Page 49 of Sweet Siren
Chapter 11
Liv climbed the hill,her small leather reticule in one hand, her hat in the other. The sun streamed down, so bright and warm that she was happy she'd donned her lightest cotton gown on this hot July Saturday afternoon.The stone masons and carpenters would be at home on their half day of rest, enjoying their suppers with their families. The terrain to the top was clear of brush, thanks to the crew that labored to level the drive and the gardens for Killian's country home. She had easy walking up the steep terrain. For days, she'd yearned to come here this afternoon and be alone with the sun and the sea. Could the heat bake her mind and the wind free her body of her never-ending debate about how much she missed KillianHanniford?
She picked her way up the hillside to the cliff and muttered to herself about her conflict. She couldn't rid herself of it. Her need to see Killian. Her fear that next week she'd meet with him and want his kisses so badly that she'd act like a hoyden. Occupying herself well each day, she worked hard and bent to her work, her choices of Bath stone for the corner quoins in the townhouses, the baked roof tiles, the plumbing pipes for the cisterns and the roasting oven ironwork. And more, so much more. She was grateful for the wealth of it, the details she had to master. But at dusk when she returned to her neat little house facing the sea, he invaded her thoughts. She'd dismiss her maid, her only servant here at the seaside house. She often cooked her own dinner and then she would sit at her bay window, her view out to sea. And he would come toher.
He stood before her, alluring as the devil, grinning at her, putting his hands on her, eliciting a contented sigh. And she'd blink. Become aware and chase him away. Yet he'd return to the edges of her consciousness, lingering, teasing her with what might be. And what wasnot.
What did he do tonight? Where did he dine? Who enjoyed his company? What lady of London claimed his attentions? Hissmiles?
"I'm quite mad with it," she murmured as she lifted her skirts high to side-step the bigger rocks. Thank heavens, her two heavier petticoats lay abandoned on her bed in the little townhouse she'd let on the Marine Parade. With them on as well as her ridiculous corset and bustle, she would have become a puddle in this heat. Today, she cravedfreedom.
Fortunately she'd grabbed her straw hat with the widest brim and run out the front door to go up into the public carriage she ordered for herself today. The hackney driver had become her friend, arriving for her each weekday morning at nine. He'd arrived for her this noontime, fetching her for this special trip. He asked why she came again this afternoon. She'd told him she needed the solitude. Work on the townhouses proceeded apace, the pesky problems with the wooden staircases solved. Work on Killian's country house was on schedule, the foundation completed, the wood frame half up, the plan to join the new house to the terrace measured andplotted.
What she did not tell her coachman was her true purpose here today. Her one desire was to stand and face the sea, enjoy the wind in her hair and inhale the fragrances of the abundant wild flowers growing on the leeward side of the medieval arches. Jealously, she'd wanted time to enjoy the view alone without interruption byworkmen.
As she cleared the top of the ridge, she stopped and put down her reticule. Always the view through those arches made her heart skip a beat. She pressed her palm to her chest. The sight had soothed her when she'd been a child. The blue sea through the faded ivory stone curved like repeated frames over a panorama. Killian would get to see this view each day. Morning, as the sun dawned on the crests of waters floating west from the Normandy coast of France. Afternoon, as the rays burned into the sea and turned it green or gold or grey with rain. Evening, as the moon rose to waltz on the waves as the sea met the sky in a velvet blanket of night and stars twinkled in thevoid.
A gust of wind lifted her hat and she reached out a hand to snatch itback.
"I've caught it. Not toworry."
She turned to the sound of Killian's assurances and she beamed at him. Loneliness fled, her sad companion since the day she'd last seen him.Goodriddance.
He strode the few steps toward her, a smile wreathing his handsome face, her hat in one hand, his own straw bowler in the other. He wore tailored buff trousers, a red waistcoat and navy frockcoat. To all who would see him, he appeared the prosperous gentleman, attired for his day of leisure in the sea-side town ofBrighton.
"You surprised me! Thank you." She put a hand to her brow to admire every inch of him in the sunlight. He handed over her hat and she put it down on the stone ledge. "I didn't know you were coming. I thought your note said nextweek?"
"It did." He examined her, leaving nothing out of his perusal and making her feel self-conscious and oh, so desired. "I decided to come early. I needed a report. My designer, you see, writes infuriatingly shortletters."
"You should have told her," she said, wanting to tease him and kiss him and... No. No she didn't. "She'd be moredetailed."
"I took it as a good excuse to come," he said as he walked around her right up to the opening between two of the arches. He stood a moment, hands on his hips, inhaling the salt air deeply. "My lord. I'd forgottenthis."
She moved next to him. "Remarkable, isn'tit?"
He only shook his head and leaned over, two hands upon the stones and surveyed one end of the beach to the other. "On a clear day, you can see formiles."
She pointed, her arm out toward the east. "In the morning, you can almost detect the roof ofOsborne."
"Queen Victoria's summer house?" he asked, smiling andpleased.
"Yes." She liked him happy and tickled, marveling at the world. Like this, he was not any of those hideous names many called him. He wasn't Black-hearted Hanniford or Hanniford, the Bastard, or the rebel blockaderunner.
"And west? What's to seethere?"
"The shore. Thecliffs."
"Sowhite."
"Yes. Chalk.Limestone."
"But the pebbles on the beach are brown," he said. "Why?"
"I've heard our masons say they're flint, hard polished sand. If you're available tomorrow, we can ask them to describe how they came tobe."
He seemed content with that, his eyes still on the coast. "Your family owned this land." It wasn't a question, but definitely aninquiry.
"My husband's family did, yes. I'm not certain the year. Although my father-in-law told me that his grandfather had purchased the land at the turn of the century when the Prince Regent was building the Pavilion. Then anyone who was society came to curry his favor, eat at his dining room table and gaze up at his enormous dragon hanging from theceiling."
