Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
She’d known it all along but persisted in blaming herself. That was why she’d needed to be spanked, to be punished so severely. She wasn’t bad, she was a liar. She had lied to herself, casting Fortenbury as the faultless one between them, and herself as the problem.
“Thank you,” she said, now that she could think more clearly.
“You shouldn’t thank me.”
She did not understand his expression as he said it. She handed back his sodden handkerchief, shying away from his gaze. He didn’t seem the Lord Augustine who’d spanked her at piano lessons. He seemed darker now. Bigger. Stronger. A little less civilized when he wasn’t wearing his coat and cravat.
“Let’s sit by the fire a moment,” he said.
“Yes. All right.”
She felt slightly off-balance, not physically, but emotionally. It was a relief to settle into the chair by the warm hearth, even though it hurt to sit.
He pulled a chair over beside hers. “I would send for tea, but…”
“Yes, it’s late.” Elizabeth felt a blush come over her. The saner she felt, the more she realized her behavior this night had gone beyond the pale. “I’m sorry, August. I don’t know what I was thinking, disturbing your sleep this way. I was beside myself, or I wouldn’t have come to you at such a late hour.”
“It’s all right. You needed help. You needed a friend.”
He’d always been her faithful friend, as long as she could remember. She didn’t want to dwell on his goodness, or the emotional tears would come rushing back. Instead, she looked around his room, taking in the ancient-looking furniture, the small bed, the weathered crucifix on the far wall.
“Why, they’ve put you in a monk’s quarters.”
“A parson’s room, at least. Yes. I don’t mind it so much. It’s quiet.”
“You might move to the main house, if you asked. I think there are a few empty rooms.”
“There aren’t.” He looked at her from beneath his dark lashes. “You have a lot of family and friends here. And they all love you very much.”
The fire crackled as a silence lengthened between them, but it was comfortable, not awkward. She pulled her robe closer around her, shifting on her sore bottom.
“Can I ask you something, Elizabeth?”
She looked up at his questioning tone. Firelight shone against his tousled, black-brown hair.
“What did you see in the valley? Did you really see people, otherworldly people?”
“No.” She hadn’t, though she’d had a sense they might have been there. “I saw fires built in a circle, as if there were…I don’t know. Some settlement there.”
A settlement of old Welsh faeries. She’d heard of faerie fires but didn’t think she’d ever see them. She didn’t think they’d threaten her impending marriage, for all that.
“It gave me goose pimples,” said August, “when all of us looked out and couldn’t see anything.”
He studied her with a probing expression. It gave her goose pimples to be looked at that way. She hugged herself, wondering why she wasn’t leaving August’s room, leaving him to his rest after she’d practically forced him to spank her.
“Do you think they wanted you to see them?” he asked. “The people…whoever made those fires?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if I really saw any otherworldly visions or ancient fires. Perhaps it was just a trick of the midday light.”
“It’s all right if you saw something, you know. Fortenbury was the only one who got upset about it.”
She didn’t want to tell August how vivid the fires had seemed, almost too vivid. She couldn’t tell him how she’d sensed good feelings in the air, contentment and joy emanating from Cairwyn’s valley at the winter’s solstice. Warmth, happiness, and mirth enough to make her soul fly. Then Lord Fortenbury’s scrutiny had broken the spell. His curt words had made her feel low and cold.
A sob burst from her, though she’d been done crying minutes before. “I want to be married. Oh, August! I want to be married more than anything, but I don’t know if he will make a good husband.”
“Can’t you tell, using your powers? Can’t you know somehow if he will be good or bad?”
“My powers? It’s not like that. And when I’m wrought up and overly emotional, I can’t trust what I feel. I just want a husband. Any husband at all, which is so foolish of me.”
His large, strong hand, the one he’d just switched her with, tapped upon her chair’s arm. “If you don’t want him, you must tell your father. I know it’s difficult, but there will be others—”
“I doubt that. If I broke things off with Lord Fortenbury, that would be four unsuccessful engagements. Who would want me after that?”
“If you can see into the future, you must see that you won’t grow old alone.”
“I can’t read the future.” Her temper rose like a sudden gust of wind. “I’m not some mystic with a crystal ball.”