He’d loved her for as long as he could remember, but after the realization when he was fifteen that he was in love with her, he’d often spent those silences wondering what she was thinking, fantasizing that her thoughts ran along similar lines to his-that he was a titled gentleman who’d come to court her. Who would lavish her with jewels and gowns and ask her to marry him. That he could spend every day with her. Draw her into his arms and kiss her. Touch her. Make love to her. Sleep beside her. That she belonged to him. And now, years later, he found himself again wondering what she was thinking.
“It’s beautiful here.”
Her soft voice yanked him from his brown study and he turned toward her. Sunlight dappled through the thick leafy cover overhead, glinting off her shiny hair. Her bonnet hung down her back by its ribbons, reminding him how she’d always remove her headwear the instant she was out of her mother’s sight. She’d often regaled him with her mother’s frequent warnings about allowing the sun to freckle-or as her mother called it, ruin-her skin, but he’d always liked the pale gold dots that marched across her nose.
With his gaze drinking in her profile, he agreed, “Very beautiful.”
“How long have you lived in St. Ives?”
“Four years.”
“And before that?”
“Lots of places, looking for somewhere to call home. I finally found it here.”
“You never married?”
“No.”
He hoped his brusque tone would discourage her from asking him why not, as he wasn’t about to admit the truth. Thankfully she fell silent, and for several minutes the only sound was that of the leaves rustling overhead and the twigs snapping beneath their feet. Then she said, “You say you were looking for somewhere to call home…but Gateshead Manor was your home.”
“For a time. But then it was time for me to go.”
“You left very abruptly.” She paused, then added, “Without saying good-bye.”
And it was the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done. “I left you a note.”
“Revealing only that you’d received a lucrative offer to work on another estate and that they wanted you to begin immediately.”
“There wasn’t anything else to say.”
From the corner of his eye he saw her turn to look at him, but he kept his gaze steadfastly straight ahead. “After all these years I suppose there’s no reason not to tell you that you leaving like that hurt me. Deeply.”
What hurt you all but gutted me. “I don’t see why. You were leaving Cornwall in less than a fortnight to marry Westmore.”
“Because you were my friend. My only friend. I suppose I expected more of you than to simply abandon me without any explanation or good-bye other than a hastily scribbled note. I never would have done that to you.” There was no mistaking the hurt and anger and confusion in her voice.
Shame filled him. He’d hated himself for leaving that way, but at the time he hadn’t had any choice. “I’m sorry, Cassie,” he said, and God knew he meant it. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”
“I kept expecting to hear from you, but I never did.”
“I wasn’t much good at sending letters.” Guilt slapped him, although he hadn’t actually lied. He was bad at sending letters. But he’d certainly written them. Dozens of them. Pouring out his heart to her on pages he knew he’d never mail. “Actually, I thought it best not to write. Stable boys don’t correspond with countesses.”
Her silence indicated she knew he was right. Just as he knew it. Unfortunately, that didn’t make the harsh facts of life hurt any less.
Finally she said, “I asked my father which estate you’d gone to work on, but he didn’t know.”
“I didn’t tell him.”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t ask.”
“Why not?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
His shoulders tensed, sensing she was about to ask him another question, but he was saved when they rounded a corner. She halted, drawing in a quick breath at the sudden unexpected and spectacular view. As many times as he’d rounded that corner and beheld the vista, it always stopped him as well.
The ocean was spread before them, an indigo blanket of white-capped waves that rushed onto golden sand. Soaring cliffs protruded into the water at one end of the expanse of beach, jutting rocks that broke the ocean’s inexorable flow, shooting fountains of seawater toward the sky, to fall in a sheet of droplets that caught the sunlight in glittering bursts of rainbow brilliance. Gulls screeched, some swooping low, others soaring high, still others floating on the brisk breeze as if suspended in midair.
“Oh, Ethan,” she whispered. “It’s magnificent.” Her eyes slid closed and she tipped her head back, the sun’s rays reflecting off her beautiful face. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen the ocean, breathed in the salt air, felt its soothing coolness upon my skin. I’d forgotten the sense of peace it could bring. I’ve missed it so. I’ve missed so many things…”
She lifted her head and opened her eyes, and her face bloomed into a full smile that coaxed the dimples flanking her lips to appear. As it always had, her smile dazzled him, skewering him in place, making his heart pound.
“Isn’t it just the most wonderful thing you’ve ever seen?” she asked with a laugh, spreading her arms to encompass the panorama.
“The most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen,” he agreed, unable to pull his gaze from her.
“I must feel the sand,” she said. “And the water. And collect some shells and stones to skip.” Then she grabbed his hand and dashed forward, tugging him along.
At Gateshead Manor she’d frequently touched him like that-clasping his hand, giving him a playful shove, or brushing bits of hay from his hair and clothing. Casual gestures he’d simultaneously loved and hated for the contrast of pure pleasure and jaw-gritting torture they provided.
Now the unexpected sensation of her palm nestled warmly against his shot a bolt of heat up his arm, and he nearly stumbled. But he quickly recovered and, unable to resist, ran beside her, the air whipping at their hair and clothes, the sun warm against their skin. T.C. ran ahead, kicking up sand in his mad scramble across the beach. The sound of Cassie’s laughter enveloped him like a soft blanket. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so carefree, but he did know that whenever it was, it had been with her. With Cassie.
They halted near the shore and she released his hand, and he instantly missed her touch. Flinging her arms wide, she turned in a circle, breathless and laughing, her dark blue skirt swirling around her legs. When she stopped, her eyes glittered like sapphires from her exertions, and several tendrils of tawny hair clung to her flushed cheeks.
Facing her, he wished he knew how to paint so as to capture her in this moment, with the sea and cloud-studded azure sky behind her, the gilded sand beneath her, and all of her bathed in golden sunlight and tousled by the breeze.
Unable to stop himself, he reached out and brushed back one of the windblown curls from her cheek. A simple, casual gesture that felt neither simple nor casual to him. Nor to her, he’d wager, given the way she went perfectly still. Never had he touched such velvety smooth skin, and he lingered for several seconds, allowing the breeze to entwine the silky strands around his fingers before lowering his hand.
“If you’ve been looking for Cassie, she’s right here,” he said softly, “laughing in the sunshine.”
Closing her eyes briefly, she drew a deep breath, then slowly nodded. “I feel her. Deep inside. She desperately wants to come out.”
“As far as I can see, she already has.” Something flickered in her eyes, something he couldn’t decipher. Something that prompted him to ask, “What are the other things you’ve missed, Cassie?”