the war began, life had been one long series of partings. Tears shone in her eyes. Why did she care so much? He might have wronged her in the past, but she could not deny the physical attraction she felt for him. And then there was his son. Already Dickon was beginning to steal his way into her heart. That poor child had been through so much already. Anne Lister might have been low down in her estimation, but she had been his mother. Having been blessed with the most wonderful mother in the world, Arabella could not begin to imagine the pain of being raised without a mother’s love. Please God, don’t let him lose his father, too. Suddenly she knew that it mattered terribly that Edward came back safe—for Dickon’s sake, if not for her own.
‘You will come back. Have no fear,’ she said, her voice light, hiding the pain filling her mind. ‘Do not concern yourself about us. I will keep Dickon safe.’
Edward glanced across at Stephen, who was mounted and ready to go. He glanced back at Arabella with his disconcertingly blue eyes. When a smile tugged at her beautiful mouth, unable to resist the temptation to taste its sweetness, he bent his head and kissed her hard and fast on the lips, a kiss of anger and need and lost possibilities, the pressure of his mouth lingering longer than was customary.
When he released her his eyes were still on her, gauging her, watching for every shade of thought and emotion in her.
‘Take care, Bella,’ he said, his voice husky with emotion. He touched her cheek with his finger, as if commending her visage to memory against the moment when they must part, then turning from her he walked to his horse. Taking the reins, he looked back at her. His face was drawn and bleak in the harsh sunlight. ‘What you said to me last night—that I must enjoy the fighting—you are wrong. I do not enjoy what I do. An army is a harsh and brutal world to inhabit. Death is constant and soldiers carry their lives in their hands and look death in the face all the time.’
For another second they looked at each other, silent in the stillness of the morning. Arabella was overwhelmed by the urge to go to him, to reach up and touch his face. Immediately she pushed the feeling away, angry at her weakness. Then he hoisted himself into the saddle and was riding after the others through the gatehouse.
She watched him disappear from her sight, touched by an inexplicable sensation of loss. For all its intensity the kiss had been brief. The touch of his mouth on hers had sent a jolt through her system, which had for a moment left her incapable of coherent thought. She was unable to banish the memory of his mouth on hers. Her lips were warm and tingling from the farewell kiss, confirming it had actually happened, that and a heart full of unfamiliar emotions simmering inside her.
Putting her fingers to her lips, she stared after him. She had not expected him to do that. It was strange, she thought, how she could still feel it long after it had ended. At that moment it seemed to her that she had been set upon a stormy sea of emotions that had left her breathless and confused.
Clearly he had not changed. Not his reckless attitude or, to her dismay, the way he made her feel. She’d been alive to his touch, filled with a sweet longing that seemed to promise something wonderful that was just beyond reach. The way he had looked at her. The tone of his voice when he said her name. He had wanted her. The signs had all been there.
She looked down as something white fluttered at her feet. It was his handkerchief. She picked it up, holding it close to her chest, and his scent, a blend of wind and rain and leather and horses, was everywhere. She wanted to run after him and call him back and have him kiss her again with the ghosts of the past all around them. But she could not and so let the opportunity slip through her fingers. She felt empty and alone once more.
How could she have allowed such a thing to happen? With her emotions running high she had foolishly allowed herself to be borne away on a wave of passion. She despised herself for succumbing so readily to his coercive masculinity. Did he think he could go to another woman and come back and take up where he had left off?
Having witnessed the kiss, Alice came to stand beside her, her eyes fixed on the gatehouse.
‘So, Arabella,’ she said quietly, ‘if the kiss I witnessed is an indication of future expectations, it would seem Sir Edward’s intentions to court you are about to be resumed.’
Arabella was strangely reluctant to speak of Edward, for reasons that were hardly formulated even in her own subconscious, but she could not evade Alice’s questions. ‘Yes, he kissed me and I let him. He—he is a soldier going to fight. He might not come back. But it meant nothing. Edward left me—rejected me for another woman. It’s a long time ago, I know, but I have not forgotten—nor have I forgiven him.’
‘Do you remember how angry Father was when he renounced the betrothal—and Stephen, come to that? But they seem to be staunch friends now.’
‘It’s the war, Alice. The conflict has thrown them together in ways we could not have imagined before that. Both our families have lost so much—loved ones and our homes.’
‘Yes, we have. It will be hard for all of us when this is over. Nothing will be the same again.’
* * *
Riding with his companions towards Worcester, Edward found his thoughts wandering to Arabella. It was painful leaving Dickon behind, but he was shocked to discover how much he would miss Arabella. He had vowed that after Anne, with her treachery and deceit, his emotions would never again be engaged by a woman. But Arabella was not Anne.
He’d had to lose her to appreciate the prize he had lost.
She had been naïve, an innocent, and he had brought shame on himself for hurting her as he had. He felt a profound remorse that he had given her reason not to want him. He despised himself for the callousness with which he had broken off their engagement and he desperately wanted to make amends, to close the chasm that had opened up between them.
What Arabella had been through had toughened her. She was hard to read. He had hoped she might have put their past behind her, but they had parted bitterly all those years ago and he sensed a wariness about her now for which he could not blame her. But there was something about her, something that made him feel more alive than he had felt in a long time when he looked at her.
The kiss he had given her had been spontaneous, shocking him with its sweetness, its intensity. It had never happened to him before—at least, not since he had met and married Anne. Meeting Arabella again—all grown, a woman now—he found her intriguing and fascinating. But she was not ready to give her heart. Where he was concerned she never would be and he could not blame her for that.
* * *
In the days following Stephen and Edward’s departure nothing eventful happened at Bircot Hall.
Arabella watched Dickon running around the hall with Alice’s children. He was laughing and it warmed her heart to see him enjoying the game. At first he had been such a solemn child, so quiet, with a serious way of looking at her with his big blue eyes. This was exactly what he needed, other children to play with.
It was with enormous regret to Arabella that Joan had done exactly what Edward said she might do and left Bircot Hall for her home in Bath. Arabella had thought it would affect Dickon, that he would pine for her, but much to her relief he didn’t seem to mind being without her. Arabella was touched that he turned to her. Dickon had worked his way secretly and profoundly into a corner of her heart. She was the one who watched over him, who washed him, fed him and put him to bed and told him the kind of stories children like to hear. She was the one he ran to when he tumbled over and she brushed away his tears.
Alice had reason to rejoice when she received a long-awaited
