farmer, the odd place, the strange dances, or even Miss Smyth’s reluctance to be with him—would steal his last opportunity to learn, memorize, and discover why this woman—simple, humble—compelled him to be in this alien place with these unfamiliar people.
He sat down, a little closer than he should, and extended the cracked clay container.
She nodded her thanks, her hand trembling as she grasped the drink.
Fascinated, he found himself staring at the soft rose blush that bloomed upon her oval face.
Beautiful, graceful.
“I hope you’re fascinated by my skill at retrieving drinks from horrendous lines,” he said, attempting a charming smile. “I am well aware that, aside from one short waltz, my only other impression this evening has been tripping across dance floors and standing next to other men.”
She laughed, the lovely sound strumming inside his stomach and weakening his knees.
Not sparing the time to analyze why she was having this effect on him, he swallowed hard and slid a little closer. “I have waited all night for this chance to talk with you, Miss Smyth.” He angled his leg onto the rough pine bench so that he might lean toward her.
She scooted slightly away—of course she would.
Alec smiled to himself. A nervous doe beneath the expert claw of a lion.
He knew the steps to this dance. Though he assured himself she had run out of scooting room, a tinge of caution surfaced, but he allowed his shoulder to nearly touch hers anyway.
The pink blush brightened—
A beautiful, shy flower revealing itself with the bright sun—and her tiny freckles came out of hiding, scattering all over her nose.
As he watched her, a war of contradiction began within his conscience. Part of him wished to shield her, protect her from his own intent. Yet the greater part ached to seduce a kiss from her, a passionate embrace as reward for the grueling night he had suffered.
“Tell me. What else do you like to do when you are not dancing or bathing in the lake?”
She tucked her luscious lower lip inside her mouth, nibbling it with straight upper teeth. Bravely, she lifted her gaze and met his. Frowning, she said, “There’s time for little else but work.”
Covering surprise, he briefly glanced away. Why didn’t he see her poverty when he was with her? She did not know about rides in the park or pianofortes or chats at afternoon tea. Fool! Alec switched to a safer topic. “Are there any other Smyths at home?”
Mary laughed. His chest tightened as the sweet, unexpected sound surged through him like water on a parched beach.
“Aye, plenty,” she said. “I’ve two other sisters, both older.” She skipped a glance at him, her eyes twinkling. “And, I have four brothers, two older and two younger, one born three years ago.”
She paused, the smile remaining while she waited for his reaction. Too fascinated with the dimples that dented her cheeks and the way her expressive mouth formed words, he completely lost track of the substance of her sentence. Clearing his throat, he asked, “So, they all live in Dolly’s Brae?”
She shook her head. “Agnes is a year older than I,” she continued. “She’s here tonight but works in Banbridge, so I only see her once a month when she gets a day off. My oldest sister, Bridget, is married and living in Cork. My older brothers, Michael and Patrick, are in Belfast.” Her brows crinkled as if she were worried, and her attention briefly dropped back to her folded hands before she looked up again. She smiled.
Skipping like a shiny pebble across water, Alec’s surprised heart wondered how any reasonable man could concentrate on conversation when such a beautiful mouth smiled.
He pushed out another mundane question. “If you could go anywhere or do anything, what would you do?”
She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. His hungry eyes traced the soft curl of her ear and then lowered to the warm curve of her neck where the fortunate hair snuggled. He
He sat down, a little closer than he should, and extended the cracked clay container.
She nodded her thanks, her hand trembling as she grasped the drink.
Fascinated, he found himself staring at the soft rose blush that bloomed upon her oval face.
Beautiful, graceful.
“I hope you’re fascinated by my skill at retrieving drinks from horrendous lines,” he said, attempting a charming smile. “I am well aware that, aside from one short waltz, my only other impression this evening has been tripping across dance floors and standing next to other men.”
She laughed, the lovely sound strumming inside his stomach and weakening his knees.
Not sparing the time to analyze why she was having this effect on him, he swallowed hard and slid a little closer. “I have waited all night for this chance to talk with you, Miss Smyth.” He angled his leg onto the rough pine bench so that he might lean toward her.
She scooted slightly away—of course she would.
Alec smiled to himself. A nervous doe beneath the expert claw of a lion.
He knew the steps to this dance. Though he assured himself she had run out of scooting room, a tinge of caution surfaced, but he allowed his shoulder to nearly touch hers anyway.
The pink blush brightened—
A beautiful, shy flower revealing itself with the bright sun—and her tiny freckles came out of hiding, scattering all over her nose.
As he watched her, a war of contradiction began within his conscience. Part of him wished to shield her, protect her from his own intent. Yet the greater part ached to seduce a kiss from her, a passionate embrace as reward for the grueling night he had suffered.
“Tell me. What else do you like to do when you are not dancing or bathing in the lake?”
She tucked her luscious lower lip inside her mouth, nibbling it with straight upper teeth. Bravely, she lifted her gaze and met his. Frowning, she said, “There’s time for little else but work.”
Covering surprise, he briefly glanced away. Why didn’t he see her poverty when he was with her? She did not know about rides in the park or pianofortes or chats at afternoon tea. Fool! Alec switched to a safer topic. “Are there any other Smyths at home?”
Mary laughed. His chest tightened as the sweet, unexpected sound surged through him like water on a parched beach.
“Aye, plenty,” she said. “I’ve two other sisters, both older.” She skipped a glance at him, her eyes twinkling. “And, I have four brothers, two older and two younger, one born three years ago.”
She paused, the smile remaining while she waited for his reaction. Too fascinated with the dimples that dented her cheeks and the way her expressive mouth formed words, he completely lost track of the substance of her sentence. Clearing his throat, he asked, “So, they all live in Dolly’s Brae?”
She shook her head. “Agnes is a year older than I,” she continued. “She’s here tonight but works in Banbridge, so I only see her once a month when she gets a day off. My oldest sister, Bridget, is married and living in Cork. My older brothers, Michael and Patrick, are in Belfast.” Her brows crinkled as if she were worried, and her attention briefly dropped back to her folded hands before she looked up again. She smiled.
Skipping like a shiny pebble across water, Alec’s surprised heart wondered how any reasonable man could concentrate on conversation when such a beautiful mouth smiled.
He pushed out another mundane question. “If you could go anywhere or do anything, what would you do?”
She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. His hungry eyes traced the soft curl of her ear and then lowered to the warm curve of her neck where the fortunate hair snuggled. He
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