Beauty and the Blacksmith (Spindle Cove #3.5)(8)

“No, it’s not. I’ve been keeping all sorts of secrets for years. For example, sometimes I think, very hard, about how you’d look without your shirt. You never would have guessed that, would you? No one would.”

He couldn’t help his startled laugh.

“And I gaze at your hair.” She lifted a hand, and her ungloved fingers caught a lock of his hair. “It gets long sometimes, all the way to your collar. And then one day, it will be short again. I always wonder who you’ve been to see.”

She was half drunk, more than a little overwrought . . . but her words tapped a deep well of curiosity. He’d always known there was more to her than the pretty face everyone admired. He’d known her to possess courage and a good heart. But now, he caught glimmers of other qualities. Sensuality. Jealousy. A sly sense of humor.

This was an entirely new Diana Highwood. A real one. And she was with him, right now, in the rain and dark.

“Won’t you kiss me?” she whispered, sidling close. “Just the once?”

“The thing is, Miss Highwood, I’m not interested in kissing you just the once.”

“Oh.” Her face fell.

He propped one finger under her chin, tilting her face back up. “If I were to kiss you, once wouldn’t be enough. I’d want to kiss you many times. In lots of places.”

Her eyes flew wide. “Oh. I . . . I see.”

He doubted she did see. She couldn’t even imagine. A few fingers of whiskey couldn’t provide that much education. The carnal images in his mind could shock the silk from her stockings.

“Listen,” he said, “I know you’ve been living in some sort of cage. And tonight, it seems you learned you’ve been holding the key all along. You deserve a bit of rebellion, but I can’t be it. I can’t be the man you wake up regretting.”

“Then make the kiss good. So I won’t have regrets.” Smiling, she slid her arms around his neck. Her weight pitched forward.

Jesus. She could barely stay on her feet. Which, of course, meant her body was all pressed up against his. Fortunately, her woolen cloak was as thick as a horse blanket.

“Miss Highwood . . .”

“Call me Diana.” She let her head fall forward, nestling into his coat.

“Diana.” Until he spoke the name aloud, he hadn’t known how deeply he’d wanted to call her that. Diana, Diana.

“You’re so strong,” she murmured. “And warm. You smell like soap.”

“Diana, I know you. We’ve lived in the same small village for almost two years, and we’ve come through a few trials together. Let’s just say I’ve paid attention. I won’t deny I’ve wanted this, but not this way. You’re confused, upset, and more than a little drunk. This”—he put an arm about her, steadying her—“can’t happen tonight.”

She clung to him, her face stubbornly buried in his coat. He embraced her, trying to keep out the chill. Not entirely selfless valiance on his part. He loved the feel of her in his arms.

He bent his head and murmured in her ear. “I’ll take you home now.”

She made a whimper of protest.

“No, Diana. It has to be now. Else I’ll be tempted to bring you home with me instead, and then you’d be stuck. All those choices you’ve glimpsed tonight would disappear. Ruined, and forced to marry a craftsman? You don’t want that.”

She didn’t answer. Just hugged him tight.

“You don’t want that,” he repeated more firmly.

Or did she?

She was silent for a few moments, which his heart stretched into hopeful lifetimes.

And then she gave her answer—a soft, unmistakable snore.

CHAPTER 3

The next morning, Diana woke with all sorts of regrets. They were stabbing her straight through the eyes, those regrets. Her pounding head felt like . . .

Like a blacksmith’s anvil.

She groaned, putting a hand to her eyes. She had a hazy memory of coming in through the rooming house door, waving a brief good night to her mother and sister, then stumbling up to her bed. Unfortunately, her memories of throwing herself at Aaron Dawes were all too clear.

Oh, the humiliation. What he must think of her.

She pulled the coverlet up over her head, turning to bury her face in the pillow. A mistake. She couldn’t hide from the memory here. As she pressed her face to the mattress, recollections of last night’s embrace assailed her. His warmth, his solid strength. His honorable treatment of her when she’d cast all her good breeding in the mud at his feet.

Her head throbbed. The rest of her ached with a fierce, hopeless yearning.

“Diana?” Charlotte rapped on the door. “Are you well?”

No. No, I’m not well. I am very poorly in the head. And in the heart. Kindly go away.

“The rain’s let up,” Charlotte said, opening the door a crack. “Mama wants to pay a call at Summerfield. Will you join us?”

Diana was tempted to stay abed and plead headache. She wouldn’t even need to exaggerate. But if there was one thing she was proud of doing last night, it was deciding that she wouldn’t be defined by “delicate health” any longer.

She threw back the coverlet. “I’ll join you.”

She rose from bed, dressed, choked down a bit of tea and toast, and donned her sturdiest shoes. Perhaps if she walked far enough, she would leave this feeling of mortification behind.