She only knew that it did.
That she wanted to trust him, she wanted to tell him everything, and yet the full truth remained gauzed.
Her breath came swiftly through parted lips as she moved across the room. She turned up the lamp at once.
She drew in a long breath.
Then she retrieved the miniature from her pocket and brought it close to the light.
Then the room tilted and shock sent black spots scudding across her vision as she looked down at her own face.
He shouldn’t have kissed her.
Not when she didn’t know the truth of him. Not when she was so vulnerable. And not given what he’d begun to believe had happened to her.
But he frankly thought even now that he would have died if he’d waited another moment to kiss her. And as long as he still drew breath the possibility ofmaking love to her existed. As long as he drew breath, he could somehow help her.
Thesoundshe’d made.
Lust speared right through him at the memory. He sucked in a hot, unsteady breath.
And theneedhe’d tasted. The sweetness and heat of her mouth.
The places he could have taken that kiss, then and there.
He swore softly and brutally.
He could also feel her uncertainty, all entwined with the desire. Inextricable from it.
It wasthishe would always honor. He wanted her to be certain. He would not coax or persuade or seduce.
And he would not kiss her again until they knew the truth of each other.
He knew she was near a point of breaking. She wanted so very badly to trust him, but her will was surprisingly, gratifyingly indomitable and stubborn. He was paradoxically glad that she was cautious with her trust. It was only sensible.
He just... wasn’t quite certain what to do next. And his mind had always ticked along methodically. Healwayshad a strategy. He only knew it would be best for her to tell him the truth before he revealed his reasons for being here. He would then, carefully, gently, reassure her that his original mission had changed irrevocably.
He lowered himself carefully to the bed and sighed. Whereupon his roiling thoughts and restlessness were interrupted by a knock at the door.
He rose again and peered out the peephole.
He opened the door to behold Dot bearing a little cup on a tray.
“Here is your willow bark tisane,” she said.
Which amused him. She said it as though this was unequivocal. As though he’d demanded it.
He took it gently, as if it were her hand. He and Aurelie both were finding grace in caring for each other.
He drank it.
Presently, he did indeed feel better.
Aurelie stared down at the miniature she had given to Brundage as a gift.
The only one ever painted of her. The one that looked as much like her as it did any dark-haired, blue-eyed girl. In other words, not much like her, really. But she’d been so proud to have a miniature at all, and proud to give it to the man she was meant to marry.
Brundage had promised he’d have a large portrait done of her once they were wed. One that... how had he put it? “Did her justice.”