Again the Magic (Wallflowers 0.5)(32)

“Ah…I see that I’ll have to introduce you to the finer points of German literature. It means passionate turmoil—literally translated, ‘storm and stress.’ ”

“Yes, well, there is nothing quite as exciting as a storm, is there?” Aline asked ruefully.

Adam grinned as he drew her to a nearby bench. “Only when one is viewing it from inside a nice, cozy house.” As they sat, he took Aline’s hand in his and pressed it lightly. “Tell me, sweet, what are we to do about this problem of yours?”

“I’m not yet certain.”

“Has McKenna said yet what he wants from you?” Adam answered his own question before she was able. “Never mind—I know exactly what he wants. The question is, is there a possibility that he might force or coerce you in some way?”

“No,” she said at once. “No matter how McKenna has changed, he would never resort to that.”

Adam seemed to relax slightly. “That’s good news.”

“I’m afraid, Adam,” Aline confessed in a whisper, laying her head on his shoulder. “Not of what will happen now, or during the next few weeks…I’m afraid of afterward, when McKenna leaves again. I survived it once, but I don’t know if I can again.”

He slid his arm around her and squeezed comfortingly. “Yes, you will—I’ll be here to help you.” A long pause ensued as he considered his next words. “Aline, what I’m about to say may seem rather illoccasioned…but I’ve been considering an idea lately, and this may be as good a time as any to mention it.”

“Yes?”

Adam looked down at her, their noses nearly touching. He smiled, his gray eyes gleaming as they reflected the gathering moonlight. “We’re a good pair, sweet. In the five years that we’ve known each other, I’ve come to adore you as I have no other person on earth. I could spend the next hour enumerating your many virtues, but you’re well aware of them already. My proposition is this—I think we should continue on as we have, with one minor alteration. I want to marry you.”

“Have you been drinking?” Aline asked, and he laughed.

“Think about it—you would be mistress of Marshleigh. We would be that rarest of all combinations, a husband and wife who actually like each other.”

She stared at him in confusion. “But you would never want to—”

“No. We would each find one kind of satisfaction in marriage, and another kind outside it. Friendship is a hell of a lot more durable than love, Aline. And I’m very much a traditionalist in one sense—I see the wisdom in keeping passion entirely separate from marriage. I won’t blame you for seeking your pleasures where you can find them, and you won’t blame me for doing the same.”

“I won’t be seeking those kinds of pleasures,” she murmured. “Any man who saw my legs would find it impossible to make love to me.”

“Then don’t let him see them,” Adam said casually.

She gave him a skeptical glance. “But how would I—”

“Use your imagination, darling.”

The devilish glint in his eyes caused her to blush. “I’ve never considered the possibility before. It would be strange and awkward—”

“It amounts to a simple matter of logistics,” Adam informed her sardonically. “But back to my proposal—will you give it some thought?”

She shook her head with a reluctant smile. “I may be a bit too conventional for such an arrangement.”

“Conventions be damned.” Adam kissed her hair. “Let me help to mend your heart when it’s broken. Let me rub your legs at night, and hold you as a beloved friend would. Let me take you to beautiful places when you tire of English views.”

Aline smiled against the fine weave of his coat. “May I have some time to consider your very tempting offer?”

“All the time in the world.” Suddenly Adam shifted, though his arms remained around her, and he spoke quietly into her ear. “Mr. Sturm is coming this way, Miss Drang. What will you have me do—stay or leave?”

Aline eased away from him. “Leave,” she whispered. “I can manage him.”

“We’ll make that your epigraph,” Adam teased, and brushed his lips across her cheek. “Good luck, sweet. Give a shout if you need me.”

“You don’t want to meet him before you go?” she asked.

“God, no. Slay your own dragons, my lady,” he said, and left her with a grin.

Aline looked up from her seated position at the bench as McKenna approached her, his dark presence falling over her like a shadow. Adam’s reference to McKenna was not quite accurate—he looked far more like a devil than a dragon, needing only a pitchfork to complete the image. A tall, brooding, smoldering-eyed devil, in a formal scheme of black and white. He literally took her breath away. Aline was shocked by her own uncontrollable hunger to touch him. This was the feeling of her youth, the wild, dizzying excitement that she had never been able to forget. “McKenna,” she said breathlessly. “Good evening.”

He stopped before her and glanced intently at the doorway through which Adam had just departed. “Who was that?” he asked, although she suspected that he already knew.

“Lord Sandridge,” she murmured. “A very dear friend.”