Page 70 of Fair Weather Enemies
With deliberate intention, he raised her hand to his lips and one by one, gently kissed the tip of each finger. When she responded with a stuttered gasp, he slid his lips along the length of her index finger. They came to rest against her open palm where he massaged the flesh with a series of soft kisses. Her eyes drifted shut as her fingers and thumb curled to grip his stubbled jaw. He whispered words into her hand that she could not hear, but their meaning was abundantly clear. She leaned toward him, drawn by gravity or fate or the miraculous. His encompassing arms awaited. His everlasting kiss awaited.
Beelzebub, though, would have none of it. He thrust his nose between Adam and her and huffed a breath that sprayed mucus on them both. As they pulled abruptly apart, the horse tossed his head twice as if instructing Adam to take charge again of the tether. The spectacular moment shattered and crumbled into dust to join thousands of forgotten footsteps on the road. With a heavy sigh, Adam released her hand and recaptured the horse’s tether. Meanwhile, she lifted the exalted hand to her cheek and wiped away a glob of mucus. An involuntary smile stole across her face, and she began to laugh. He watched with raised eyebrows for a moment before her amusement drew him into shared laughter. As the laughter faded, reticence overcame her. She dipped her head shyly and peeked at him from beneath a furrowed brow. He returned the dip of the head.
“Come, Jane. We cannot remain here.”
“Of course.”
Without another word, he returned the stolen glove and they resumed walking. Aunt Hester and Mr. Barlow had continued onward, seemingly unaware of the unfolding drama in their wake. Jane and Adam set a quickened pace to make up the distance. As she walked by his side, the memory of his lips on her palm lingered, warm with empathy. It was not enough, though, to will away dark emotions. She considered the cruel irony of their situation. When they had departed on the journey two weeks earlier, one of them stood to win at the expense of the other. However, the startling affection flowering between them had changed everything. It guaranteed that both would suffer immense loss, regardless of the outcome.
They continued in silence, stepping in time to the clopping of Beelzebub’s hooves behind them. The steady rhythm allowed her thoughts to spin flights of fancy. She imagined the scenario of finding the gold and winning the coin toss, only to watch Adam lose control of his family legacy and marry a woman for whom he held little affection. The vision evoked mild nausea. She did not wish to be the source of his loss, the reason for his fall. How could she live with such a burden? How could she walk free from her debt while leaving him to spend a lifetime mired in his? How could she press onward while never again knowing the grip of his hand, the caress of his lips, or the warmth of his smile?
The dire vision circled her mind repeatedly. On each rotation she searched for an open door, a means of escape. However, she failed to find an exit. Mercifully, Aunt Hester’s call interrupted the grinding cycle.
“Look there. A village ahead.”
Jane lifted her absent gaze from the dirt to find her aunt halted ahead, one hand still ensconced in Barlow’s elbow. She spied rooftops protruding beyond the trees. She and Adam reached the pair in a few dozen steps.
“Which village is this?” Jane asked.
Barlow jerked a thumb over his shoulder to a sign beside the road, partially covered by a creeping vine. “Hawkshead, apparently.”
She pursed her lips in thought as a notion wriggled in her mind. “Hawkshead. A hawk is a bird of prey, is it not?”
She glanced at Adam. He lifted one eyebrow and nodded slowly. “It is. A proud bird of prey, one might even say.”
Barlow swept an arm toward the village. “Shall we, then? Perhaps we might find angels walking golden streets, if the letter is to be interpreted literally.”
They fell in step together and entered the village four abreast. The trees gave way to a huddle of whitewashed shops and houses nestled against a hill that rose from the far end of the village. An auspicious church crowned the rise.
“Yet another lovely place,” said Aunt Hester.
Jane nodded agreement. “Indeed. It seems this corner of England is overrun with quaint hamlets tucked amidst rolling hills and pristine lakes.”
Adam laughed. “Perhaps they might spare one or two for the rest of England.”
“Perhaps.”
After passing a row of houses, they encountered a sundry shop displaying an eclectic set of merchandise behind a pair of plate glass windows. A young woman was sweeping the walkway in front of the door, her back to them. On turning, she jumped with a start.
“Oh, my! I did not notice your approach!”
Jane made a quick study of the girl. She was perhaps fifteen and pretty. Her dress, although meticulously clean, represented the height of fashion from ten years past. Meanwhile, the girl appeared to give Jane similar scrutiny. Her eyes widened and she placed a hand to her mouth.
“You are from the south, yes?”
“Yes. From Oxfordshire by way of London.”
The girl clapped her hands together, allowing the broom to clatter forgotten to the walkway. “I knew you were! Oh, how exciting!”
“And this is Hawkshead?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, and absolutely the end of the civilized world.”
“But it seems a lovely place…”
“Oh, no. Hawkshead is where all culture dies, and all dreams go unfulfilled.” She placed the back of her hand dramatically to her forehead as if she were about to faint. “Oh, to live in London rather than in this wretched hovel!”
She gripped her skirt and twirled twice while gazing skyward. Jane glanced at Adam to find him unsuccessfully suppressing a smile at the girl’s theatrics. When she stopped spinning, he tipped his hat to her. “I am quite certain you would fit nicely in London, Miss…”
