Page 61 of A Caribbean Heiress in Paris
That was delivered with a glint in her eyes that made Luz’s face heat.
“Of course,” she said, flustered.
“We’re very pleased to have you as the mistress of Braeburn Hall.”
“Thank you,” Luz murmured, breathing very slowly as she watched the older woman leave, wishing she had Amaranta or Clarita here as a shield from the resounding proximity of Evan Sinclair’s bed.
Eighteen
Evan had been prowling his room like a caged tiger for what seemed like hours. He could not sit through another meal of them both chewing and swallowing without speaking a single word. He’d been avoiding the truth about what was happening with him from the moment he’d laid eyes on Luz Alana. He had plenty of excuses as to why he’d pursued her, but when he’d stood in front of her and recited those vows, he could no longer deny what he wanted.
It was as ridiculous as it was undeniable: he was in love with his temporary wife. And now he was hiding from her like a damned coward.
He’d brought her here, to the place that meant more to him than anything in the world, and he’d squirreled himself away in his study so he didn’t have to face the fact that in a week’s time, she’d altered everything he thought he wanted for himself. The prospect of a life of solitude making whisky didn’t make sense anymore. He wished he could set himself on a different course than the one he was on, but now it was too late. He could not go back on what he had promised Apollo, and he would lose her for it.
A knock on the door offered a reprieve from his thoughts and he rushed to open it. He found Mrs. Crawford holding a small book in her hands, seeming awfully pleased with herself.
“Her Ladyship asked me to give you this. She’s ready for dinner,” the older woman said, handing him the leather-bound tome. “And if you don’t mind my saying, sir—”
“Of course not.” Evan managed to suppress any trace of sarcasm. Mrs. Crawford habitually apologized for being too forward, right before she dove into his personal affairs.
“You should go to her.” Her expression was not the usual easy one Evan secretly called herloving rebukeexpression. Margaret Crawford was deadly serious. “Our wedding day is something women look forward to our entire lives, and having no one there with you...” Her lip wobbled at whatever she was recalling. “It’s wretched. No matter what she tells you, no woman wants to be on her own on her wedding night.”
Damn it all, she was right.
“Thank you, Mrs. Crawford,” he told the woman, who was looking at him inquisitively. “I’ll go see her now,” he offered.
“You care for her.” It was not a question. With effort he cleared his throat, but nothing came out. “She cares for you too. I can already see it changing you. You’ve been carrying much too heavy a load on your own, and I think you finally found someone to make it lighter,” Mrs. Crawford added after a moment, a hopeful smile on her lips, before turning toward the stairs.
He closed his door with the older woman’s words ringing in his head and opened the small volume. It was poems, in Spanish. He carefully leafed through it and noticed that there were handwritten notes inserted between certain pages. He took them out and realized she’d translated some of the poems into English for him. He scanned a few verses, his eyes snagging on a couple of lines.Song of Autumn in the Springtime by Rubén Darío, she’d written, in her loopy, elegant cursive.
She gnawed at the very heart of me,
that’s what she strove to do...
love’s flame for me she was,
and she could make each embrace, each kiss,
a synthesis on eternity.
With the book still in his hand, Evan started moving. He pulled open the door connecting their rooms with such force he was surprised he didn’t take if off the hinges. He made his way into her room with such haste he crashed into her.
She fell into his arms, and he kept her there. It felt as though it had been years since he’d held her.
They both spoke at once, “I’m sorry for not coming sooner” colliding with “I was going down to dinner.”
“Your dress.” Not just her dress but all of her was breathtaking.
“What about it?” she asked, in that surly manner of hers. He bit back a smile and took a moment to admire her.
“It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.” Her eyes had been downcast, her focus on something at her feet, but after a moment, she glanced up at him. Her breath caught at whatever she encountered on his face. He imagined he must look stunned, unsteady. But when she spoke it was not to titter at his compliment.
“Did you finish reading all your correspondence?” she asked, her chin jutted up pugnaciously, but he could see the question in her eyes. Who did she think he was corresponding with?
“Does the duchess require your presence in Edinburgh?” Her eyes blazed with a possessive glint that should not have been as arousing as it was. He took a step toward her.
“I don’t have any business with duchesses, Luz Alana.”
