Page 27 of The Autumn Wife
Above, Jules snickered.
Hungry or not, Theo figured the best place for him right now was twenty-five feet off the ground.
She leaned in, whispering, “Don’t be stubborn, Theo.”
“Just leave it on the trestle table.” It was taking all his control not to seize that pretty chin and set his lips on hers. “I’ll eat it later.”
“If I leave it there unattended,” she argued, “your prickly pet will devour it, and you know it.”
He glanced toward the table and the creature sniffing the ground beneath in search of scraps.
“Also,” she said, still whispering, “because Sister Martha has returned, you and I have important matters to discuss before I go to her office to report.”
She turned on a heel, heading toward the trestle table, assuming he would follow. After casting one last glare up at the grinning Jules, Theo fell in line. He kept his head down to avoid watching her walk, but he couldn’t block out the swish-swish of her skirts. The night he’d kissed her—and left her on the riverbank—he’d paused in the shadows to make sure she was safe. He’d watched as she’d submergedherself in the water and then climbed out soaked, hair half undone and clinging to her neck and shoulders, looking like some unworldly river nymph pulsing with enchantment, a thing of beauty brighter than starlight.
The rattling of a tray dropped on the trestle table brought him back to that river nymph, now yanking the cloth off the food before stepping out of his way. He swung a leg over the bench and sat. The porcupine settled at his feet, wriggling snout raised in expectation.
“I’ll be speaking with Sister Martha in a few moments.” Cecile, standing just beside and slightly behind him, knotted her hands at her waist. “She’s waiting to hear about every detail that concerns the building of the chapel.”
“Leave that to me.”
“In the matter of the construction, I will.” She took an audible breath. “But on another matter. Well, I have made a decision.”
A decision? Was this about her joining the religious congregation? Or did it have something to do with their kiss? Certainly, Cecile would know better than to confess their kiss to the nun—nothing good could come of that but having both of them expelled from the grounds—but he was at sea as to what matter bigger than that she was so concerned with.
“I’ve been considering this for days,” she continued. “And I’ve decided that I’mnotgoing to tell Sister Martha about your troubles with the law.”
He held his spoon suspended, gravy dripping. That? He’d nearly forgotten about it. To think a single brush of his lips against hers had eclipsed the memory of his confession.
“You’ve been badly treated,” she continued, “and I see no reason to extend the injustice.”
“You have a kind heart.” He glanced over his shoulder and drank in the quiver of her lower lip and the compassion in her eyes. “But, Cecile, you mustn’t lie to the Reverend Mother. Tell her everything.”
She reared back. “What?”
“If she finds out about my conviction in any other way but from you, she won’t trust you anymore.”
“But…but if I tell her, then she may send you back to the man who holds your papers—”
“Maybe.”
Maybe that’s for the best.Then, at least, they’d be parted. He’d be far away from the temptation to kiss her again.
“I suppose, even if I told Sister Martha about your past, she may keep you here anyway.” Cecile strode around the far end of the trestle table, where she paced a short furrow. “After all, she just said you performed a miracle, and you have proven trustworthy these past weeks—”
“Except when I’m alone with you.” The words rose up with a force he couldn’t stop. “Except,” he added, managing a rueful smile, “when I kiss you.”
“Theo.” Her throat flexed as she swiveled hard and laid a hand on her brow. “Let’s not discuss that right now.”
“Tell the Reverend Mother about my crime. You’ll stay in her good graces. But keep the kiss to yourself, or she’ll never take you in as a nun.”
That’s what you say you want, isn’t it? ?
To never know another kiss?
Cecile took a deep breath, walking around the end of the table to come to a stop just across from him. She stood as if she had been shoved upright into one of those iron cages he’d once seen hanging from a spike high on the wall of the Paris prison courtyard. The torture cage had been fixed with spikes so that a person couldn’t slump or wiggle without being pierced with dirty iron.
“Since you brought it up,” she said in a low voice, “that kiss was…was lovely.”
