Royalist On The Run. Helen Dickson

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       Chapter Two

      Edward noticed how Arabella gnawed her bottom lip with her small white teeth as she became absorbed in her task. With her head bent he wanted to place his hand on it, to feel her warmth, to touch her skin. He wanted to ask her more about her life. He saw something different about her, something that had not been there before. It was a look that comes with maturity and suffering.

      Suddenly she looked up and a pair of velvet amber eyes met his. They wrenched his heart for they were filled with sadness and soul-searching vulnerability that spoke of her loss and made him wonder just how deeply the ugliness of war had affected her. No one was immune to the loss of loved ones, but to see it on one so young affected him deeply.

      Had she found happiness in her marriage? Her brief reply to his question told him she had not. Edward had never met John Fairburn, but he had the impression from others that he was not a likable man and harsh in his treatment of others. When Arabella had spoken about the death of her daughter he had seen a look of total desolation in her eyes. It was the sort of look that could break even the hardest heart. It had taken everything in him to stop his hand reaching out to her, to tell her again how sorry he was for her loss but, all things taken into account, it was wiser to sit still while she tended his wound—and watch and listen to her breathe.

      He couldn’t believe how changed she was. The awkwardness had gone and even though she was as slim as a willow sapling, she was the most stunning creature he had seen in a long time. No matter how his eyes searched her face and form, he could not find that gangling girl from before they were betrothed, who had hid behind her mother’s skirts and skittered shyly away when he approached.

      In the past, of course he had seen her, been aware of her, had always enjoyed her company once she had lost her shyness of him, but he had never really looked at her, not properly, not deeply, as he was doing now. But he had not forgotten how bright her eyes were, how soft and generous her mouth and the small, tantalising indentation in her round chin. Nor had he forgotten the softness of her heart, her genuine warmth, and the trust he had seen in her eyes when she had looked at him. They were the things he had remembered when, in his desperation to find somewhere safe for Dickon, he had thought of Arabella. Dickon was the most important person in his life. He would sacrifice or endure anything for his son.

      Even after everything that had happened in the past, he knew she was the one person he could trust with his son.

      From the moment he’d recognised her in the hall, he’d found her nearly impossible to keep from openly staring. Her red-gold hair tumbled freely about her shoulders, a shining, flaming glory to the torch that was her beauty. Her amber eyes had called to him. Her smooth, creamy skin, glowing beneath the softness of candlelight, beckoned his fingers to touch and caress.

      Edward, wallowing in his own misery over his failed marriage to Anne, didn’t know why it should be, but when he had heard of her marriage the thought of Arabella in the arms of another man had made his gut twist. That was when he felt the impact of the mistake he had made.

      At the time Anne had seduced him with her beauty and her body. She was exciting, enticing and their coming together had been as swift and as wild as a summer storm, their impulsive wedding the act of a desperate man. He had been unable to resist her. But happiness had eluded him. Just two months into their marriage their passion had burned itself out. He’d known her body, but he’d never managed to touch her soul. Nothing had prepared him for the shame or the pain at her subsequent betrayal.

      Meeting Arabella after five years, who would have thought that she would have grown to such beauty? Normally self-assured, strong and powerful, Edward felt a certain unease at the way she made him feel off balance and hungry for something he couldn’t put a name to. She stirred something in his soul, a sense of wonder and yearning that he’d forgotten was possible. The hunger was soul deep and it scared him.

      Arabella stood back. ‘There, it is done. The wound will leave a scar, but it should not trouble you much.’

      ‘Damn the wound. What about us?’ His words were impulsive, spoken in the heat of his roiling emotions and without thought.

      She met his gaze levelly, cool, composed and in complete control of the emotions raging inside. ‘Us, Edward? How dare you suggest such a thing? I am no longer that awkward, sensitive girl you knew. I have changed. We both have. You made your choice five years ago, and if you were any sort of a gentleman you would leave me in peace.’

      ‘Come now, Arabella. The prospect has a certain allure, you must agree.’

      ‘I am sure you find allure in most things, Edward—and most women.’

      ‘You accuse me unjustly. I only ask that you do not block your heart against me.’

      She stared at him across the distance that separated them, a multitude of desires hanging in the air, a multitude of doubts filling the chasm between them. How could she believe him? How could she believe anything he said? She did not trust this intimacy—it was her own response СКАЧАТЬ