Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt

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by Call Back Yesterday. txt (lit)


  small pond.

  It was truly nothing more than a catch basin for the

  water that flowed in and out in a twisting stream. Trees

  edged both sides, but he was walking toward the one spot

  along the pool where it had been cleared. Or maybe it was

  nothing could grow among the rocks that were almost as

  large as the ones peeking out of the water. As she glanced

  along the stream, she was amazed to see another bridge

  only a short distance away. It must be very old, for its

  stones were weathered and covered with moss.

  “Where does that bridge lead?” she asked.

  “Nowhere. It’s unsafe.” His smile vanished as he

  paused by the water. The lightheartedness he had exhibited

  disappeared into his scowl. “It should be torn down.”

  “Maybe it can be repaired.”

  “That old bridge is not what I brought you here for.”

  Again his expression changed. Since she had arrived here,

  he had been so focused and somber. Now again his smile

  had returned. An uneasiness that started somewhere in the

  pit of her stomach tightened its grip around her until she

  had to fight to breathe.

  “Why did you bring me here then?” she asked.

  “Because you want to go to Egypt.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He chuckled, and her disquiet increased. Not disquiet,

  she realized, but the tingling suspense of walking along

  an unfamiliar street and not being certain if there was

  danger or delight around the next corner.

  Simon did not appear to notice her reaction, because

  he said, “When I was younger, I believed this was a wishing

  pool. If I tossed a penny in and wished hard enough,

  anything was possible.” He pulled a coin out of his pocket

  and placed it on her palm. “Try it.”

  “Shouldn’t you be wishing you can complete the book

  on time?”

  “Why waste a wish on something mundane? Why not

  wish for something more frivolous like your sojourn from

  England?”

  Darcy smiled, unable to halt herself. She wanted to

  put the darkness of the past years behind her and look

  toward the future. Maybe she was letting her own grim

  spirits paint Simon with emotions he was not truly

  experiencing. He seemed determined to make this amusing.

  She would acquiesce and do her best to act as fanciful.

  She closed her eyes, thought of herself stepping ashore

  from a Nile boat, and tossed the penny into the pool.

  “Now your wish will come true.” He drew out another

  coin and let it fly in a lazy arc into the center of the pond.

  “As well as mine.”

  “What did you wish? Not something as mundane as

  finishing your book on time, I hope.” She laughed, but the

  sound trickled away like the water when he did not join

  in.

  For a long moment, he did not answer. Her breath was

  lodged over her rapidly beating heart as he faced her and

  stepped closer. The dizzying sense of having already shared

  every thought within his head flooded her anew. This was

  wrong. It would only lead to disaster.

  “You are wrong,” he murmured.

  “Wrong?” She wondered if he could hear her thoughts.

  “To fear this.”

  “I didn’t say I was frightened.”

  “You don’t need to. I can see it on your face.” His

  voice lowered to an uneven whisper. “Your lovely face.”

  “Simon—Dr. Garnett,” she corrected herself, although

  such formality was a flimsy shield, “I think we should

  return immediately to the carriage.”

  As she turned toward the path leading up to the carriage

  that was, she noticed for the first time, out of view, Simon

  gripped her shoulders and tugged her to him. She could

  almost believe they stood in his office again when he had

  drawn her close. Hadn’t he learned from that mistake?

  Hadn’t she?

  “Don’t go.” There was desperation in his plea. “To

  see you with the sunshine on your face and the sound of

  the water lapping at our feet . . .” His fingers glided along

  her arms, drawing her even nearer. “Have you ever seemed

  to recall something happening just as it did in a vivid

  dream, a dream as real—maybe even more real—as this

  moment?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Once or twice, and I’m caught

  up in a whirlpool of events I can’t stop. But—”

  “I have dreamed of this moment when you stand here

  beside the flowing water with me. Exactly like this,

  although, in that dream, I didn’t know your name. Yet I

  could see your face.” He ran his hand along the brim of

  her bonnet. “I even recall this lace shadowing your face.”

  Knowing she should demand he release her, she heard

  herself asking, “And what happened when we stood here

  by the flowing water?”

  “We spoke and then . . .” His mouth brushed her cheek.

  She stepped back even as a yearning for so much more

  than that reserved kiss rushed through her like an

  undammed torrent. This was not enough. She wanted more,

  the more she had been denied for so long. A part of her

  mind pondered why she should be reacting like this to a

  man she had met such a short time ago, but she heard

  herself asking, “You dreamed this?”

  “Not only that.” He drew her slowly to him. His legs

  were hard against hers, even through the layers of her skirt

  and petticoats.

  When he put a single fingertip under her chin, she

  gasped at the flare of lightning searing through her. She

  stared up into his jade eyes, unable to move and not wanting

  to even if she could. His finger glided along her cheek and

  curled beneath her cheekbone to sweep back down to her

  chin. It drifted across her lips, sending the savage flame

  through her, stronger this time.

  Gently, tentatively, she raised a single fingertip to

  outline the sensuous line of his mouth. Hearing her own

  breath pulsing swiftly, she continued to gaze up into his

  eyes. Shimmering sparks glowed there.

  He tilted her face beneath his. When the soft thickness

  of his mustache brushed her skin as his lips followed the

  gentle angles of her face, her eyes closed. Quivers ran

  through her as his tongue flicked its way along the uneven

  shape of her ear.

  Then, his mouth slanted across hers, and her arms

  curved around his shoulders. He brought her down to kneel

  beside him and drew her into the arc of his embrace. Her

  senses filled with sensations as strong as the scent of

  greenery around them, as unstoppable as the water, as

  encompassing as the sunshine. Sensations excruciatingly

  new and exquisitely familiar at the same time. She moaned

  against his lips when his arms tightened around her.

  Did she hear his husky laugh in the moment before

  his tongue delved into her mouth to explore each facet? It

  teased her, urging her to be as eager in finding their

  pleasure. She ached to be even closer to him, to share what
r />   had been theirs.

  With a gasp—this time of horrified dismay, Darcy

  pulled herself away. Or tried to, for Simon’s arms did not

  open to let her escape.

  “Do not scurry away,” he murmured. “The hour is still

  early, and the day’s heat is not yet upon us. Stay here and

  warm me while—”

  “Simon, what are you talking about?” She was

  frightened by his strange words and her reaction to them.

  A small whisper from deep within her mind beseeched

  her to heed him and forget everything but the delight of

  his kisses.

  His eyes focused on her and then grew hard. The

  enticing curve of his lips straightened. With a curse, he

  released her. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He stood

  and held out his hand to bring her to her feet. He released

  her fingers so quickly her hand was left hanging in the air

  between them. Turning on his heel, he strode toward the

  carriage.

  Darcy blinked. Had she been mad to kiss him like this?

  A man she barely knew? Worst yet, her employer. He had

  every reason to send her back to London immediately. She

  had been so worried about doing a good job for him on

  her typewriter. Not once had she imagined she might be

  sent away from Rosewood Hall because she lost control

  of herself.

  Twice.

  She put her fingers to her lips which still tingled from

  his eager, deeply probing kiss. Among all the questions,

  one thing was clear. When she wrote of Meskhenet

  yearning for her lover’s kiss, she had had no idea of the

  splendor of a man’s lips on hers.

  A shiver etched along her spine as she imagined his

  lips against hers again . . . as Kafele had kissed Meskhenet

  in Jaddeh’s story.

  Her breath caught in her throat when she imagined

  Simon holding her while she wore the diaphanous gown

  Meskhenet donned each day. Simon’s heated hands would

  burn away the fabric to enlighten her skin with rapture.

  His hair was not the kohl of Kafele’s, but she guessed the

  breadth of his bare chest would be no less magnificent. In

  so many ways, he reminded her of Meskhenet’s daring

  gallant. Intense, driven by ambition, and creating an

  undeniable fascination for her.

  Don’t be an idiot. This had been a mistake.

  She looked up to see Simon was almost to the top of

  the hill. He glanced back, and as if no amount of distance

  mattered, his gaze captured hers as it had when they stood

  side-by-side.

  Hastily, she lowered her eyes. She must not give him

  more cause to think she was a wanton. Gathering up her

  skirt, she brushed dirt from where she had been kneeling.

  Her mind spun at the very idea of what had happened here.

  As she walked up the hill in Simon’s wake, she tried to

  piece together when the situation had exploded out of the

  commonplace.

  Simon stood by the carriage, and Nash sat in the box.

  Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, but nothing could

  be the same. She whispered the merest thanks when Simon

  handed her into the carriage. She sat where she had before

  and kept her gaze on her folded hands as it lurched into

  motion.

  “Darcy . . . Miss Kincaid.” Simon cleared his throat

  and, when she glanced at him, stared at the front of the

  carriage. “I’m not certain what came over me. It was most

  unlike me to force my attentions on you.”

  She did not want to argue, but, when he had drawn

  her into his arms, she had seen genuine passion on his

  face. The same passion she had seen when he spoke of his

  work, and, she recalled with a shudder, the same passion

  she had seen in her imagination when she thought of

  Kafele. How could two men who were so many centuries

  apart seem so alike?

  “I can assure you as well,” Darcy said, “I’ve never

  allowed such—”

  “Liberties?” His laugh was taut. “Even trite phrases

  seem uncomfortable now.” His fingers rose toward her

  cheek, then he drew them back. “I have no excuse for my

  actions, but for one that sounds absurd.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His smile was cold once more. “Do you wish to hear

  of my compulsion to kiss you? A compulsion I couldn’t

  resist?”

  She raised her gaze from her folded hands to meet his

  eyes. “I understand.”

  “You do.”

  “You couldn’t not kiss me, and I couldn’t not let you,”

  she whispered, wanting to ask what he was hiding beneath

  these proper manners. It took every bit of her flagging

  strength to say, “If you wish me to present my resignation

  and—”

  “That isn’t necessary, for the incident won’t be

  repeated.”

  “I’m glad.” When had lying become so easy? She knew

  it was insane to want him to kiss her again, but this

  inexplicable longing refused to be ignored.

  His eyes became emerald slits. “Tell me something.”

  “If I can.” She grasped the window as the carriage

  bounced into another hole in the road.

  “Why does this odd feeling of familiarity persist? I

  haven’t met you before you came to Rosewood Hall, and

  yet, there is something about you that seems as familiar as

  those people whom I have known all my life.”

  “I can’t say.” Nor would she admit she had been

  consumed too often by the same bewildering sensation.

  “There might be someone else you have met who reminds

  you of me.” She yelped as a wheel dropped into a hole.

  Simon’s hand on her arm kept her on the seat. When

  she turned to thank him, his fingers spread along her

  shoulder. Her words seemed to shrivel in her mouth as her

  own hand rose, unbidden. She hastily lowered it at the

  very moment he yanked his fingers back from her.

  He stared down at it as if he believed he had been

  betrayed by his own body. Her expectation he would

  apologize vanished when he continued as if there had been

  no intrusion in their conversation, “It isn’t that you remind

  me of someone. I have seen many faces in my travels

  throughout Europe and Asia, and many people I have met

  have brought other faces to mind. This is nothing like that.

  This is a knowing, a longing born not of discovery, but of

  rediscovery.”

  “I’d rather we said no more of this.”

  “Frightened?”

  Yes, she wanted to shout. She was frightened of her

  longing to be in his arms and of the sensation he described

  so well. Rediscovery. That was what it had been. The

  simple, inexpressible joy of finding something precious

  that had been lost.

  “It isn’t a matter of being frightened,” she said in her

  best imitation of Miss Mumsey. “You are my employer.”

  “So you’ve said already.”

  “I trust you will forget this when I seek another

  position. Without a good recommendation—”

  “I don’t intend to ruin your reputation
as a competent

  secretary.” He gave her another of his cold smiles. “Nor

  as a young woman, especially when you have done nothing

  wrong.” He reached for his book and, without another

  word, began to read.

  As the carriage continued to bounce along the uneven

  road, Darcy stared out the window without seeing anything

  they passed. She must pretend as he was that everything

  could be just as it had been before. She feared that was no

  longer possible.

  Six

  The carriage stopped in front of the largest cottage in

  Halyeyn. Only a score of buildings made up the whole

  village. Like the others along the single street, this cottage

  was covered with a green cloak of vines. Marble steps

  and an ornately turned balustrade hinted at an unanticipated

  elegance within, for the steps and banister seemed more

  likely to be seen in London than in this small village.

  When Simon assisted Darcy from the coach, he

  released her hand the very moment her feet touched the

  cobbled road. She nodded her thanks, not trusting her voice.

  Each touch, even an insignificant one, coursed a pleasure

  through her that was both unwanted and desperately

  yearned for. She should present her resignation as soon as

  they returned to Rosewood Hall, but how could she? She

  needed this position.

  Walking through the gate and to the front door, she

  saw that the highest peak of Rosewood Hall’s roof was

  visible from this street. The small woods she could see

  from her bedroom hid most of the house along with the

  section of the garden where the overgrown shrubs

  commanded the edge of the hill dropping toward the

  village. The stream they had crossed on their way tumbled

  down that hill. She wondered if there was a spring lost

  somewhere among the bushes. This was not the time to

  ask.

  Simon knocked on the oak door. A gray-haired woman,

  who squinted at them, answered so quickly Darcy

  suspected their arrival had already been noted.

  “Good day, Mrs. Lennox,” Simon said as he stepped

  aside to let Darcy enter the house ahead of him. “I trust

  the vicar is at home to guests.”

  “I shall announce you, Dr. Garnett, if Reverend

  Fairfield is willing to be disturbed. Today is sermon writing

  day, as you should know,” the dour woman said, vanishing

 

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