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“Shall I accompany ye inside to arrange ye rooms, milady?” asked Mr. Watley.
Cassandra dragged her gaze from the sign and turned toward the coachman. Her initial reaction was to pounce upon the offer, to grasp the excuse not to venture inside the i
“No, thank you.” She turned to Sophie. “Please show Mr. Watley which pieces of luggage we’ll require for our stay.”
“Yes, milady.” Sophie turned her attention to the carriage, and Cassandra forced her less than steady legs to move up the cobblestone walkway toward the front door, her mind swirling with that haunting question. Would he be here?
Ethan Baxter wiped at his sweaty brow with an equally sweaty forearm, then rolled his aching shoulders. Nothing like an afternoon spent mucking out the stalls and currying horses to exhaust the body. But it was a good exhaustion, one that came from an activity he loved, one he didn’t do often enough since he’d hired Jamie Browne to run the livery. But when word had come at noon that Jamie’s wife’s labor had begun, Ethan had sent the young man home. A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled Jamie’s expression-a combination of awe, excitement, and complete, utter panic. A fissure of envy suffused Ethan, fading his amusement, echoing through the hollow space inside him, the space that longed for what Jamie and Sara had-a loving marriage. A child on the way. A real family.
His jaw tightened with a
Ethan left the livery and walked into the bright sunshine. He immediately noted the unfamiliar carriage outside the i
Having no desire to greet the newcomers smelling like horse and feeling gritty with sweat, he headed toward the i
Of course, he suspected that Delia would note his absence if he were to leave. He huffed out a breath and dragged a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. Suspected? Hell, he knew it. Over the past year-and more frequently of late-she’d made comments, looked at him with a certain expression, both of which left no doubt that she wouldn’t mind being more to him than an employee, more than a friend. She was an attractive woman, and God help him, he’d been tempted more than once to quit pretending he hadn’t noticed her subtle hints.
Up until now he’d ignored them. Delia Tildon was a good, decent young widow who certainly deserved better than him. He was damaged goods, on both the inside and the outside. He liked and respected her too much to take advantage of her kind nature and use her to slake his loneliness.
Yet lately…over the past few months the temptation to do just that was proving nearly overpowering. The ache of emptiness eating at him seemed so much more acute lately, the memories bombarding him so hard, so fast, it was a daily struggle not to drown in them. A fact that never ceased to a
Yet no matter how strong the temptation, he’d thus far resisted Delia’s lure. A woman like Delia would want-and deserved-a man’s whole heart. And he simply didn’t have one to give. To offer her any less would be unfair to both of them.
Or so he’d thought until he’d spent the last few days pondering the reality that loneliness was also unfair. The thought of having someone to share his life with, someone to talk to, to listen to, had taken root in his mind and in spite of his best efforts to dislodge it, it refused to budge. He didn’t want to hurt Delia, but bloody hell, he was so damn tired of being alone. Perhaps affection and respect were enough. Enough to make a marriage. Enough to make him forget. Or at least make him stop wanting, yearning for things he could never have.
It was time to give in to temptation. To discuss the matter with Delia. Let her decide for herself if affection and respect were enough. And maybe, if he were very, very lucky, they would be. And he wouldn’t be alone any longer.
Feeling more lighthearted than he had in a long time, he entered the i
“So it’s two rooms ye’ll be needin’, milady?”
“Yes, please, Mrs. Tildon. One for me, and one for my maid. For one night.”
Ethan went perfectly still at the sound of the newcomer’s voice, his heart seeming to stall in his chest as myriad images flashed through his mind. Shiny hair the color of freshly harvested honey, laughing blue eyes, a mischievous smile. He blinked away the mental pictures, then with a sound of disgust, he shook his head. Bloody hell, bad enough that even after all these years he couldn’t erase the thought of her, but now he was imagining her voice as well.
“The coachman will require a bed as well,” continued the soft, slightly husky voice that sounded so much like her, he found his feet moving of their own volition toward the front room. His mind, his common sense knew it wasn’t she, that she lived hundreds of miles away, yet he walked toward that voice, drawn to it like a thirsty man to an oasis.
“We’ve beds available for your coachman in the livery,” came Delia’s voice. “Finest stables in St. Ives we have here at the Blue Seas.”
“With Mr. Baxter as the proprietor, I’m not surprised.”
Ethan rounded the corner and halted in the doorway. He vaguely noted Delia’s raised brows, heard her ask in a surprised tone, “Do ye know Ethan, my lady?” but his attention was riveted on the other woman.
She stood in partial profile to him, the upper half of her face obscured by her bo
Her head jerked in a nod. “Yes, I know him,” she said softly. “Or at least I did, a long time ago…”
Her voice trailed off and she seemed to go perfectly still-just as his heart began to pound in hard, fast thumps, as if he’d sprinted across a decade’s length of time to arrive from very far away. And then, as if feeling the weight of his stare, she turned slowly toward him. And he found himself gazing into eyes he never thought he’d see again, beautiful blue eyes that reminded him of the sea and that had haunted his nights and days for more years than he could recall.