by Lisa Bingham
His slight control snapped. “I brought you here because you needed to learn. You refused to go to school with the other children at Benton House. You hid down by the creek each day because the schoolmaster was a man.”
“So you took me hundreds of miles away from home and abandoned me.”
“Abandoned? Abandoned! I left you with good women who could teach you. I couldn’t help you anymore, Susan. Dear God, I wanted to, but I was only a boy myself. I knew the sisters would be able to offer you some guidance and some confidence. I left you here for your own good.”
“And you never came back.”
“Hell, this is a convent! They wouldn’t have welcomed me here.”
“You could have visited if you’d wanted to. You could have skulked through the shadows as you did tonight. You didn’t have to leave me here thinking you’d forgotten me.”
“Forgotten you?” He repeated the phrase as if he found the thought inconceivable. “How could you think such a thing? I sent you letters.”
“Two. In the fourteen years I’ve been here, you sent me two letters, both of which held fewer than three lines of writing—while I wrote every month or more. If it hadn’t been for letters I received from Esther Reed and the other children at the orphanage, I wouldn’t even have known you were alive.”
“I thought about you every day.”
“Did you? I doubt it. But it doesn’t really matter. I’ve built a life for myself. One that doesn’t include you. From now on I’ll make my home with God and the other sisters.”
They’d come full circle again, and he hadn’t swayed her a bit. “Why are you so determined to do this?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
“It is my concern.” He grasped her elbows. He tried to ignore the way she flinched at his touch. “Tell me. Tell me why you’ve decided to become one of them.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
She was correct in that regard. He’d surrendered any rights to her secrets by leaving her to fend for herself.
“Tell me anyway.”
He saw the way she crossed her arms defensively in front of her, but he showed no outward reaction. He didn’t release her, either. Not when he could feel her trembling like a frightened sparrow.
“The sisters have been very good to me.”
When she didn’t continue, he prompted, “And?”
“And I enjoy working with the children.”
“Female children.”
Once again he’d said the wrong thing. She wrenched free and crossed to stand behind the corner of the bed, effectively putting a barrier between them.
“There’s nothing inappropriate about my choice, Daniel. I’ll be doing good, honest work. Work that is rewarding and challenging. I will be supporting myself and not living off the charity of others.”
Daniel knew Susan’s interest in taking her vows was logical. It showed a great deal of thought and devotion. And she was right. Her association with the sisters would be fulfilling.
But he couldn’t bear to see her do it. If she were to don the heavy habit of the order, the thick all-encompassing woolen skirts and veils would choke the last vestiges of spontaneity and passion from her character as surely as they would strip away her worldly mien. Daniel could have kicked himself for not realizing what was happening, for trusting her care to others instead of guaranteeing her happiness himself. So much joy had already been taken from her. Why did she want to give away what little she had left by joining such a restrictive life?
Daniel knew some women flourished in the religious calling, but Susan wouldn’t be one of them. Deep in his heart he believed that to be true. Susan needed a different kind of existence. She needed gaiety and laughter and passion. She needed children—not borrowed for a season, but to rear as her own. Daniel had become so lost in his work, his own hellish way of life, that he’d become blind to Susan’s needs.
“I’m good at what I do, Daniel.”
“I know.”
“I’m one of the first novices to be given such responsibilities.”
“You’ve always been a fine teacher.” He continued forcefully, “But you don’t have to stay in the order! You could go anywhere you wanted.”
“You don’t understand,” she said bitterly. “You don’t want to understand.”
“I’m trying! Damn it, I’m honestly trying.” He touched the sides of her face, the nape of her neck, in an effort to calm her. Fiercely he absorbed the delicacy of her bones. He wanted to yank off the heavy scarf she wore, wondering if her hair was still the color of fire. But he couldn’t. Not without scaring her completely. So his arms dropped impotently to his sides. One hand cupped the knife wound in his side. An ache had been simmering there all day.
“You don’t think I have the capacity for such a commitment, do you, Daniel?”
“I think you have the capacity for more than Saint Francis can offer you.”
“I would be working with God and his children. What more could there be?”
Daniel advanced around the bed. “You’re ignoring a whole gamut of sensations.”
“With men?”
“Yes, with men!”
“From what I’ve seen of the masculine sex”—she shot him a pointed look—“I’m not missing much.” She backed away from him until her palms touched the wall. “I’ve already given this a great deal of thought. I’ve made my peace with myself. It’s what I intend to do.”
“And you have no doubts whatsoever?”
She opened her mouth to affirm. But the words remained dammed in her throat. How could she lie to Daniel? How could she lie to herself?
“It’s a waste.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“I won’t let you do it.”
“Why?” She pushed free of the rough stone wall and edged past him so that she wouldn’t feel so cornered. And threatened. “Why can’t you give me your blessing?”
Daniel sucked in a bracing draft of air and steadied himself, then looked at her. “There’s so much waiting out there for you, Susan. You know that. But instead of facing your problems head-on, you’d rather bury them and retreat to some ivory tower where people can’t scare you or worry you or touch you.”
“And you’re the expert on how a person should live?”
The words stung. More than they should have had the power to. His arm dropped from its support, and he forced himself to straighten to a proud height.
“Daniel, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes. You did. And you’re right.” He crossed to the door and reached for the knob. “Maybe I’m just trying to keep you from making some of the same mistakes I’ve made.”
“You’re not leaving!”
He paused and rested against the jamb. “Goodbye, Susan.”
“When will you be back?”
He met her worried glance, but his own was inscrutable and hidden in shadow.
“Daniel, things don’t have to change between us. You’ll still be my friend. I’ll enjoy seeing you and talking with you. Once I become an official member of the order you won’t have to sneak into the academy.”
He sighed in resignation. “I don’t think you’ll welcome a visit from someone like me once you become a nun.”
“I will always welcome you, Daniel.”
“Maybe. But I couldn’t come to you that way. I couldn’t stand to see you so …” Snaking his head, he said, “Never mind.” He rubbed one knuckle down the curve of her cheek. A tingling effervescent trail followed its path. “It’s late. You need your rest.” He gazed at her long and hard, his expression masked in secrets yet filled with a heart-wrenching regret. Then he began to walk out of the room.
“No, Daniel. Don’t go!” She reached out to stop him.
Her palm encountered a hard, contoured body.
A masculine body.
She recoiled, startled. Suddenly her vision of the past was stri
pped, and she saw Daniel not as the boy she’d adored but as a man. A man.
Her breathing became quick and shallow; she felt a clamminess gather between her shoulder blades. When had it happened? When had the last shreds of adolescence melted away? When had Daniel become a man?
“Susan?”
Daniel eased forward, alarmed by the white cast spreading into her cheeks. His frustration mounted to an exploding point. He’d been content to humor her about beginning her novitiate. He’d known Saint Francis would be a good place for her to nurture confidence and grow emotionally. But damn it all to hell! He hadn’t thought she’d go through with it.
His frustration blazed into anger, anger into resentment, resentment into hatred—of the men who’d left her with such deep psychological scars, and of Susan for surrendering to the memories. But most of all, anger at himself for not understanding how much she’d needed him.
No!
He gripped her face, his palms flat on her cheeks, his fingers splaying beneath the scarf and tangling in her hair. “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”
A mewling whimper escaped from her throat, but it barely registered on Daniel. He saw the shards of fear forming in the liquid depths of her eyes, and for once he couldn’t find the patience to deal with her terror. He wanted to ram his way through her defenses. He wanted her to awaken to reality. He wanted her to experience the pleasure as well as the pain, the joy as well as the fear.
Backing her against the wall, he leaned heavily into her body. “Feel, damn it. Stop cowering like a soft little mouse in a safe black hole. Look at me and really see me. Touch me. Hate me. Scream at me. Anything is better than just giving up. Don’t wither and die inside. Life has too much to offer—yes, it hurts sometimes. And I know you’ve been hurt more than your share. But that doesn’t mean it always has to be that way.”
She held his wrists, but didn’t push him away. Instead, she clung to him as if he were her anchor in a tempestuous storm. Tears welled, but hung on the ends of her lashes as if trapped.
“I want …” She blinked against the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks. “I can’t …”
“You can.”
“It’s so … cold.”
He saw the way her eyes focused—not on him but on the past. She shivered—whether from the draft or from her memories, he didn’t know.
“Tell me.” He shook her. A terrifying flurry of expressions flashed by, and he knew she relived painful recollections, but she didn’t speak. “Tell … me,” he repeated intently.
“No, I can’t.”
“Please.”
“No, don’t make me, Daniel. Please don’t make me.”
She threw her arms around his neck and held him so tightly she could have burrowed inside him.
Daniel gulped, torn between pure male astonishment and regret that he’d pushed her so far. The body that clung to his own was soft and shapely. He could feel her breasts pressed to his chest. As his arms shifted, he blindly roamed the gentle slope of her shoulders, the strong back, the delicate spine. Beneath the enveloping skirts he felt the tiny waist, the shapely hips. Then, the one sensation he’d never thought to feel with Susan gripped him. Desire.
Shocked, Daniel hung motionless, unable to force her to stop, afraid to pull her closer. When had she ceased to be a child? When had she become such a vibrant, beautiful girl? No—woman. Somehow she had sailed past coltish adolescence and straight into full-grown adulthood. She was so beautiful, so feminine. She should have been leading men on a merry chase. She should have been breaking hearts and dashing hopes.
She must have sensed his hesitancy, because slowly she retreated. Before she could move too far out of his reach, he stopped her.
“Susan?” Her name held a note of panic and wonder. As she trembled in his grasp, Daniel admitted she unsettled him—even scared him a little. More than he wanted to admit. Her eyes clung to his own with the intense hunger of a woman who yearned to be kissed. And heaven help him, he wanted to satisfy her. Not only with his lips, but in the most intimate way a man could satisfy a woman.
No! It was wrong to think that way. Wrong. She wasn’t his for the taking. She deserved more than he could ever give her.
But her eyes were wide and dark, her lips moist and slightly parted. The desire he felt grew stronger, flooding him with a sudden unbearable heat. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Her features remained filled with a desperate entreaty. He doubted she knew what she wanted from him. Regardless, he found himself powerless to resist. He knew he would scare her. She would probably hate him. But he couldn’t refuse.
Cradling her face in his palms, he tipped her head to one side. Her breathing came sharp and fast, as if she’d just run miles instead of standing sheltered next to the strength of his body.
He bent to within a hairbreadth of her lips. Her eyes widened. Stroking the pads of his thumbs over her cheekbones and uttering soft shushing noises, he quieted her.
Giving her time to adjust to him, he inhaled her sweet feminine scent. Once, twice, his nose brushed her skin.
“Please?” she begged, more of a question than a demand.
“Shh.”
She whimpered. Every nuance of her being became imprinted in his memory: the dark uncertainty of her eyes, the pallor of her skin, the velvety texture of her mouth. How had he stayed away from her for so long? If he’d seen her like this once during the past few years, he never would have found the strength to keep away.
He touched her lips with his own. She started as if scalded, but did not back away. Encouraged, he increased the pressure.
She tasted of innocence and springtime. Femininity and forbidden delights. A burst of temptation led him on. He wanted to crush her body to his own. He wanted to drown himself in her sweetness. His body urged him to sate his cravings. His kiss grew demanding and impatient.
Too late he discovered he’d taken a step forward, crushing her between himself and the wall. Before he could control his instincts, Susan wrenched free and fled to the opposite side of the room.
“Susan …”
Her fingers curled into a tight ball. “Go away.”
Self-recrimination quickly doused the fires inside him. “I didn’t—”
“Go! You don’t belong here. But I do. This is my choice, my way of life, and nothing you can say or do will change my mind!”
Regret had a bitter flavor. Daniel had experienced it so many times that he shouldn’t have found it so unpalatable. But it had never lingered so dank and heavy on his tongue as it did now.
Susan retreated into the corner. Accusation and confusion radiated from the stiff way she held herself, making him feel lower than the lowest worm. How could he have treated her so roughly? She would never look at him the same way again.
He sighed. “I’ll go.” The pain in his side was nothing compared to the sorrow that cloaked him like a somber cloud. “I guess this is probably the last time I’ll see you, then.”
She couldn’t meet his gaze. Daniel had always been her rock, her foundation. Now he’d committed the ultimate betrayal: he’d grown up and become a man. He was no longer safe, and that terrified her.
“It’s for the best.”
Her statement hung starkly between them, forming a chasm that had never been there before, even when time and distance had separated them.
He reached out to touch her cheek, but she cringed and he abandoned the overture. He walked from the room, his wide shoulders filling her vision. As the door closed behind him, she heard, “Sweet dreams, little one.”
He hadn’t said that to her in years. Not since, as a child, he’d held her in his arms and chased away the demons.
Chapter 3
The sounds of Daniel’s footsteps had not completely faded away when Susan’s chin began to tremble.
She shouldn’t have sent him away.
But she couldn’t let him stay. Not after he’d kissed he
r.
The memory returned. She’d wanted the embrace to occur. Just once she’d needed to feel a man’s arms around her. She’d longed to know what it was like to be kissed. She’d hoped it would be wonderful and awe-inspiring.
Then it had actually happened. With Daniel. And it had been terrifying. Not because he’d hurt her, not because he’d changed, but because he’d left her wanting things she wasn’t capable of having. Daniel. Her childhood friend. How was it possible that he could arouse such a storm of emotions with one single kiss?
Her mind conjured up the image of Daniel as clearly as if he stood in front of her. The fear could not be completely dispelled. Daniel had grown so harsh, so fierce, since last she’d seen him. How could a person change so much? How could the years have robbed him of all that had been so familiar to her? She didn’t recognize the stranger with long flowing hair and angular features. She didn’t recognize the broad shoulders and molded torso. The rigors of his job had taken their toll, wiping away the laughter, the joy.
However, if she was honest with herself, she would admit that life had not changed him so much in the last decade. She had simply refused to believe her own eyes. She’d carried a mental picture of Daniel as an adolescent, and she’d been unwilling to abandon it. Until tonight—when she’d touched him, smelled his rich musky scent, absorbed the deep whiskey texture of his voice—and the evidence of her senses could no longer be refuted.
Her hands shook in delayed reaction, and she tightly clasped them in front of her. At one time she had dared to hope that she could someday have a healthy relationship with a man. But Daniel had nullified that myth with a single kiss. Deep down, she’d always known that Daniel was the only male she could trust enough to unlock her secrets. But instead of assuring her that she could be whole, Daniel had frightened her even more. She might have responded favorably to the old Daniel, but not to the man he’d become. That man scared her. She felt overpowered in his presence. Insignificant. Overwhelmed. Confused.
Time was the true conqueror. Right now Susan felt defeated. Her last hope of being normal had been shattered and had dissipated into blackness.