Free Love Letters by Lori Brighton Page B

display their light. The very air had seemed to change with his presence; vibrating, pulsing with a steady energy. She paused on the veranda, the slate slippery with rain. A mist dampened her hair and covered her exposed arms and upper chest in a chill kiss.
    Spotting the Greek looking folly of marble, she hesitated. Anticipation thrummed through her body, tempting her to move down the steps until her slippers sank into damp grass. Halfway there, she paused, her hands fisting in the fine dress that was supposed to be Helen’s. A brilliant burst of lightning streaked across the sky. Cynthia lifted her skirts and rushed forward, finding cover under the domed roof.
    The round space was empty but for shadows. He wasn’t there. Her heart squeezed painfully. He hadn’t come. He hadn’t bothered. Or had his request been a jest meant to humiliate? Perhaps he knew her secret and meant to punish her. Part of her was relieved he wasn’t here. Part of her miserable.
    She wrapped her arms around a marble post and held tight. He hadn’t come. How utterly alone she felt as she stared at the manor. To many she supposed the windows were a bright beacon of safety and happiness; couples dancing and mingling. But she did not belong, never had.
    How often had she stood at the perimeter of a ballroom, watching, always watching. Barely noticed and when noticed, only by the rakes who thought she would be an easy target. But those letters from Gabriel …those letters had made her feel as if she belonged…belonged somewhere…belonged with him.
    “You came.”
    Cynthia gasped and spun around. From the shadows a tall, lean figure stepped forward. Her heart thundered madly. Even in the dark, she recognized him. How long had he been watching her?
    “You told me to,” she stammered, her hands coming to rest on her quivering belly. The folly seemed smaller now that he was here.
    “Yes, but you never seem to do anything anyone tells you.”
    She had to remember he was speaking of her cousin, not her. No, because meek Cynthia did everything she was told. He started forward slowly, his shoes tapping against the marble floor. She couldn’t seem to breathe. Her lungs had shrunk. She squeezed backward but found her exit blocked by cold stone walls.
    “I do listen, upon occasion,” she murmured softly, too afraid to speak louder for fear he’d recognized her voice. “When I want to.”
    “And you wanted to now? To see me.”
    He paused only a foot away. So close, his warm breath stirred the lace of her mask. Of course she wanted to see him. She loved him. “Of course I want to see you,” she whispered. “I…you’re my fiancé.” His wonderful scent swirled around her, muddling her thoughts. A spicy cologne, leather, rain, and male.
    “We haven’t announced our engagement yet. There’s still time to back out.”
    She released a harsh, unnatural laugh. “Why would I do that?” Dear Lord, had her aunt been right? Was he losing interest? Instead of panicking, she felt oddly relieved.
    He reached forward, taking a lock of her hair. His fingers brushed the side of her neck and sent heat like an arrow straight through her body. “Because, my dear Helen, there are times I wonder if you truly want to be engaged to me.”
    Startled, she looked up at him. “What do you mean?” She turned away, staring out an arched window and onto the lawn where a mermaid fountain spewed water. Breath held , she waited for his answer.
    “Your letters have always been so warm, but the few times I’ve met with you…well, you’ve been less than receptive.”
    “I’m…shy.”
    He laughed, the sound echoing in the small abode. He stepped closer to her, his chest pressing intimately to her shoulder. She couldn’t back away. Not only did she have nowhere to go, but if she did, her action would only confirm his suspicion.
    “All right, I’m not shy,” she admitted. “But…but you make me feel that way.” She turned to face him, looking directly into his