by Rosanna Leo
When I went about my business at Dawlish Manor, I no longer felt the old sense of foreboding. In fact, peace seemed to reign within the old house. No longer a place of unrest, the bricks and mortar merely housed an incredible history and a romance I’d never forget.
Hugh was with his love at last. Any sadness I felt was overshadowed by relief and pride that I was able to help them.
Finn beamed at me as he conducted, no longer hindered by worry and frustration. “You’ll be great, Lark,” he’d said before we began the concert. “I don’t understand what happened to you in that church, but I think we need to bottle it. You sound better than ever.”
I’d smiled, feeling the blush on my cheeks. Something had indeed changed in me, but it wasn’t just a matter of vocal pyrotechnics. My guilt had manifested in so many horrible ways over the years, darkening my tone, zapping my energy.
I no longer labored under a sense of restraint and fear. Truth be told, I liked to think I’d somehow channeled a bit of Claudia’s vocal technique. I fancied she might even have found a new voice, singing through me. Silly, perhaps, but the idea filled me with gladness.
The concert came to a close. The audience applauded. Finn bowed and then brought each of the soloists forward in acknowledgment. I watched, my hands trembling with excitement, as the baritone, tenor and alto bowed. Finn then turned to me and reached out a hand. I took it, smiling from ear to ear, weeping happy tears and I bowed.
When the crowd of well-wishers had finally cleared away, many minutes afterward, he pulled me into his embrace and whispered in my ear. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
As I held him, my hands itching with the need to express my love in a physical way, I knew Finn possessed my heart. Fully, completely, unreservedly.
Nothing would ever get in our way again.
He kissed me with a reverent glide I felt in my toes. At first, his lips barely grazed my own, making me lean in for a stronger touch. He lingered there, teasing them open with his tongue. I closed my eyes, savoring each shiver he sent down my spine. And then his mouth opened. He moaned in hunger, his yearning as keen as my own.
The most extraordinary kiss of my life, warm and soft and passionate.
And, like him, alive. So blessedly alive.
Someone near us cleared his throat. We looked up, only to find a reporter from a national paper standing by.
“Excuse me, Mr. Mackenzie,” he said, stifling a grin. “Can I steal you away from your talented soprano for a moment to answer a few questions?”
I nudged Finn. “Go. I’ll be around.”
He grunted and leaned in for another quick kiss, and then allowed the reporter to drag him away.
I looked around at the festivities, needing a break from the excitement. Inspired, I meandered back to the manor, went inside, and walked with determined steps toward the portrait gallery. Bypassing all the other portraits of long-dead Dawlishes, I walked up to Hugh.
I missed him, as I missed my parents. And it was okay.
There were still moments when I would have given my voice to see his face, or to be able to talk to my mom and dad once more. Hell, I would have even appreciated a saucy glance from the portrait. However, the same sense of stillness surrounded it and its dead subject.
In giving him peace, I’d found my own.
I spent a few minutes before the painting, in solemn appreciation of each brushstroke and blending of color. Then, my heart aching and singing at once, I smiled and said good-bye.
Finn had asked me to come live with him in London and, of course, I’d said yes. I wouldn’t waste another moment of this life.
As I walked out of the gallery, I looked over my shoulder toward Hugh.
I swear he smiled at me.
I winked in response, knowing he'd appreciate the gesture.
About the Author
Rosanna Leo is a multi-published, erotic romance author. Several of her books about Greek gods, selkies, and shape shifters have been named Top Picks at Night Owl Romance and The Romance Reviews.
From Toronto, Canada, Rosanna occupies a house in the suburbs with her longsuffering husband, their two hungry sons, and a tabby cat named Sweetie. When not writing, she can be found haunting dusty library stacks or planning her next star-crossed love affair. A library employee by day, she is honored to be a member of the league of naughty librarians who also happen to write romance.
If you enjoyed this book, this author has other works available here:
Author's Web Site
Hartwood Publishing delights in introducing authors and stories that open eyes, encourage thought, and resonate in the hearts of our readers.