Free Edith Layton by The Challenge

interrupted. By Mrs. Ames, or her daughters, or Jamie, all of whom thought the sun rose and set on their new guest.
    Instead, he entertained them all with stories about his travels and his homeland. When he did, the years fell away for Lucy. He made her laugh, he made her think, he made the breath catch in her throat when he looked at her the way he was doing now. With speculation. With amusement and wistful lust, and always with what seemed to be suchcomplete understanding of her feelings that it terrified and thrilled her.
    It made her believe too many things were possible. The possibility of laying her burden down at last, sharing it with another who cared as much for her as she did for him. The possibility of making love to a man again. The kiss they’d shared remained on her lips, no matter what they were talking about. But possibilities were one thing; she dared not hope.
    She reminded herself of the facts again. She only knew what he told her about himself; she didn’t know his friends or family. He might have dropped down from the moon, when all was told. She’d only his word for the rest. But some things were immutable. She was going home. He was traveling through. They could only be friends. And they were. She shared him with Jamie, the girls, the guests. It wasn’t enough, but it had to be. She had few illusions. And absolutely no room for fantasy. She would not allow it…. Unless.
    Unless he planned to stay and needed a wife, and wanted her for that, and had enough money so that he could take her and Jamie home to England with him to visit, so Jamie could meet his father’s family before she began a new one with her new husband. Him.
    The thought sprang free, bold and whole. It had been lurking in the back of her mind for days. But it was such a dazzling dream she’d dared not entertain it before, and couldn’t now, here before him in the daylight.
    So she tried to avoid his steady gaze and said brightly, “What did the architect say about your new home? You were gone with him all day. If I’m not being too presumptuous inquiring, that is, of course. But I thought it was a thing a friend might ask.”
    “You noticed my absence,” he said with satisfaction.
    She noticed everything about him. Today he was dressed all in biscuit and bone, his boots shining, his gleaming hair brushed back. She was wearing her best gown. The blue one. He’d seen her rose, and the gold one. She was glad spring was coming because she’d already run through her inventory of good clothes for winter, and had a limited number of shawls to disguise the lack of variety. But he may not be here in the spring , she thought, and watched him as though she was afraid he’d disappear now if she didn’t.
    “A friend may ask anything,” he said. “The architect was happy to report no woodworm or dry rot. The well is pure, the foundation sound, the windows fit, and the roof most definitely is on.”
    “So, you’ll be moving in soon?” she asked, horrified at how her stomach grew cold as her spirits went flat at the thought of having no excuse to see him every day.
    He hesitated. Her eyes flew to his face. She couldn’t read his expression. “I don’t think so,” he said.
    “Oh,” she said, because she couldn’t think of another thing to say. He didn’t fill up the silence.“Well, then,” she finally managed, her heart beating too fast, “I suppose you’ve decided to move on?”
    “No,” he said, “I haven’t decided anything, that’s the thing. Not about the house. Or my future.” His voice grew low, his gaze tender; he leaned forward. He took her hand and covered it with both of his. She was so surprised at the contact, so involved with feeling the size and dry warmth of his two hands on hers, it took a moment to make sense of his words.
    “Only a week, my dear,” he whispered. “We’ve only known each other a week. Astonishing. As startling to me as it is to you. But so it is, and the thing is, I have to be