, changing into a light, flowery dress, perfect for a picnic, and then brushing her hair until it was shimmering. After a cursory glance in the mirror, she hurried back downstairs. Christopher Standeven was not a man to be kept waiting.

  He was standing in the foyer when she appeared on the landing above. The moment he realized she was on the stairs, he tipped his head back to watch her descent. She tried to smile, if only to reassure herself, but somehow never managed to. Her blood was racing wildly through her veins. Looking down on him waiting for her there, she couldn't seem to take her eyes off him. He was so attractive in his customary gray trousers and white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, all perfectly pressed. And his eyes, with that searching gaze. If only she could fathom what he was thinking. But that seemed impossible. Surely, he would never unlock his heart to her of all people. She shouldn't even fantasize about it.

  As she descended the last few steps, he smiled and extended his arm for her to take. She only hesitated for a moment, then slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, her heart fairly crashing against her ribcage now.

  "I'm glad you agreed to join me, Michaela. I feared that my bumbling efforts to help you had unwittingly alienated you."

  "I..."

  "No, no. You don't need to answer." He paused, and for a moment, looked as awkward as she felt. He took her hand out of the crook of his arm to hold it in both of his as he drew her around to face him, his smile gone, his expression serious as he contemplated her face.

  "I've been meaning to apologize about that business with the psychologist. It was thoughtless of me not to consult with you first. I realize now that I should have given you more time."

  She could see by his expression, by the earnestness in his voice, that he was sincere, and her heart sang an answer. He didn't seem to mind at all that the psychologist hadn't uncovered her memory. He was only concerned about her feelings in the matter. She felt enormously relieved.

  "I only meant to help you. I thought perhaps I'd been remiss in that."

  "No," she protested, anxious to make him understand that she held him only in the highest regard.

  He shook his head to silence her. "I've heard you in the night. Sometimes you...cry out. I know you're plagued with nightmares, with the horrors of what you've suffered. That is what I sought to help you with, nothing more. So, you see, I was only thinking of you."

  Embarrassed by this sudden knowledge, she lowered her eyes. She wasn't aware that anyone had overheard her agony, yet she was warmed by his admission that he'd been thinking of her welfare.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I never meant to disturb you. I'll have to take more care in the future."

  "No," he answered. "It is I who should take more care. I've been thoughtless, perhaps even selfish, and for that I must express my regret. It will greatly relieve my mind if you will accept my apology."

  She lifted her eyes to meet his, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. Her forgiveness seemed to be important to him. "You've no need to apologize, I—"

  He placed a finger against her lips to stop her. "We need not talk about it again. It is finished. I promise not to interfere in your life again without first consulting you."

  She stared up at him, all her emotions mirrored in her eyes. His finger had brushed her lips for no more than a second, but it burned where he touched, and she thought she might never forget it. Just as she'd never forgotten the feel of his lips on her hand. It was foolish to make too much of his gesture, but she knew she would forever cling to the memory, hold it dear to her.

  "Shall we enjoy our picnic then?" he murmured, smiling as he once again offered his arm.

  She didn't hesitate this time, just placed her hand on his arm with an answering smile of her own. She would be willing now to walk into the very core of the sun with him were he but to ask it of her.

  He opened the door for her and put his hand on the small of her back as she stepped through. A thrill raced up her spin at the possessiveness of the touch. She was being ridiculous, she knew. But she couldn't seem to help herself. He was just so gallant, so much of everything a woman could ever want. She knew he hadn't any romantic interest in her, knew she could never capture his attention in that way, but it was wonderful to just relax and enjoy him, Christopher Standeven the man, every aspect of him, his sheer masculinity, his intellect, his charm, his strength. All that was him. However brief the moment might be. The stimulation of his attention was perhaps better therapy than any psychologist could offer. She didn't like to think it would ever come to be dangerous to her, this hopeless desire she was beginning to develop, so she deliberately thrust the inkling away, determined to live in the moment, if only for a short time.

  Michaela stared in awe at the automobile that waited for them in the driveway. She glanced at the man next to her in surprise, and only stepped forward to get into the vehicle at his urging. It was an immaculately preserved 1910 Silver Ghost, Rolls Royce. She couldn't believe he would be driving her to their destination in an automobile most men would have kept in a garage, locked away from any harm that might befall it. When she said as much, Christopher was quick to differ.

  "Nonsense. An automobile is to be enjoyed. How can one take pleasure in a vehicle when it is sitting in a museum forever being polished by an ape of a man who has no concept of what he is touching?"

  "But it's so beautiful," she murmured, running an appreciative eye over every detail as he helped her into the passenger seat.

  She studied the interior as he came round to get in the driver's side, her eyes hungry to devour anything new, anything challenging.

  "I'm surprised you understand the import of owning such an antique," he commented as he slid the automobile into gear. "Most women don't even pay attention."

  "I love to learn new things. It's been said that it was a man's world until woman arrived."

  He laughed. For the first time he actually laughed, a rich baritone of sound that pealed from his throat with amazing ease. She stared at him, awed, realizing that she was privy to something few people ever saw. Laughter did not come easily to a man like Christopher Standeven, yet she had been able to tease his sense of humor to life. She found herself laughing along with him, happy that he was capable of mirth, and pleased that she was the one who had brought it out in him.

  At the sound of her jollity, his laughter died and he turned to give her an incredulous look, the road ahead forgotten for the moment. "You're laughing."

  She instantly stopped.

  "No, please do continue. I want you to laugh."

  "You were laughing, too," she murmured. It was all she seemed able to say.

  "Yes," he softly answered, his eyes piercing right through to her soul. "I did, didn't I?"

  One wheel of the automobile suddenly hit the grass on the edge of the driveway, and he had to take his eyes off her for a moment to steer the vehicle back onto the pavement before they careened into the ditch. She gave a little squeal of alarm and clutched at the dash. He automatically reached for her hand to soothe her.

  "It's all right. I won't crash us into a tree. I'm a very capable driver
."

  "I trust you," she answered.

  Something inside Christopher's chest constricted, almost painfully. He had wanted to hear those words for a very long time, but he sensed that she still didn't trust him enough to tell him her story. Her confession of trust wasn't enough. He wanted more, so much more from her.

  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then released it to put both his hands back on the steering wheel. Michaela found herself watching him. Her confession seemed to have affected him in some way. He'd grown quiet, so quiet that Michaela began to wonder if she'd spoken out of turn. But she'd merely voiced the truth. It was as much a revelation to her as it was to him. Somewhere along the line, she had come to trust him implicitly. She only wished she knew what he felt about her sudden admission. He'd seemed to want it before, but now...he was reserved again, his expression impassive as ever. And when he finally did speak, it had nothing whatever to do with her statement. It wasn't at all what she wanted to hear.

  "Do you drive, Michaela?"

  "No. Fa—" She'd been about to explain that Father would never allow either of his daughters to learn to drive—that was far too independent a thing for a genteel lady to do—but then cut herself off short when she realized what she had been on the verge of doing, virtually admitting that she'd been lying to him.

  He gave her a sidelong glance but didn't press her to continue, just returned his attention to the road ahead. "I'll teach you if you like."

  She glanced at him in astonishment and could not disguise the excitement in her voice. "Do you really mean that?"

  He turned and briefly studied her expectant face. "Of course." He frowned a bit. "Why wouldn't I?"

  She shrugged, a smile already lighting her face. "I don't know. I just assumed that...well, you're a man."

  "I'm not at all intimidated by a woman who knows how to drive," he answered, as if he knew precisely what she was thinking.