Page 50 of Miss Dashing
She passed him the flask, wishing Nunnsuch in all its grandeur far, far out along the Cornish coast, or perhaps over the cliffs and into the sea.
“You should find some sandwiches in the hamper.”
“I am more interested in holding you,” Phillip said, draping her shawl around her shoulders. “I need to, in fact, or I will waft away on the night breeze like so much thistledown. I am that inebriated on joy.”
The things he said. “Can’t have you wafting away.”
They arranged themselves like a pair of spoons, Hecate’s shawl over them both. The robin had gone silent, and the quiet was profound. Hecate pillowed her head on Phillip’s biceps, his arm about her waist.
“Sleep if you want to,” he said. “I’ll be here when you waken.”
Until the snowdrops bloomed. The marvel was not that he’d offer her such sentiments, but that she trusted what lay behind them. Phillip wouldn’t return to Lark’s Nest and consign her to the category of pleasant memory. He was in her life to stay and in her heart to stay.
“I love you,” Hecate said, just as a star dropped from the zenith of the firmament. A brief, surprising trail of light that blazed more brightly as it fell, then winked into darkness.
Phillip shifted over her, and Hecate rolled to her back.
“Again, please,” he said. “I want to see your eyes when all my dreams come true.”
“I love you,” she said. “I esteem, adore, desire, and respect you, et cetera and so forth, but the truth of my heart is that I love you.”
He brushed his thumb over her brow. “How you honor me. How you honor and decimate me.” He kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, then her mouth, a romantic benediction. “I love you, too, and I always will.”
Desire rose again, just as sweet and fierce, but less frantic, less anxious. Hecate gave up any pretense of control and bobbed along on a tide of pleasure, letting Phillip work out for them both the path to satisfaction. He took his time. He meandered and moseyed until Hecate was flailing against him, and then the heavens once more revealed their magnificence, and Hecate became a temple to shared, incandescent joy.
She dozed off, to her mild chagrin, while Phillip held her and stroked her hair. When she awoke, they needed those sandwiches she’d packed, and the robin was once again in good voice. Nights were so short in summer.
And so lovely.
“Do we return the hamper and blanket to the kitchen?” Phillip asked when he’d assisted Hecate to dress and shrugged into his own clothing.
“We do not. I haven’t the strength, and there’s no need.” Hecate brushed her fingers through his hair and contemplated the monumental effort involved in getting to her feet. She was leaving the blanket a different woman from the person who’d lain down upon it just a few hours previously.
A happier woman, a more loving woman.
Phillip rose, stretched, and offered her a hand. He had her on her feet as easily as if he were plucking daisies, and then he hugged her.
“Never, ever will I forget the miracle of this night. You are a marvel, Hecate, and that you’d look with favor upon me to this extent… I am agog.”
“The marvel is mutual.” She hugged him back and knew they should be returning to the house. “Will I see you at breakfast?”
He brushed his fingers over her knuckles. “If only we could return here for breakfast or, better yet, never leave this place. You will think me a coward, but I do not want to face the people you call family.”
“I haven’t wanted to face them for years, but you have fortified me. I’m moving you to the summer cottage.”
Phillip began their progress across the field, hand in hand. “Does this summer cottage enjoy privacy?”
Hecate halted. “As a matter of fact, it does. A great deal of privacy. It sits across the park from the stream, shaded by tall maples and out of sight of the garden.”
They shared a smile, and Hecate’s steps were lighter as she resumed walking.
“Why am I to have the great boon of private quarters?”
“Papa’s arrival has thrown the arrangements into disarray, and you might recall that there’s some possibility another cousin will show up in the near term. I don’t have a specific date.”
“Cousin Johnny, late of the Canadian wilderness. I overheard your father’s announcement. Will you move DeWitt into the summer cottage with me?”
The discussion was mundane—who should be housed where?—but also novel. Guest accommodations were Hecate’s problem to solve, and yet, here she was, talking the situation over with Phillip.
