Just the Way You Are (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 1)

by Pepper Basham

  Her sobs grew. There was nothing else to be done. He stood and made for the door, but she caught the sleeve of his Oxford and jerked him toward the sofa. He pulled free, stumbling back, but she met him and buried her wet face into his shoulder.

  “You can’t do this, Wesley. Please. After all this time, after all we’ve been through together.”

  He stiffened and attempted to pull away, but her grip tightened, kneading her hands into his back. Heat made a steady climb to his face and carnal descent through his body. His skin responded with rebellious heat and almost suffocated him. God, help me. He pushed her away with the effort of prying apart Velcro® and stepped toward the door.

  “There is something wrong here.” The words chopped between breaths. “Perhaps you should see your doctor.”

  “I don’t need my doctor. I need you to come to your senses.” She marched to the window, then swung around.

  The disappointed, worried woman evaporated like the click of a switch. It was all a game? He’d been played by his co-conspirator? The picture cleared slowly and with painful clarity. She’d manipulated him for years, and he’d let her. What a fool he’d been.

  “What happened to us, Wesley? I’ve waited for you to move past your grief, regret, your religious experience. I’m through with patience.”

  “I’ve finally come to my senses.” The edge in his voice caught her attention. “For the first time, I see very clearly and it’s made my decision much easier.”

  “Has it? You’re not the best at decisions, my dear. Should I remind you where you were the night Jane died?” Her ebony brow curled upward. “Or rather, whom you were with?”

  Wes flinched. His gaze flickered down Vivian’s body, the two-year-old burden a leaden weight. “I know the damage I caused. The pain.” He straightened, fighting against the despair her accusation unearthed. God told him otherwise. He clung to the truth. “There isn’t a day I don’t hate my betrayal of her.”

  “Her? I’ve stood by you these years and you mention her?” Vivian crossed to him, eyes narrowed to viperous slits. “You’ve always been naive. You weren’t her only lover, you know. The baby could have belonged to one of the others.”

  The declaration splashed like alcohol on an open wound. Jane’s lovers. Yes, he’d found out about them the month before she died. Punished her by ignoring her pleas for forgiveness, distancing himself while she grieved for their child. Her child. He’d remained faithful to her before then, devoted himself to her alone, especially after the baby. But then Vivian came. His arrogance coupled with his base need had triggered the executioner’s accurate swing. Agony spilled through him, consuming the fire and leaving the hiss of shame as thick as the perspiration on his skin. Could his forgiveness have saved her life?

  Vivian met him at the door and captured his face between her hands, her voice a whisper. “Why fight so hard, darling? We can drown our hurt within each other. Jane never appreciated you, loved you”—her voice mellowed, inching closer, breath mixing with breath— “as I do.”

  Eisley’s words made a mad dash to his thoughts. It’s all smoke and mirrors without love.

  Love. That’s what he wanted. And that’s exactly what God promised. He breathed in the freedom and pushed Vivian away. He was not a slave to his sin any longer.

  “No more, Vivian.” He shook his head to clear it from any of her lingering influence. “I am bound to you no longer. Everything I’ve done, you’ve contorted it into some sick game.” He slicked back his damp hair with his shaking hand. God, forgive me.

  She started forward but he swung open the door, separating them by the threshold and nodded to Grace, who had returned to her desk. “You used my past and my guilt to seduce me. And you call it love? You don’t know what love is.” He leveled his full attention on her, furious at himself, at her. “I cannot change my past. God knows I would, but I can change my future. Starting right now.”

  Her voice dissolved into a whimper. “But if you leave—”

  He lifted his hand to silence her. “Do what you will. I can’t rescue you. And I’m finished trying.” He turned to his secretary. “I’m departing for Derbyshire, Grace. Would you lock up after Ms. Barry leaves?” He faced Vivian. “We won’t be seeing her again.”

  Chapter Ten

  Chatsworth House, the Palace of the Peaks, created a dramatic backdrop behind Eisley as she walked toward the gardens, casting a magical promise of pixie dust and princesses. Gilded by the last rays of afternoon light, the edifice rose like a beacon of wealth and creative architecture.

  From the magnificent painted hall with its masterpiece ceiling and immaculate great staircase, to the sculpture gallery of alabaster stone, it detailed a world fit for daydreams and movies. In fact, every room in the house was a work of art, from paintings with scenes of Greek gods to those portraying Christ in his glory, as well as furnishings of varying dates and designs—even a pair of thrones. It was mind-boggling, and she’d taken one hundred and seventy-five pictures to prove it to the folks back home.

  Dusky hues filtered through an overhang of trees and the sweet melody of birdsong serenaded her steps up the gravel lane toward the gardens. How could she return to normal life after this? With a solid dose of Regency magic in her thoughts, along with Lizzie’s conversation from the morning, Wes’s movie A Ransomed Gentleman came to mind. He’d played the part of a reformed scoundrel, charmed into a new life by the love of a woman. It was easily the best acting of his career thus far, probably because he’d lived it.

  Snippets of past web searches revealed a long display of model look-alikes on his arm, in his arms. The tabloids had a field day guessing who would end up with him next. And Eisley refused to watch one of his films because the movie trailer showed more skin and hailed more curse words than a football team’s locker room.

  Even if Lizzie had spinster-induced delusional expectations, she was right. Wes wasn’t the same man he used to be. The new Wes seemed to know the power of grace. The reforming hand of love. The beauty of forgiveness.

  Forgiveness. A stark reminder of the newest letter she and Lizzie had discovered. No matter how many sermons she’d heard over the past three years, none of them struck the basement of her soul like the forgiveness threaded through Julia’s newest letter, one to the man who had broken their engagement. Its conviction pierced her spirit’s bull's-eye and drilled a death blow to the bitterness knotted deep. Forgiveness was the only true remedy—forgiveness of Marshall. She shuddered and squeezed her eyes closed, her shoulders tense with the last remnants of her fear.

  Forgive one another, just as in Christ, God forgave you.

  “God.” Her voice sounded small in the open air. “I can’t do this on my own, but I can with your help.” Peace began a sudden course through her, steadying her nerves. “Please help me forgive Marshall.” A tight thread around her heart loosened.

  And yourself, Beloved.

  The whispered words caved her last strip of pride. She wiped a hand across her misty vision, the words souring in her mouth a little. “Okay, Lord. I give.” Divine strength and pure will fisted her emotions and wrestled them into submission. Forgiving Marshall might be a lot easier than forgiving herself. She looked up at the gray sky. “Help me trust you to guide my choices and open my heart to your path for me.”

  Prayer was the first step. But already she felt the welcome ease in her spirit, the comfort of doing things God’s way, as contrary to her human nature as it might be. She drew in a deep breath of the crisp evening air and increased her pace down the long pathway between the trees, her feet crunching on the gravel. Maybe she could find a nice guy back home, like a schoolteacher or carpenter—someone who fit into her world.

  A path to her left brought her to the goal of her walk, the garden maze: thumb-shaped bushes lined the footpath to the perfectly squared maze, which spiraled into a labyrinth of hedges leading to an open space in the center, marked by a weeping willow.

  Her maze history consisted of the corn maze at her A
unt Tilley’s farm, created for Halloween every year. So this clipped, pruned, and beautifully-crafted maze was a new type of puzzle. And after her excursions in a subterranean passageway, she should be a pro at solving mysteries, right?

  She walked through the hedge-arched entryway and immediately had to make a choice between left or right. She chose right. The chilly air rustled by, hushing the leaves inside the ten-foot verges like a whisper. This shouldn’t be too hard. A few more turns resulted in a dead end and then another. She growled and doubled back, arriving at the entrance again.

  Seriously? No way was she giving up. Dried leaves crunched underfoot as she started again, her walk speeding to a jog through the narrow pathway between the towering bushes. Left, then right. Another dead end? Good heavens, she could see the tree rising above the hedgerows, pointing its crooked branches at her like fingers, but apart from vaulting over the hedges, she couldn’t figure out the way. She twisted around another corner and caught a glimpse of the tree, even a bench underneath, through gaps in leaves. Aha! Increasing her pace, she made the next turn and rammed directly into someone. She steadied against him and looked up.

  “Wes?”

  “I hoped to find you here.”

  Words straight to a girl’s heart. Find me? Keep me? She ignored the stupid flutter and studied Mr. Gorgeous. He steadied her with hands to her shoulders and then stepped away, almost cautious. His eyes looked tired, weary even, and his smile faded too quickly.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Of course.”

  Big lie.

  He shook his head and forked his fingers through his lovely hair, avoiding her gaze. “Mum and Dad told me you were coming to the maze.”

  “How is your dad feeling?”

  “He’s still recovering from his shortness of breath after the house tour, but feeling better.” His lips drooped in a sorrowful sort of way. No light in those eyes, which looked suspiciously red from…crying? Her heart twisted tight. She didn’t have a lot of experience with a man who cried. “The tour overtaxed him, but Mother is ensuring he rests before we drive home. He’s still having trouble breathing.”

  Eisley laughed to lighten the mood. “Well, who can blame him? The tour guide said something about seventeen staircases. And I’ve never seen so many near-naked bodies in all my life. What would you say? Eighty-five percent of the statues in the house are naked or very close to it? That’s enough to cause anyone to have trouble breathing.”

  His grin almost reached his eyes. Well that was progress, but she was hoping for a dimple or two. She waited and he finally looked up, his expression raw. Vulnerable. She shifted closer.

  “Looks like you could use a friend. Just so happens, we shook on it.” Her comment drew out a dimple. Score. “Do you know how to get to the bench just over this hedge? Maybe we could sit and talk in there. Nobody is around and it seems like a pretty secluded spot.”

  He tilted his head, studying her, and then took her hand, guiding her around the next turn to the center of the maze. Hmm. Well, she’d almost made it on her own. The tree’s trunk crooked upward with barren winter limbs weeping downward like an umbrella. They were surrounded by the maze, a little haven. Eisley settled onto the wooden bench, but Wes paced in silence.

  “Bad audition?”

  He shuffled from one foot to the next and stared up at the sky, hands in his jeans pockets. Poor guy. Whatever it was, it hurt. The pucker of his brow and tension in his jaw proved it was deep. She waited, wind brushing her cheeks and bringing little hints of spice in her direction.

  He cleared his throat and finally sat beside her, bending forward so his elbows rested on his knees, his gaze to the ground. “Have you ever felt trapped by your past, defined by it?”

  “You know I have.”

  He shook his head, a sigh pressed out. “Sometimes it seems no matter how much good I do, I can’t escape the reputation I left behind.”

  “Our pasts will always be there, but they don’t have to define who we are now.” Her declaration pinched into her recent conviction. Beloved, he called her. A wave of relief poured over her. “They show us where we’ve come from, and give us hope to believe in something even better.”

  Exactly. She wasn’t doomed to make the same mistake. Not if she focused on God instead of herself.

  “Vivian found me and practically forced herself on me.” His brow creased into a ‘V’, probably for Vivian. “I’d hoped to show her kindness, but she’s manipulated me with the guilt from the past. I was an idiot. How could I have been so foolish and blind?”

  “We’re all foolish and blind sometimes, Wes. It’s what we do when we learn how to see that makes a difference.” Eisley’s gaze roamed his face. The mere mention of Vivian Barry should have fueled her look but don’t touch mentality, but Wes’s openness, his vulnerability, pricked at her stupid heart.

  Christopher Wesley Harrison might be bulletproof, but Wes Harrison could use a friend, maybe even a rescue. Her palms ached to brush back the one loose strand from his hair which fell over his forehead, to lay her head against his shoulder under the haven of this tree and offer her comfort, to…. Whoa, thoughts. Stop. Right. There.

  She covered his hand with hers, clearly rebelling against the warning signs. “God loves you just the way you are. It’s amazing and humbling, and oh so wonderful for those of us who fall flat on our faces most days.” She squeezed his hand to punctuate her words. “And he forgives completely. We’re the ones who hold on to things. That realization hit me like a linebacker this morning when I read over the new letters we found.”

  A small smile upset his frown. “You found more?”

  She pressed her shoulder into his, trying to draw him away from his darker thoughts. “I can’t wait to show you.”

  He stared down at her hand and gently covered it with his own, allowing silence a moment’s place. “Your past is spotless compared to mine. I’ve made ruthless decisions that altered the courses of other people’s lives and left mine in shambles.”

  “Don’t bet your money on my past. You weren’t a Christian when you made your choices. I was. I should have known better, but what did I do? Went against my parents’ advice, my grandmother’s advice, and the sting of my own conscience because I was selfish and listened to my hormones over the Holy Spirit. Now who hurts from my rash decision? Not just me, but my kids and my family.” She nudged him again. “The truth still remains: God forgives completely, no strings attached. And our lives aren’t in shambles anymore. You can’t blame yourself for Jane’s choices any more than I should blame myself for Marshall’s.”

  “Who told you about…?” He rolled his eyes and almost relaxed his expression into a full smile. “Lizzie.” Wes’s face sobered, his gaze distant and a bit misty. “I should have been with Jane the night she died. I could have stopped her. I was weak.”

  “But you’re not controlled by those things anymore. Remember, you belong to God. He’s forgiven you. He gives you strength to do what you couldn’t do before. You’re a new man.”

  “I once was blind, but now I see?” He folded her hand up against his chest and stared into her eyes. His look of tenderness trapped her breath like his palm trapped her fingers. What was he seeing right now that brought a sparkle to his eyes? “I am a new man.”

  In that moment, some seal connected her to him with Tupperware suction. She couldn’t look away from the search lights in his tempest eyes…and she didn’t want to.

  “And don’t you forget it, buddy,” she whispered, since she couldn’t really breathe to add volume.

  “Can you see me as a new man, Eisley? Not the man I used to be, but who I am right here, right now.”

  He didn’t seem to need a reply but brought her fingers to his lips and exhaled a kiss over them. Her skin absorbed the warmth of his breath with a honey-coated heat to her veins, arousing a sleeping hope. Wes kept his lips pressed against her fingers, eyes closed and grip tight, as if holding on to her mattered. As if she mattered. To him.

>   Silence whispered between them, as delicate as the last rays of sunlight streaming through the trees. She lowered her head. Tenderness brought tears of her own. Who was she to someone like him?

  I know you by name. You are mine.

  The divine prod nudged a reminder. She belonged to God. He loved her. He had a plan. But fear reared its pointy finger, touting a list of failures and comparisons to give hope a swift kick.

  All things are possible. The voice, soft and firm, shook through her like a gentle warning. Warning? She glanced toward heaven. He will direct your path. In the haven of trees and sweet friendship, her fascination began to slide into something more: something wonderful and terrifying and completely impossible.

  Except, just maybe… She shuddered with a different truth. Could the God of impossible things have a happily-ever-after for her?

  Chapter Eleven

  Wes stumbled to catch up with Eisley as she forged like a bullet down the path toward Lornegrave. Lizzie’s call last night revealed another attic discovery and prompted Eisley to compose a three-page e-mail to Uncle Joe about her current exploits. She read a few lines of a scene she’d composed for her Uncle Joe’s benefit, and the rich detail of her words exposed a talent Wes wasn’t sure Eisley even knew about herself. The animation in her expression was fascinating, each emotion as clear as if engraved in her freckles for all to see. No pretense and absolutely endearing.

  His heart squeezed tighter. He’d known beautiful women—it was part of his profession—but Eisley’s brand of attractive emanated from a genuinely stunning heart. And another unexpected delight? She remained unaware of how sexy she was—no use of physical ploys to derail his good intentions. The curve of her pink lips, the playful glint in her round jade eyes, her carefree and sincere laughter, the freckles across her collarbone…

  So much for the acting degree. He couldn’t keep from staring. Chatsworth sent him over the edge, ‘round the bend, and barking mad for her. She was everything for which he’d prayed, with a few unexpected charms added in by a loving Father.