by Mary Davis
He watched her leave. Now he knew a bit of how she felt overlooking the camp. Like him, she probably never thought she would get caught. Yet they both had.
Chapter 10
For the next two and a half weeks, Rachel went to the overlook of English Camp every day that her siblings were in school. It was easy to break away in the afternoons when Genevieve took a nap with Priscilla.
Charles had gotten into the routine as well, and evidently knew when to meet her each day. He’d taken to bringing a blanket for them to sit upon.
“Why do you keep coming back here?” Rachel asked.
Charles eyed her for a moment, some sort of conflict playing on his expression. “Why do you keep coming back?”
She hesitated. “To see the garden in each of its seasons.”
“The garden. Is that the only reason?”
“Of course. Anything else would be improper.”
“Improper indeed.”
She would try again. “So why do you keep coming back?”
A smile tugged at his lips. “The garden.”
* * *
He watched her go. He liked watching her. Liked it a lot. “My dear sweet Rachel, what are you doing to me? You consume my every waking thought and even invade my dreams. I can’t seem to get you out of my head. Not that I want to or that I have even tried. You are the song in my heart, the smile upon my lips, the hope for a future bright.”
Now who was being dramatic? Rachel must be wearing off on him.
As long as he declared nothing and didn’t allow his fingers to brush against hers even accidently, he could keep control of his disobedient longings. As it was, the memory haunted him of their first meeting, when he’d caught her from tumbling backward down the hill, and then later, when he’d taken her hand and bowed over it. He reveled in reliving those moments, even while he tried to forget what it had felt like to have his hands about her waist or her soft, delicate hand in his.
She was both intoxicating and sobering. She was American. He English. Their peoples were at war. On opposite sides.
His Romeo to her Juliet.
Neither the play nor war ever ended well.
* * *
The following week, Rachel sat with her back against a large tree. Charles had brought the blanket and found a place they could sit where no one was likely to stumble across them.
Charles faced her, his hip nearly touching her own, the closest he’d ever sat to her. His nearness made her heart skip a beat. He hadn’t touched her or attempted to touch her since that first day when he prevented her from falling on the hill and then bowed over her hand as they parted.
“Continue reading,” Charles encouraged her. “I like your accent.”
Rachel smiled. “I don’t have an accent. You do.”
“You have one to me. Please continue. I like the way you read. You have passion. You read with a fresh perspective that comes out in your voice.”
“How can you hear a perspective in my voice?”
“In the emphasis you give certain words and syllables. You don’t just read the piece. You experience it.”
Amazing. That was just how she felt when she read the poetry, as though she was transported into the world of the poem.
The earthy smell of forest mixing with the salty air was a heady, intoxicating scent. And Charles’s nearness intensified it.
“Are you going to continue or would you like me to read?”
She did love to hear his accent. “Close your eyes.” Her heart sped up at the decision she’d just made.
He narrowed his eyes. “Why? What are you about?”
“Is a trained military officer afraid of little ol’ me?”
“Small, unassuming things can sometimes be the most dangerous.”
“Am I seeing fear in your eyes?”
They twinkled. “Curiosity.”
Having second thoughts, she turned back to the book and slid her finger down the page to find her place. “A curiosity that will never be satisfied.”
He held out his hands, palms up. “Very well. I place my life in your hands.” He closed his eyes.
“The moment has passed.” She didn’t look up from the book.
“I will keep my eyes closed until...until you do whatever you were going to do.”
She was too self-conscious now. “Ah, here is where I was. ‘And then he took the cross divine, / Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, / And died for her sake in Palestine; / So Love was still the lord of all.’” She hesitated and dared to glance at him. His eyes were still closed.
He continued the poem. “‘Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, / (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)...’”
She gazed at him while he recited the last verse.
He spoke with passion and emotion. “‘Pray for their souls who died for love, / For Love shall still be lord of all!’”
Her favorite Romeo and Juliet quotation went through her mind. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! / O, that I were a glove upon that hand, / That I might touch that cheek! Her courage renewed, she laid her hand upon his cheek.
He sucked in a breath and pressed into her hand while covering hers with his warm one, but he kept his eyes closed.
She hoped he didn’t push her away. His touch gave her the continued courage to move forward. She could feel the heat of his breath a moment before she touched his lips with hers.
He leaned into her, returning her kiss with ardor, and placed his other hand upon her cheek.
After a moment, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “You should not have done that.”
“Why?” Had she done it wrong? She had no experience in such things.
“I will find it impossible to stay away from you now. I knew as long as I didn’t cross that physical boundary and touch you, I could somehow let you go when the time came.”
So it had been a conscious choice to keep his distance. Let her go? When the time came?
“Now I can never let you go.” He kissed her this time.
And she enjoyed it.
He broke the kiss. “Marry me.”
“What? No.” She stood and backed away. “Impossible.” Papa would never allow it. She hadn’t let herself even think it.
He stared up at her. “Not exactly what a man wants to hear from his lady love.”
“Love? You can’t possibly love me.”
“But I do.” He stood and took her hands. “I’m sure you have affection for me, as well.”
Of course she held affection for him, but that was beside the point. Shaking her head, she pulled her hands free. “I can’t.”
He looked wounded. “Then why did you kiss me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you been trifling with my affections, Miss Thompson?”
“No. Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know!” She supposed she could have been. She knew nothing could really have become of their meetings...their friendship...their relationship. If she could find an American man who had his qualities, who would allow her to be herself, he would be perfect. But no man or woman was perfect.
He took her hands again. “Tell me you care at least a little, even in a small way. Anything.” Now he sounded as dramatic as she.
She whispered, “If I speak of my feelings aloud, they will become real. If they become real, I can no longer pretend they don’t exist. If they exist, then I will feel them. And the pain of unrequited feelings will be too much to bear.”
“Your feelings won’t be unrequited. I lo—”
Rachel put her fingers on his lips. She couldn’t let him say it, or the pain in their parting would be too great.
He kissed her fingers. “I love you.”
She pulled her han
d away. The words rose unbidden in her throat. “I—” She stopped and looked away. “I never imagined you would come to hold affection for me.”
“Why not?”
“I am but a country girl. You are a naval officer. I am simple. You are sophisticated.” She dropped her voice. “I am American. You are—”
“Don’t say the enemy.”
“English.”
“We English have feelings, too.”
“But I’m an American.”
“Still not an answer.”
“You’re in the military.”
“So I have no feelings? How could I resist you? I was at your mercy from the first moment I met you. I tried to stay away but could not. I tried to remain aloof but could not. I tried to think of you as just a friend but could not. It cut my heart and left it bleeding to think of your father looking for a husband for you and knowing he would never consider me as a potential suitor. Thinking of you in another man’s arms.”
“But you aren’t the one who kissed me. You never even touch me. Even accidently. Since that first day.”
“Because I knew if I did, I would be hopelessly lost to you. I knew it wouldn’t be fair to you. I didn’t let myself hope that you were returning for anything more than to read the books.”
The books were the smallest part of why she returned. “The garden.” She had made a mess of things.
He smiled. “Yes, the garden. When was the last time you even glanced at it?”
Weeks.
He took her hand and pressed it to his chest over his heart. “I came to these islands specifically to avoid any kind of entanglements with a lady. I had no desire ever to marry after seeing my brothers’ unhappy matches. But I know you are nothing like their wives.”
She could feel his strong heartbeat thumping under her palm. Her eyes burned. She blinked, and a tear slipped out.
He raised his other hand and, with his thumb, he caressed away the tear from her cheek.
She leaned into his touch. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad to know you return my affections.”
She stepped away, breaking his hold. “I can’t.”
“But you already do,” he insisted. “Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I couldn’t change how I feel about you. Can you?”
“I have to.”
“Once a bird has soared in the sky, it will never be content in the nest again.” He held out his hand for her to take. “I will figure a way.”
She stared at his hand. “How? Papa will never let you court me.”
“Maybe when the island dispute is settled, he won’t have an issue with us English.”
“How will the dispute be settled? War? Bloodshed?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long? The war has already been going on for more than ten years. Another ten years? This war will never be over.”
“There is talk of possibly getting an arbitrator to settle the matter.”
“Talk? Possibly?”
He held his hand a little closer to her. “Trust me.”
Him she trusted. It was the rest of the world. What should I do, Lord?
“Please.”
Slowly, she placed her hand on his.
He wrapped his fingers around hers and pulled her close. “I’ll find a way.”
She leaned against his chest in his warm embrace, believing he could.
* * *
Charles didn’t know whether he could make this all work out for them, but he knew he had to do something. He couldn’t imagine not having Rachel in his life. He wanted to test the depth of her feelings for him, so he closed the gap between them, cupped her face in his hands and captured her mouth with his.
Though she seemed unpracticed, she didn’t push him away. Instead, she hooked her arms around to his back with one hand on each of his shoulders.
Encouraged, he slipped his arms around her and deepened the kiss, tangling his fingers in the silky, ebony hair hanging down her back.
She molded into his embrace and sighed contentedly.
He kissed her more thoroughly.
He had kissed ladies before, since he was a schoolboy, but no kiss had been as satisfying as this, with Rachel. And he realized why. This was the first time his heart had ever been involved.
Rachel pulled away from him. “I have to go.”
He held on to her hand. “You’ll come back?”
“I don’t know.”
“If you don’t, I’ll come to your house again.”
“No! You mustn’t. That’s too dangerous.” Her blue, blue eyes beseeched him.
“No more dangerous than you coming here. You shouldn’t have to traipse through the forest. I’m the gentleman. I should be calling on you.”
“Papa would run you off with his musket. Promise you won’t come to my house.”
He knew she was right that it was less likely they would be discovered meeting here, rather than near her house. But he would gladly risk the trip to see her again. Before today, he would have accepted it if she’d told him she would never see him again or asked him to go away.
But that kiss had changed everything.
“Promise you’ll come back. I have to know I’ll see you again.”
She nodded.
But he wasn’t so sure. “I meant what I said. I do love you.”
“I...I...”
He put his finger on her lips. “Don’t say anything. It’s all right.” He kissed her forehead. “Go. I’ll see you soon.”
She wrapped her arms around him, giving him a quick hug before running off.
He watched her moving quickly through the underbrush, not once looking back. Lord, I have to see her again.
Even though she had kissed him first, he knew it would have been only a matter of time before his will broke and he kissed her. Hadn’t that been evident in how close he’d sat to her today? And faced her? If he’d had any will at all left, he would have pushed her away instead of drawing closer and kissing her as he had. And the feel of her silky hair in his fingers. Better than he’d imagined. The game he’d been playing had suddenly become real.
Brantley was right. He wouldn’t risk everything for a woman who was just a friend. He wouldn’t have to. But for the woman he loved, he would. Not much else seemed to matter without Rachel now that he knew how she felt about him. Except the Lord.
God, what should I do? How do I get Rachel’s father to accept me?
The word honor popped into his head.
Honor.
He would act honorably. But what exactly did that mean in this situation?
Chapter 11
Rachel ran through the woods. She couldn’t tell whether she was running away from her feelings for Charles, or simply running home. But she couldn’t stop. She had never meant to care for him. And she certainly never meant to have him care for her. No. More than care. He’d said he loved her. She never imagined he felt so strongly for her.
Did she love him, too? Her heart screamed, Yes! But she hadn’t let herself think that could be possible. She just thought he saw her as a silly girl who read romance stories and trudged through the forest to peer at a fancy garden.
When she neared her home, she stopped and leaned against a tree to catch her breath. She remembered the feel of his warm lips on hers. He hadn’t laughed at her or called her silly. He’d said he loved her! And proposed marriage! She thrilled at the idea. To have Charles to herself and not have to slip through the forest in hopes of seeing him. The garden indeed. She hadn’t even thought of it in a long while. Not even the books could draw her there so much. It had been Charles for weeks.
Perhaps from the first day.
But could Charles really change Papa’s mind? Coul
d Papa ever see Charles as an honorable man first and an Englishman second? Yes, maybe he could. At least she hoped so.
Taking one final deep breath, she pushed away from the tree and headed for the house.
Lindley met her before she broke through the tree line at the backyard. “Papa’s looking for you.”
“You didn’t tell him where you thought I was, did you?”
“I’m not a dunce.”
No, he wasn’t. He seemed to enjoy Charles’s company almost as much as she did. She smoothed her hands down her skirt and broke out from the trees.
Papa marched toward her. “Where have you been?”
“I was walking in the woods. Genevieve said I could go.” Could Papa hear her pounding heart? It raced from the exertion of running. It raced from fear of being found out. And it raced from the memory of Charles’s kisses and the feel of his arms around her.
Papa drew in a long breath. “As long as you are all right. I just worry when I don’t know where you are. I wish you wouldn’t go off so long alone.”
“I’m fine, Papa.”
“Your mother liked the woods, as well.”
Papa never spoke of Mama. When he did mention her, Rachel could see pain in his eyes.
“Henry Olson is waiting to take you on a buggy ride.”
She stared at Papa a moment, sorting out the meaning of his words. Henry Olson, the suitor with orange hair, attacked by freckles. And she was supposed to be letting him court her. She didn’t want to go. Not now that she’d freed her feelings for Charles. “Papa, I look a mess.” She held out her skirt from her sides.
“Where is this vanity coming from? You look quite suitable.”
“Mr. Olson is nice, but I don’t fancy him as a suitor. I tried, truly I did.”
“Nonsense. Try harder. You will go on a buggy ride with him, and you will be cordial.”
She would honor Papa’s wishes, but she would never feel for Henry Olson what she felt for Charles.
Papa ushered her inside, where Henry sat conversing with Genevieve in the parlor. Papa had found a man whom she hadn’t rejected out of hand, and he was going to insist on this one.