He turned his gaze upward to the canopy of the bed. “I told you; I never knew her.”
“But you must have heard about her,” she replied. “And you said you saw her in your dreams.”
He closed his eyes, trying to envision her. “I saw her portrait once. She was beautiful—an angel, really. It was the servants who told me the most about her. Stories of her kindness, her merriment, her humor, her generosity. Funnily enough, they used to tell me of the balls she would arrange; how they were the most magnificent in England. I think there might have been some exaggeration, but I relished hearing about them.”
“I wish I could have met her,” Teresa mumbled, her breaths slowing.
“So do I,” he sighed in reply. “But the woman in my dreams was always kind, tending to me when I was in such pain. I like to believe it was her, even now, even knowing how impossible that is. I sometimes like to imagine what my life would have been if she had lived—what sort of man I might be. The difference it could have made if?—”
He glanced down and realized that Teresa was asleep. Her hold upon him had slackened, her arm now draped loosely over his stomach, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm against his side. Meanwhile, her head rose and fell withhisbreaths, still using his chest as her pillow.
“I could not lose you the same way,” he whispered, his throat catching. “But… I think I can prevent that.”
Lightly brushing the hair out of her face, gazing at her sleeping form, he understood that he was already in love with her. And it was up to him to resist temptation, to keep her safe. That was theonly way, in his mind, that everything would be all right, that he would be allowed to have and keep his love.
This will be enough,he told himself, pressing a gentler kiss to her hair.
He wanted to believe it, more than anything. He wanted to believe that he could love herandkeep her safe, keep her alive. As long as there were no children for her to bear and birth, she would survive his curse; he was convinced of that.
Indeed, all he had to do to keep what his heart desired was ensure that history did not repeat itself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“It is a beautiful day, is it not?” Teresa called out, grinning from ear to ear.
She could not have imagined herself being so happy, her mood perpetually cheery, her days filled with loveliness. It was not the dramatic romance that she had daydreamed about for so long; it was something far, far better.
It was real.
“Be careful you do not burn,” Cyrus called back from his horse, a short distance away.
Despite his insistence that she would not notice his presence, that he was only there to protect her at a distance, he had not yet ventured out of her sight. She did not mind; it was rather nice to have company on the walk, even if he was notquitenear enough to converse with, without shouting.
“It is not at all hot enough for that!” she protested with a laugh.
Still, it was a relief to know that she would not return to a place where her mother would be there to scold her for freckling. Cyrus had already told her that he admired her freckles.
It had been three days since that life-altering kiss in the carriage. There had been a few echoes of it since, stolen moments on garden wanders and at the dinner table, and in the mornings when they awoke together, but there had been nothing more. They had been sharing a chamber, solely to sleep.
I have no need to rush anything.She smiled at her husband’s consideration, imagining the horde of children they might have in the future.
It was a precious thought, but she had learned from her sister that children changed a great deal about life itself. With that in mind, she had decided not to be impatient, but to enjoy her freedom to do as she pleased while she was still able to. Besides, she could not imagine anything more wonderful than to kiss, and be kissed by, her husband.
“Perhaps, we ought to find some shade for a while!” Cyrus said, his horse snatching up tufts of grass.
“Not yet!” she replied, eyeing a crag in the near distance. “I will climb to the top ofthatfirst, and then I shall rest.”
The view across the countryside would be extraordinary; she could feel it in her bones. More to the point, she had barely walked more than a couple of miles, if her legs were correct in their guess. She had plenty more to do before she stopped.
Cyrus shook his head. Evidently, it was not the answer he had hoped for, but he did not argue as he waited for her to catch up.
“You should wait for me on the other side,” she suggested. “I will not be long.”
He raised a dubious eyebrow. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I am trying to get you to do as you promised, remaining at a distance where I would not even know you were there,” she teased, patting the horse’s neck. “Otherwise, it is not at all like one of my usual walks.”
“I am not keen to let you out of my sight.”
