For This Moment
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Synopsis
Jim Somerset has been in love with Olivia Gentry from the moment she gazed up at him as a young girl. A farrier by trade like his father before him, and Olivia's brother's closest friend, he is inexorably entwined with the Gentry family. He has watched her be courted by statesmen and considers her and her goals out of the reach of a common workman. Can he purge Olivia from his mind and his heart? Or has the moment come for him to reveal his passion for her?
The Gentrys of Paradise
Book #1 Prequel Novella Into the Evermore
Book #2 For the Brave
Book #3 For This Moment
Book #4 For Her Honor
Release date: March 13, 2018
Publisher: Holly Bush Books
Print pages: 214
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For This Moment
Holly Bush
May 1871 Paradise, Winchester, Virginia
Chapter One
“Enchanted,” Richard Armsworth said as he bowed low.
Olivia Gentry watched him, interested to see if he would kiss her hand. He seemed content with rubbing his thumb softly on the back of it while touching the pulse of her wrist with his fingers. It was intimate, and unsettling as well.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said.
“Miss Olivia is the secretary for the Young Women’s Society here in Winchester,” Mayor Fitzhugh said and turned to her. “Mr. Armsworth works for Governor Walker.”
Olivia smiled at the mayor’s introduction and glanced up at Armsworth. With not a sidelong glance to Fitzhugh, he was staring at her in an intense fashion, making it seem as though he was unaware of anyone else in the ballroom at Paradise, her family home, that evening. She turned to the mayor, drawing her hand from Armsworth’s as she did, and purposefully looked at the older man.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Mayor Fitzhugh?”
“Oh yes! There are always fine foods and spirits served at Paradise, and the ballroom looks like you’ve brought the garden inside!”
“Why, thank you! Mother and I and Aunt Brigid thoroughly enjoyed decorating for tonight’s party, and the gardens cooperated even though it is quite early in the year.”
Fitzhugh turned as he heard his name mentioned. “Ah. There’s Reverend Pendleton. I must speak to him.”
Olivia looked at her new acquaintance. “What brings you to Winchester, Mr. Armsworth?”
Armsworth considered her, his clear blue eyes focused on her face. He tilted his head and smiled, his mouth full of even white teeth. “I would say ‘you,’ except we’ve not met before this evening, and even with this very brief acquaintance, I don’t imagine you appreciate a man dissembling.”
“I do not,” she said and looked away from him to survey the room. My oh my. Her heart was beating rapidly. Richard Armsworth was a handsome man and perhaps dangerous. He was still looking at her when she turned back to him, and it seemed he’d stepped closer to her, crowding her, although the distance he stood from her was surely the same as it was before.
“I’ve heard of you, though, and aptly described, too.”
“Heard of me? I doubt that, sir.”
“I’m a guest of my aunt’s, combining business with some pleasure,” he said.
“Your aunt? She lives here in Winchester?”
“She does. Moved here from London not too long ago.”
“Mrs. Barrett? The lady who built a large home a few miles from the western edge of town?”
“Yes. Dear Aunt Agatha. She was Lady Monticue in London but preferred not to use her title once she arrived. She likes to think of herself as a ‘commoner’ now that she’s come to America. Thinks she’ll fit in better with her new neighbors,” Armsworth said with a wry smile. “Of course, my aunt Agatha would never be mistaken for anything but exactly what she is.”
Olivia chuckled and then looked chagrined. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. I’ve met your aunt. I would never mistake her for anything but exactly what she is, either.”
He laughed aloud, revealing fine lines around his eyes. He was handsome when serious and devastatingly attractive when laughing. His hair was gold blond, thick, and trimmed to perfection. He was broad-shouldered and long-limbed and had an easy masculinity.
“She wrote me about you, you know.”
“About me?”
He nodded and smiled charmingly. “She was very adamant that I meet you. She described you as very beautiful and lively, and bright and well-spoken, although she is concerned that you’re growing a bit long in the tooth.”
“Long in the tooth?” Olivia said, laughing. “I am old compared to my friends who are already married with one or two children. My mother has told me that when the right man comes along, I’ll know right away. I don’t believe I’ve met the right one yet, though!”
He took her hand in his and stepped closer to her. She could smell his cologne and feel his body heat. The laughter in his eyes had been replaced with something akin to pleading.
“It is my wish to change your mind on that subject.”
“Oh,” she said and swallowed. “How clever you are. I didn’t mean to beg for a compliment.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
Olivia couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from him, and she felt the heat of a blush rise from her chest to her face.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Olivia turned, her cheeks warm, to her brother Matt. She stepped back quickly. “Of course not. Have you met Mr. Armsworth?”
“I haven’t,” Matt said with a smile, extending his hand. “What brings you to Winchester and within six inches of my sister, Mr. Armsworth?”
“Matthew!” she said.
“My apologies, Miss Gentry, if I have offended you or your family,” Armsworth said smoothly, with a nod to Matt.
She watched as Matt pulled Jim Somerset forward to join the conversation. She’d known Jim since she was a small girl. He and Matt were the same age and had been friends all their lives, having met as young boys when Jim’s father, the local farrier, serviced the Paradise horses. She’d long been over her girlish dreams of him from the time when his patience with a friend’s younger sister had made him her champion.
“Armsworth? Jim Somerset is an old friend of the family,” Matt said and looked at Jim. “Mr. Armsworth is going to tell me all about his work for the governor while you dance with Olivia.”
Matt turned toward Armsworth, giving Olivia his back and leaving her facing Jim. He was staring at her with his typical unreadable look.
“I suppose I can hardly blame you for your part in Matt’s scheme. More than likely he dragged you over here, away from the punch bowl and the food, on some shaky pretense so that he could—”
“Armsworth was standing too close. Your brother had an obligation to see to your welfare.”
“I’m well old enough to see to my own welfare.”
“Stories about Mr. Dunderage have been repeated to him. He’s your brother. What do you expect him to do?”
Olivia’s hands shook, and she was unsure if she was going to scream out in anger or cry. “Will my mistakes made as a young girl haunt me forever? Do you believe me so shallow that I was unable to learn any lessons? Am I such a child in your eyes? Get out of my way,” she said bitterly and began to step past him.
He didn’t move. “You should dance with me. You’re very upset, and I’m sorry to be the cause of it.”
“Why would I want to dance with you?”
“Because you don’t want to speak to anyone else at this party when you’re this angry.”
She looked away over the crowd in the ballroom. Guests everywhere were laughing, enjoying meats, cheeses, dainty sweets, glasses of wine or punch, reacquainting themselves with neighbors after a cold winter with few social events. He was right, even though it was hard to admit. She didn’t want to speak to anyone right now. She looked up at him, and he winged his arm, leading her onto the dance floor.
The musicians began a waltz, and she placed her hand on Jim’s shoulder as his hand went around her waist. Her skin tingled where he touched her through her pale green satin gown. She looked up at him, at his humorless face, his dark hair, longer than she thought necessary, the thick beard that covered his cheeks and neck, and his plain white shirt, stiff with starch and stretched tight across his chest and arms. He was as comfortable as her oldest riding boots and not quite as interesting.
But that wasn’t fair. She knew he was well-read and intelligent. Knew that he was a town leader and had been responsible for his mother and younger sisters and brother since his father’s death years ago. And even though his face was humorless, he was an attractive man, and a favorite of many of the unmarried women in town and a few of the married ones, too. She’d stopped thinking about him as being handsome or attractive years ago, though, when she’d been fifteen years old and he’d told her he wasn’t interested in her and never would be. It had shattered her virginal heart into a thousand pieces.
Olivia watched the other dancers as they went by and was content to let her anger fade away as he twirled her around the dance floor. She turned her eyes back to his face, and every surety she had of her own indifference to Jim Somerset fled as if she’d pulled on those comfortable boots and run away, past the stables and into the woods.
His eyes were not focused on her face but rather on the low neckline of her gown. Her mother had been concerned about that neckline, but Aunt Brigid had told her she was being a goose and that a young woman as beautiful and shapely as their Olivia should always don a gown so flattering.
Jim slowly raised his eyes to hers. His face was flushed, and even with the music and conversations flowing around them, she could hear his short breaths. But it was his eyes that made her swallow and her hand tremble on the rigid muscles of his arm. He’d been staring at her bosom now rising and falling, at her cleavage, she was certain. He twirled her faster around the edge of the room, spinning her without missing a step or bumping into the slow movers, and staring at her all the while, his eyes hooded and dark and intense. She was unable to break his gaze, trying desperately to keep up with his rapid double-time steps and the staccato rhythm he set. His hand at her waist tightened, and she felt a shot of aching restlessness from her breasts to below her waist. The waltz was familiar, but this dance was not.
The music ended and he stopped suddenly, sending her against him from breast to knee and caught in his grip on her arms. He set her away from him firmly, and none too gently.
She dropped her arms to her sides, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Her mother and Annie, her sister-in-law, were staring at her from just a few feet away, Annie’s mouth agape, her mother’s look calm and steady. Jim went away hurriedly, leaving her alone as the dance floor began to fill again. She was not certain she trusted her legs to carry her.
“My oh my,” Annie said and took her hand to lead her off the dance floor and to her mother’s side. “What good dancers you are.”
Jim Somerset lit a short cigar and wandered down the stone drive of the Paradise ranch. He could hear the music through the open windows of the ballroom, still lit up brightly when he took a sidelong glance over his shoulder. It would be a shame to ask his mother and sister to leave this early, but he wasn’t sure he could go back in the ballroom and face her. Olivia Gentry, that was. He wondered if there was any amount of distance he could put between them to get rid of the awful tension he felt.
She haunted him. Wafted through his dreams like a specter. Shortened his breath when he saw her at a distance and gut punched him when she was close enough to touch, as she was tonight. He took a long drag and dropped the cigar, tamping it out with his boot. He’d cured himself of her, hadn’t he? Long ago he’d decided he best find himself a nice woman to settle down with and have some children. They’d learn to be a comfort to each other as they grew older. But every time he met a woman for dinner or danced with one at a social, thinking he’d best begin courting, he found himself unenthused. Blasé enough to not be tempted to steal a kiss. What would a lifetime be like with a woman he didn’t want in that way? One that didn’t stir his blood. He could learn to appreciate her sewing or her cooking or her child-rearing skills, he imagined. Would it be enough?
Somerset wandered back toward the house, past the front doors and open windows of the ballroom, hearing snippets of conversation as he went, to the stone terrace at the back. He settled on a wooden bench and listened to the night sounds from the close forest of trees. It was cool and the hum of the party faded to the background. He consciously listened to the hoot of an owl, the chirp of crickets, and the yowls of barn cats set to fight each other.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Marabelle Winston said as she stepped out of the house.
Jim stood as she approached. “No need for an apology. We can both enjoy the night air.”
He watched her shoulders rise and fall and then she walked to him and sat down on the bench. He sat down beside her. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap and she was staring straight ahead. He’d known her for quite a few years and saw her often working in the mercantile for her father. He was never a man for small talk but Marabelle was clearly nervous or upset and he thought he best try and put her at ease. Surprisingly, she began to speak before he could remark on the temperate weather.
“Your mother told me that you’d gone outside. I came out to look for you.”
He turned to her. “Oh? What is it, Marabelle?”
But Marabelle didn’t say another word. Instead, she latched her lips to his, leaning in and laying a hand on his chest. He did not move, nor did he have any inclination to move. In fact, he sat very still for what seemed like minutes, although it was likely only seconds. Her eyes were closed. His were not. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone pass behind the window in the Paradise kitchens that looked directly on to the terrace. He hoped he and Marabelle were in shadow, as he wouldn’t want her to be the subject of gossip and didn’t want to raise any expectations among his family, or hers.
But then he thought perhaps Marabelle would be someone who would be a good wife and mother. In fact, he knew both to be true. She was kind and loyal and hardworking. She was quiet, although apparently not as shy as he’d thought before. The problem remained, however, that he was mentally evaluating her, with no desire to move this kiss beyond touching lips. He waited until she sat back, and he could see that she was breathing hard. Even in the shadows, he could see her blush.
“I am not beautiful, but I enjoy your company and hold you and your family in high regard. There. I’ve said it.”
“Thank you.”
Her head turned sharply to him. “Thank you? What do you mean by that?”
“You said you hold me in high regard. I was thanking you for it.”
Marabelle’s shoulders dropped, and he heard her sigh. “It is a lovely evening, but I’m chilled now. I’ll be going in. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“It was no bother.”
She stood and turned to look at him. “I’ll never be her. No one else will.”
He watched her retreating figure and heard the door close as she went back into the house. He really was not good at whatever he should be good at where it concerned women. Clearly, Marabelle was hoping for a declaration of some kind. I liked kissing you. I loved kissing you. I want to kiss you more. I hold you in high regard as well. You’re beautiful.
But it would have all been a lie had he said any of it. Marabelle was a pretty young lady but not beautiful, not to him anyway. Surely there would be a man who thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. That was not him. But what had she meant when she said, “I’ll never be her. No one will”?May 1871 Paradise, Winchester, Virginia
Chapter One
“Enchanted,” Richard Armsworth said as he bowed low.
Olivia Gentry watched him, interested to see if he would kiss her hand. He seemed content with rubbing his thumb softly on the back of it while touching the pulse of her wrist with his fingers. It was intimate, and unsettling as well.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said.
“Miss Olivia is the secretary for the Young Women’s Society here in Winchester,” Mayor Fitzhugh said and turned to her. “Mr. Armsworth works for Governor Walker.”
Olivia smiled at the mayor’s introduction and glanced up at Armsworth. With not a sidelong glance to Fitzhugh, he was staring at her in an intense fashion, making it seem as though he was unaware of anyone else in the ballroom at Paradise, her family home, that evening. She turned to the mayor, drawing her hand from Armsworth’s as she did, and purposefully looked at the older man.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Mayor Fitzhugh?”
“Oh yes! There are always fine foods and spirits served at Paradise, and the ballroom looks like you’ve brought the garden inside!”
“Why, thank you! Mother and I and Aunt Brigid thoroughly enjoyed decorating for tonight’s party, and the gardens cooperated even though it is quite early in the year.”
Fitzhugh turned as he heard his name mentioned. “Ah. There’s Reverend Pendleton. I must speak to him.”
Olivia looked at her new acquaintance. “What brings you to Winchester, Mr. Armsworth?”
Armsworth considered her, his clear blue eyes focused on her face. He tilted his head and smiled, his mouth full of even white teeth. “I would say ‘you,’ except we’ve not met before this evening, and even with this very brief acquaintance, I don’t imagine you appreciate a man dissembling.”
“I do not,” she said and looked away from him to survey the room. My oh my. Her heart was beating rapidly. Richard Armsworth was a handsome man and perhaps dangerous. He was still looking at her when she turned back to him, and it seemed he’d stepped closer to her, crowding her, although the distance he stood from her was surely the same as it was before.
“I’ve heard of you, though, and aptly described, too.”
“Heard of me? I doubt that, sir.”
“I’m a guest of my aunt’s, combining business with some pleasure,” he said.
“Your aunt? She lives here in Winchester?”
“She does. Moved here from London not too long ago.”
“Mrs. Barrett? The lady who built a large home a few miles from the western edge of town?”
“Yes. Dear Aunt Agatha. She was Lady Monticue in London but preferred not to use her title once she arrived. She likes to think of herself as a ‘commoner’ now that she’s come to America. Thinks she’ll fit in better with her new neighbors,” Armsworth said with a wry smile. “Of course, my aunt Agatha would never be mistaken for anything but exactly what she is.”
Olivia chuckled and then looked chagrined. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. I’ve met your aunt. I would never mistake her for anything but exactly what she is, either.”
He laughed aloud, revealing fine lines around his eyes. He was handsome when serious and devastatingly attractive when laughing. His hair was gold blond, thick, and trimmed to perfection. He was broad-shouldered and long-limbed and had an easy masculinity.
“She wrote me about you, you know.”
“About me?”
He nodded and smiled charmingly. “She was very adamant that I meet you. She described you as very beautiful and lively, and bright and well-spoken, although she is concerned that you’re growing a bit long in the tooth.”
“Long in the tooth?” Olivia said, laughing. “I am old compared to my friends who are already married with one or two children. My mother has told me that when the right man comes along, I’ll know right away. I don’t believe I’ve met the right one yet, though!”
He took her hand in his and stepped closer to her. She could smell his cologne and feel his body heat. The laughter in his eyes had been replaced with something akin to pleading.
“It is my wish to change your mind on that subject.”
“Oh,” she said and swallowed. “How clever you are. I didn’t mean to beg for a compliment.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
Olivia couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from him, and she felt the heat of a blush rise from her chest to her face.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Olivia turned, her cheeks warm, to her brother Matt. She stepped back quickly. “Of course not. Have you met Mr. Armsworth?”
“I haven’t,” Matt said with a smile, extending his hand. “What brings you to Winchester and within six inches of my sister, Mr. Armsworth?”
“Matthew!” she said.
“My apologies, Miss Gentry, if I have offended you or your family,” Armsworth said smoothly, with a nod to Matt.
She watched as Matt pulled Jim Somerset forward to join the conversation. She’d known Jim since she was a small girl. He and Matt were the same age and had been friends all their lives, having met as young boys when Jim’s father, the local farrier, serviced the Paradise horses. She’d long been over her girlish dreams of him from the time when his patience with a friend’s younger sister had made him her champion.
“Armsworth? Jim Somerset is an old friend of the family,” Matt said and looked at Jim. “Mr. Armsworth is going to tell me all about his work for the governor while you dance with Olivia.”
Matt turned toward Armsworth, giving Olivia his back and leaving her facing Jim. He was staring at her with his typical unreadable look.
“I suppose I can hardly blame you for your part in Matt’s scheme. More than likely he dragged you over here, away from the punch bowl and the food, on some shaky pretense so that he could—”
“Armsworth was standing too close. Your brother had an obligation to see to your welfare.”
“I’m well old enough to see to my own welfare.”
“Stories about Mr. Dunderage have been repeated to him. He’s your brother. What do you expect him to do?”
Olivia’s hands shook, and she was unsure if she was going to scream out in anger or cry. “Will my mistakes made as a young girl haunt me forever? Do you believe me so shallow that I was unable to learn any lessons? Am I such a child in your eyes? Get out of my way,” she said bitterly and began to step past him.
He didn’t move. “You should dance with me. You’re very upset, and I’m sorry to be the cause of it.”
“Why would I want to dance with you?”
“Because you don’t want to speak to anyone else at this party when you’re this angry.”
She looked away over the crowd in the ballroom. Guests everywhere were laughing, enjoying meats, cheeses, dainty sweets, glasses of wine or punch, reacquainting themselves with neighbors after a cold winter with few social events. He was right, even though it was hard to admit. She didn’t want to speak to anyone right now. She looked up at him, and he winged his arm, leading her onto the dance floor.
The musicians began a waltz, and she placed her hand on Jim’s shoulder as his hand went around her waist. Her skin tingled where he touched her through her pale green satin gown. She looked up at him, at his humorless face, his dark hair, longer than she thought necessary, the thick beard that covered his cheeks and neck, and his plain white shirt, stiff with starch and stretched tight across his chest and arms. He was as comfortable as her oldest riding boots and not quite as interesting.
But that wasn’t fair. She knew he was well-read and intelligent. Knew that he was a town leader and had been responsible for his mother and younger sisters and brother since his father’s death years ago. And even though his face was humorless, he was an attractive man, and a favorite of many of the unmarried women in town and a few of the married ones, too. She’d stopped thinking about him as being handsome or attractive years ago, though, when she’d been fifteen years old and he’d told her he wasn’t interested in her and never would be. It had shattered her virginal heart into a thousand pieces.
Olivia watched the other dancers as they went by and was content to let her anger fade away as he twirled her around the dance floor. She turned her eyes back to his face, and every surety she had of her own indifference to Jim Somerset fled as if she’d pulled on those comfortable boots and run away, past the stables and into the woods.
His eyes were not focused on her face but rather on the low neckline of her gown. Her mother had been concerned about that neckline, but Aunt Brigid had told her she was being a goose and that a young woman as beautiful and shapely as their Olivia should always don a gown so flattering.
Jim slowly raised his eyes to hers. His face was flushed, and even with the music and conversations flowing around them, she could hear his short breaths. But it was his eyes that made her swallow and her hand tremble on the rigid muscles of his arm. He’d been staring at her bosom now rising and falling, at her cleavage, she was certain. He twirled her faster around the edge of the room, spinning her without missing a step or bumping into the slow movers, and staring at her all the while, his eyes hooded and dark and intense. She was unable to break his gaze, trying desperately to keep up with his rapid double-time steps and the staccato rhythm he set. His hand at her waist tightened, and she felt a shot of aching restlessness from her breasts to below her waist. The waltz was familiar, but this dance was not.
The music ended and he stopped suddenly, sending her against him from breast to knee and caught in his grip on her arms. He set her away from him firmly, and none too gently.
She dropped her arms to her sides, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Her mother and Annie, her sister-in-law, were staring at her from just a few feet away, Annie’s mouth agape, her mother’s look calm and steady. Jim went away hurriedly, leaving her alone as the dance floor began to fill again. She was not certain she trusted her legs to carry her.
“My oh my,” Annie said and took her hand to lead her off the dance floor and to her mother’s side. “What good dancers you are.”
Jim Somerset lit a short cigar and wandered down the stone drive of the Paradise ranch. He could hear the music through the open windows of the ballroom, still lit up brightly when he took a sidelong glance over his shoulder. It would be a shame to ask his mother and sister to leave this early, but he wasn’t sure he could go back in the ballroom and face her. Olivia Gentry, that was. He wondered if there was any amount of distance he could put between them to get rid of the awful tension he felt.
She haunted him. Wafted through his dreams like a specter. Shortened his breath when he saw her at a distance and gut punched him when she was close enough to touch, as she was tonight. He took a long drag and dropped the cigar, tamping it out with his boot. He’d cured himself of her, hadn’t he? Long ago he’d decided he best find himself a nice woman to settle down with and have some children. They’d learn to be a comfort to each other as they grew older. But every time he met a woman for dinner or danced with one at a social, thinking he’d best begin courting, he found himself unenthused. Blasé enough to not be tempted to steal a kiss. What would a lifetime be like with a woman he didn’t want in that way? One that didn’t stir his blood. He could learn to appreciate her sewing or her cooking or her child-rearing skills, he imagined. Would it be enough?
Somerset wandered back toward the house, past the front doors and open windows of the ballroom, hearing snippets of conversation as he went, to the stone terrace at the back. He settled on a wooden bench and listened to the night sounds from the close forest of trees. It was cool and the hum of the party faded to the background. He consciously listened to the hoot of an owl, the chirp of crickets, and the yowls of barn cats set to fight each other.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Marabelle Winston said as she stepped out of the house.
Jim stood as she approached. “No need for an apology. We can both enjoy the night air.”
He watched her shoulders rise and fall and then she walked to him and sat down on the bench. He sat down beside her. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap and she was staring straight ahead. He’d known her for quite a few years and saw her often working in the mercantile for her father. He was never a man for small talk but Marabelle was clearly nervous or upset and he thought he best try and put her at ease. Surprisingly, she began to speak before he could remark on the temperate weather.
“Your mother told me that you’d gone outside. I came out to look for you.”
He turned to her. “Oh? What is it, Marabelle?”
But Marabelle didn’t say another word. Instead, she latched her lips to his, leaning in and laying a hand on his chest. He did not move, nor did he have any inclination to move. In fact, he sat very still for what seemed like minutes, although it was likely only seconds. Her eyes were closed. His were not. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone pass behind the window in the Paradise kitchens that looked directly on to the terrace. He hoped he and Marabelle were in shadow, as he wouldn’t want her to be the subject of gossip and didn’t want to raise any expectations among his family, or hers.
But then he thought perhaps Marabelle would be someone who would be a good wife and mother. In fact, he knew both to be true. She was kind and loyal and hardworking. She was quiet, although apparently not as shy as he’d thought before. The problem remained, however, that he was mentally evaluating her, with no desire to move this kiss beyond touching lips. He waited until she sat back, and he could see that she was breathing hard. Even in the shadows, he could see her blush.
“I am not beautiful, but I enjoy your company and hold you and your family in high regard. There. I’ve said it.”
“Thank you.”
Her head turned sharply to him. “Thank you? What do you mean by that?”
“You said you hold me in high regard. I was thanking you for it.”
Marabelle’s shoulders dropped, and he heard her sigh. “It is a lovely evening, but I’m chilled now. I’ll be going in. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“It was no bother.”
She stood and turned to look at him. “I’ll never be her. No one else will.”
He watched her retreating figure and heard the door close as she went back into the house. He really was not good at whatever he should be good at where it concerned women. Clearly, Marabelle was hoping for a declaration of some kind. I liked kissing you. I loved kissing you. I want to kiss you more. I hold you in high regard as well. You’re beautiful.
But it would have all been a lie had he said any of it. Marabelle was a pretty young lady but not beautiful, not to him anyway. Surely there would be a man who thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. That was not him. But what had she meant when she said, “I’ll never be her. No one will”?
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