“No,” she whimpered softly as she felt him straighten up again, as she heard the steady tread of his feet walking away from her. “No.” Come back…
But it was too late. He was already gone.
Chapter Eleven
Ophelia didn’t see Dario for what seemed like several weeks after that. Christmas came and went; she heard about it in passing. Slowly, she grew stronger, almost in spite of herself, until lucidity became a matter of course, rather than a cause for celebration. The ties were removed from her wrists and she was allowed to sit up for several hours each day and even to attempt to feed herself—though that was a sore trial, with only one good hand.
The nurse went back to her own home. Mrs. Harrison returned to her regular duties. Arthur came and sat with her each afternoon, following his luncheon. But of Dario, she saw not a sign.
Perhaps it had been no more than a dream. Or perhaps she really had sent him away. She thought several times of asking where he’d gone, but always she backed down, afraid to learn that it was true. In any case, it seemed that he was never coming back and that, dream or not, she really had lost him for good.
Just a week or so into the new year Ophelia woke up one night, startled by a slight sound within her room. By the dim light cast by the flickering fire, she could just make out a figure seated by her bedside, head bowed, arms resting on his knees. “Dario?”
He started and looked up, staring guiltily at her, but said nothing.
“What are you doing here?”
“I… Nothing.” Hurriedly, Dario got to his feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll go if you want.”
“Go?” Ophelia stared at him uncomprehendingly. Did she want him to go? Hadn’t it always been the other way around?
“I’ve treated you so abominably. I’d understand it if you hated me.”
Ophelia shook her head. “I do want to hate you.” If only she could hate him. It would make things so much simpler if that were the case. It would definitely hurt less. “And I am going to leave you.”
“I know,” Dario answered sadly. “So you’ve said.” He stood for a moment longer, staring irresolutely at her, before sitting once again on the chair he’d just vacated. “Must you though? Is there no way for us to work things out?”
Ophelia closed her eyes. She was puzzled by his words but too tired to make sense of anything right now. Wasn’t he leaving again? Hadn’t he just said that he was? Isn’t that what she wanted him to do?
“I won’t stop you, Lia. It’s important to me that you know that. You don’t have to be afraid of me anymore. Whatever you want…I promise, I won’t stand in your way.”
“Good,” Ophelia murmured as she drifted back to sleep. “Don’t stand in my way, Dario. I don’t want you there.” But, in her dreams—the pleasant ones—that’s exactly what he was doing. Standing there. Right in front of her. Reaching for her. His eyes were hot with desire. His smile promised…oh, so many things, all of them good. And leaving him was always the last thing, the very last thing, she ever wanted to do…
It was night again the next time she awoke. Maybe it was the same night; she had no way of knowing. The same candle, or one just like it, flickered on the bedside table and the chair beside her bed was once again occupied.
“You’re still here.”
Dario nodded sadly. “I can’t stay away. Not now, after I’ve wasted so much time—all those years that I can never get back. I’d give anything if I could take back just a fraction of that time, if I could take back my thoughtless words and all the hurt I caused you.”
The pain in his voice went straight to Ophelia’s heart. Without thinking, she reached out to him, stretching out her damaged hand toward his face. “Dario, please. Don’t say such things.”
He took hold of her hand, gently capturing it between his own and brought it to his lips. “My darling,” he whispered, kissing her hand over and over again. At the same time, he pushed aside the chair he’d been using and moved to sit on the bed beside her instead. “Tell me what I can do. There must be something. Please, Lia, tell me how I might make things right between us.”
“Dario, stop.” His hip was pressed against her side, with only the thin barrier of her nightgown separating them. Arousal unfurled within her, like desert flowers blossoming after a ten-year-long drought. She wanted him. Dear God, she wanted him. So badly. But it was wrong. She knew it had to be wrong. She knew she shouldn’t be feeling this way; not now, not after everything he’d done. But, still, she couldn’t stop. Her heart beat faster and she dropped her gaze, not knowing where to look. “We shouldn’t.”
“If you want me to leave just say the word,” Dario promised, still lavishing her hand with tender kisses. “One word and I’ll go, I swear it. But…oh, how I wish you’d give me one more chance, that you’d let me stay here, with you, instead.”
Ophelia hung her head. She so wanted to be strong, to send him away, to deny his right to any kind of redemption. She couldn’t though. Not completely. “Stay.” She didn’t say for how long. She wouldn’t say for how long. But for now… “Just…stay.”
“Thank you.” Dario moved again, stretching out to lie beside her. Ophelia’s breath caught. Had she known he meant to do that? Was it what she was secretly hoping for?
He was fully clothed, which should help. It didn’t. If anything, it made her own vulnerability and near-nakedness more strikingly obvious. She edged back toward the far side of the bed, away from him, whimpering a little as she did. Was she trying to put space between them, or was her goal to make more room for him, to give him the opportunity to move in even closer? She wished she knew for certain. Part of her craved his touch. Part of her wanted only to be left alone…
Dario pressed another kiss in the center of her palm then laid her hand against his cheek, sighing sadly as he did. “Your poor little hand.”
At the reminder, an embarrassed blush climbed Ophelia’s cheeks. Her hand was now nothing her father would be proud of having fashioned. The damage to her nerves and tendons had been extreme, had left it ugly and misshapen. It was swollen to almost twice its normal size, largely useless and with very little feeling. She tried to pull the limb back, hoping to hide her deformity beneath the bedclothes. “Let me go.” But Dario refused to relinquish it.
“I’m sorry, Lia, so dreadfully sorry. I was so wrong, so foolish. Can you ever forgive me?”
She glanced away. “I don’t know,” she answered, refusing to meet his gaze, clinging stubbornly to her anger. It was all she had left, her last defense.
“I never meant to hurt you. I never even realized what I was doing could hurt you. Please believe that. I love you so much. I know that means nothing to you now, but—”
“Stop!” She glared at him then, almost speechless with inchoate rage. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare pretend…” a sob welled up her throat, “…to care.”
“But I do care.” Dario stared at her, his eyes stricken. “Of course I care.”
She shook her head, unable to answer. Tears filled her eyes and obscured her sight.
“Oh, darling, no.” Dario gathered her close. Her face was pressed against his shirtfront. She breathed in the scent of him and cried all the harder. “Please don’t cry,” Dario begged. “I wouldn’t upset you for all the world. I love you, Lia—more than life itself. I always have.” He pulled back and stared at her sadly. “I always will. But that doesn’t matter now, does it? Not after all the hurt I’ve caused you. You couldn’t ever love me again. Could you?”
It wasn’t fair, his asking her that. She shook her head and blinked away her tears. It wasn’t fair the way her traitorous heart beat faster at the thought that maybe, just maybe, he actually meant it. “Why, Dario? You didn’t love me before, so why now?” Why now, when she was scarred and burned and crippled, when no one knew if she’d ever recover either her looks or her strength. “I can’t even bear to have you look at me now, to have you see me like this.”
“You�
�re still beautiful, Lia, but it doesn’t matter what you look like. It’s your soul I love.”
“You said I didn’t have one,” she reminded him. It still hurt to remember that.
Dario nodded. “I know. I did. And that’s just one small example of my stupidity—a stupidity that I shall never cease regretting.” He studied her face for a moment longer then sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I have no right to upset you like this. I’ll go now.”
He started to pull away, but Ophelia put out a hand to stop him. “No.”
He gazed at her questioningly, but said nothing.
“Don’t you… That is…” She dropped her gaze again. “You’re still my husband. Doesn’t that give you…some rights?”
Dario sighed. “No, Lia, it doesn’t. Only if you can honestly say you still love me. Then, maybe…”
Ophelia bit her lip. Her heart twisted in pain. It wasn’t love that was the issue here tonight, was it? The real issue was trust and courage—two far less hardy blooms. “You know I love you, Dario,” she said at last. “You know I do.”
Dario sighed. He pulled her close and held her gently. “But is that enough? Can it ever be? After all I’ve done, after everything that’s occurred between us?”
Ophelia shook her head. She had no answer to that. She was content, for the moment, to lie there with her head pressed against his chest, with his heart beating in her ear. But as for anything else, “I just don’t know.”
“Go to sleep now,” Dario urged. “Maybe in the morning things will make more sense.”
But, in the morning, Dario was gone. And Ophelia wasn’t at all certain she hadn’t just been dreaming.
Chapter Twelve
“What do you do with yourself all day?” Ophelia asked her son. It was several days later, several days without a single glimpse of Dario. She studied Arthur’s face. He didn’t seem unhappy. She wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful for that fact, or worried. “You’re not bored are you?”
Arthur shook his head. “I have far too much work to do here to ever be bored,” he answered gravely.
Ophelia tried hard not to laugh at his manner. “Dear me, that sounds most impressive. Will you not give me an example?”
“Well, first thing in the morning I go out and help feed the horses,” he answered with more than a hint of pride. “They’re getting to know me, Papa says. And then, right after breakfast, I do my sums. Papa helps me with those too. He says I’m getting very good at them.”
“Does he?” Ophelia plucked nervously at the bedclothes. “How very nice of him.”
“And I’m learning to read.” The pride in his voice was even more unmistakable now. He pointed at the book someone had left on her table. “Soon I’ll be able to read to you sometimes, instead of it always being the other way around. You’ll like that, won’t you, Mama?”
Ophelia faked a smile. “Yes, love. That will be most enjoyable.” She hadn’t been able to read a word to him since her accident. Her voice was too weak, her eyes were too weak, her hand was too weak… She missed it—the closeness, the cuddling, the special time spent together with him—more than she’d realized. And, quite possibly, more than he did. He was growing up so fast. Her throat seemed to close up at the thought; she had to clear it before she could speak again. “And who’s helping you with your reading then?”
“Papa.”
“Ah.” Ophelia nodded, still smiling just as though her heart weren’t sinking. “I see.” Was this why Dario stayed away? Because he was too busy winning over Arthur’s affections? “What else do you and your father do?”
To her surprise, Arthur dropped his gaze to the floor, staring at his shoes as though they had suddenly become the most interesting objects in the room. “I don’t know if I should tell you the rest.”
“Arthur!” Ophelia sat up straighter. “Of course you should tell me. I’m your mother. You must tell me at once!”
“It’s supposed to be a secret,” he replied, lips pinched together mutinously. “It’s something for you. Something to make you stay.”
“To make me stay?” Visions of golden cages rose in her mind. She shook her head in an effort to disperse them. No, surely not.
“To make you want to stay,” Arthur corrected. “But, you do want to stay here, don’t you? You said you liked it here—when we were on the airship. Remember?” His voice was piteous, but Ophelia shook her head.
“I assure you, Arthur, as nice as you think this is, you’ll like California ever so much more.” She was reasonably certain that was so. True, she’d only been there once, and on her honeymoon at that, but she recalled it as being quite lovely. And, as Dario himself had pointed out, it was quite a safe distance from here.
“No, I won’t like it.” Arthur rose from his chair and stood beside it trembling, scowling at her. “I won’t like it at all. I’ll hate it.”
“You can’t know that ’til you’ve been there,” Ophelia pointed out. “Don’t you at least want to go and find out what it’s like?”
“No.” Arthur shook his head so hard his blond curls bounced. “I don’t want to go anywhere. I know Papa says we’re not supposed to argue with you—at least not until after you’re better—and that I should be a good boy and do whatever you tell me and not give you any cause to worry again, but I don’t care. This is my home now. Papa said so. He wants us to stay.”
“I’ve no doubt he said so, Arthur, and I don’t blame you for believing him. I’m sure he believes himself that he wants you to stay—for now. But—”
“He wants us both to stay. He wants us to be real a family.”
“He doesn’t.”
“He does too. He said he does. And I want that too. I won’t go.”
“Let me tell you something about your papa…” Ophelia began, her voice trailing away as Arthur’s words registered in her mind. She blinked in surprise, too startled to stop Arthur from running from the room. Had Dario really said all that?
Dario was passing through the foyer as Arthur came clattering down the stairs. “Slow down,” he advised and then, noticing the boy looked upset, put out an arm to stop him. “What’s wrong?”
“She wants to leave,” Arthur blurted, tears swimming in his eyes. “I told her I didn’t want to, but she still wants to leave.”
Dario sighed. “How many times have we talked about this? We’ll need patience to change her mind, Arthur, and gentleness. You can’t force these things. But, there’s time yet. No one is going anywhere today, are they?”
“No, but… But what if she never changes her mind? What then?”
Dario framed the boy’s face with his hand for a moment. What then, indeed? “Well, son, if all else fails, and we can’t convince her, then we’ll have to be brave for her—just as she was for you—and do as she asks. We owe her no less. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Arthur answered reluctantly.
Dario smiled at him encouragingly. “But let’s not worry about that now, shall we? Go and change your clothes. We still have a lot of work to do.”
Arthur ran off to get changed. Dario was about to do likewise when the sound of something heavy toppling over filtered down from the floor above. “Ophelia?” His heart in his throat, he raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
The first thing Dario saw when he burst into her room was the chair in which he’d so often sat overturned on the floor and Ophelia, half-bent over it, struggling to get her feet back under her. He went to her immediately and helped her to stand. Holding her close, he thrilled to the feel of her so soft and pliant, pressed so willingly against him. When she reached again for the chair to right it, he kicked it away. “Leave it,” he ordered, urging her back toward the bed. “What are you doing getting up? You could have hurt yourself!”
“I assure you, I’m quite all right.” But she didn’t pull away and she offered no protest when he pushed aside the bed clothes and settled her back in bed.
“Where were you trying to go, anyway?”
Ophelia eyed him curiously as he tucked the blankets in around her. “Actually, I was coming to look for you.”
Dario frowned, wishing she’d look away and stop staring so. His hands were shaking and it was all he could do to keep them from accidentally-on-purpose brushing against her. This was exactly the reason he’d been trying so hard to keep his distance—why he’d sent her away eight years ago in the first place. He was only human, after all, and this constant battle to keep his hands to himself was one he was doomed to always lose. “What was it you wanted to find me for?” he asked at last, steeling himself for her response. It was unlikely it was for anything good.
“I was speaking with Arthur just now,” Ophelia said, confirming his worst suspicions. “He tells me the two of you have been working on something. A secret. Something to make me stay here.”
Dario couldn’t help but wince at that. “I would have phrased it somewhat differently. I would have said, ‘something we very much hope you’ll like.’”
“Something I’ll like…enough to want to stay?” A small frown creased her brow. She still stared at him steadily, but her hands nervously pleated the sheet. “Or is he wrong altogether? Was that not the intention?”
Dario sighed. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he busied himself with the chair, picking it up and putting it back into place beside the bed, so close that when he sat his knees grazed the mattress. Still not close enough. “I told you, Lia. I will no longer try and make you do anything you do not wish to do. If you wish to leave…then I will assist you in any way I can.” Even if it kills me.
“I won’t leave without Arthur,” she warned.
“I realize that.” He couldn’t help but laugh just a little at her fierceness, at the determined jut of her chin; just as he could no longer resist the impulse to run his hand through her short, golden curls—just one last time. “Believe me, my darling, you’ve more than made your point in that regard.”
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