At dinner, Gabe, dressed in tailored blue trousers and a pewter silk blouse, appeared listless, as though a balloon had deflated a portion of her essence. Her expression, the sullen eyes and taut lips, seemed like a remnant of their conversation the night before. He blamed himself for her mood. Probing into her past did not endear him to her.
Martha served a dinner of fresh rosemary chicken with sautéed vegetables and steaming bread that filled the air with a sweet and savory scent. She left the basket of bread on the table before returning to the kitchen. Henry followed her.
“Martha, would you mind terribly if I served the rest of the meal myself? Go home and have some time with your family.”
“I’m in your way, am I? Good to know you value the companionship of your fiancée.” A soft smile graced Martha’s face. “I left a strawberry trifle in the refrigerator for dessert. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thanks. You’re a treasure.”
When Henry strolled back into the dining room, Gabe was standing by the china cabinet absorbed in the wood carvings that decorated the edges.
“Do you approve?” he asked.
“Very much. The men and women who took care of the house for the past two hundred years did a marvelous job protecting the wood. Not even a chip in the corners.”
Henry moved behind her. She smelled of coconut shampoo infused with red wine. Different and unique, like her. Despite his hunger, he refused to touch her. She needed to make the next move in their relationship or let things simmer where they were. The simmering, however, was boiling his blood.
His breath caressed her ear, but he left a barrier between them. His body’s response to her was instant and hard and weakening his resolve. He fought to calm the urge to pull her into his arms and carry her to a place where secrets didn’t matter, only physical need. Her reflection in the glass of the cabinet showed her waiting for him to do something. He glanced over her shoulder at the dishes on display. “Do you recognize the pattern on the Wedgwood?”
She turned her head, and her lips came dangerously close to his. After a quick inhalation of breath and a lick of her delectable lips, she turned her gaze back to the china.
“Can I take it out?”
“Go ahead.”
She opened the cabinet and removed a teacup. A green vine bordered the rim with red floral accents. His mother’s favorite serving pieces. Gabe pointed to a signature on the bottom of the cup. “This is a handwritten mark for Wedgwood and Bentley. I’d probably date the set in the 1770s.”
Her admiration of the workmanship showed in the way she held the cup and examined the markings. Replacing the piece in the cabinet, Gabe ran her hand lightly across the wood and then returned to her chair at the table. Too sensual, too tempting.
Henry sat next to her and tapped his fingers next to his fork, an activity that didn’t involve an embarrassing tent in his pants. “Do you have identification for the airplane? I need to purchase the tickets.”
She bit her lip, holding back more of her true self, and then nodded. “I’ll write out the information in the morning, but please, don’t share it with Simon. Not yet.”
He took in a calming breath. By tomorrow, he’d have a name and an address. Henry needed to learn her true identity, craving the information like an adopted child searching for a hint of his past. He’d have to share it with his brother. Simon could locate her tormentor quicker and without exposing them all to unnecessary danger. The knowledge would also enable Henry to better protect her.
Gabe picked at her food, but somehow each bite looked like an erotic overture. Every time her mouth opened for another forkful of something, Henry’s blood burned. He couldn’t watch those pink lips wrap around the tines. Or how she pulled the fork from her mouth without parting her lips. She had to be doing this on purpose to drive him crazy. Since she’d made it clear she wanted to keep their relationship platonic, except for the occasional kisses he was able to steal from her, he needed to go slow.
He rose from his chair and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll understand if you can’t, but I’m asking you to trust me tonight. All night.”
Storm clouds appeared in her eyes. She was battling so many demons. Part of him wanted to hug her and eliminate all her fears, yet the other part, the part with knowledge about rape victims, reminded him that she couldn’t be pressured.
Her eyes focused on him, her look intense. Would she come? No. He saw the moment he lost her; she dropped her gaze to her dish, and her shoulders drooped down in defeat. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t. Not yet.”
He kissed her on the cheek, and then strode off to find some scotch to prevent him from sneaking into her bedroom later to comfort her.
Chapter Seventeen
Alex’s gut assured her that Henry would never hurt her. His actions told her the same thing. He’d helped her hide from Luc in Oxford and helped her to escape from Brian in Edinburgh. He’d slept in her bed and never crossed the line. He’d never lied to her. Alex paused to allow the last piece of ice chilling her heart to melt away. She trusted him. Yes, she really trusted him. And she’d let him walk away.
She lifted the plates and shuttled them into the kitchen, leaving the bottle of wine in the dining room. The old Alex would have finished off the bottle of merlot and the open bottle of chardonnay she’d found in the refrigerator. That wouldn’t solve her dilemma.
Not wanting to leave the dishes for Martha on her night off, Alex washed a dish, rinsed a dish, and then placed it on the drying rack. The warm, soapy water and the sound of the water flowing into the sink and the feel of the heat between her fingers soothed her. By the time everything was neatly stacked on the counter, she’d decided to embrace life, not hide away from it, even if she risked being hurt again.