Page 75 of Murder in Moonlight
She took hold of his arms, gave him a little shake. “That is not the same thing. And you know it. I saw it in your eyes. You know the kind of happiness I mean—a comfort, a contentedness, and moments of pure joy. I have that, Solomon.”You don’t.
The last words were not said, but he heard them anyway. And she was right, but he was not thinking of himself. He was thinking of her, and this new pain was unfamiliar.
“The men make you happy?” he said, trying to understand.
She smiled. “Not the men, Solomon. The women. Friendship. Fun. Creating happiness for others.”
He believed her. There was a vitality, a warmth in her that could not be faked. It fascinated him, perhaps because somewhere he envied it. He tugged his lips into a one-sided smile. “And you’re still not talking about the men, are you?”
“There, youdounderstand.”
“Only in part,” he said honestly.
Her hands slid down his arms until they found his fingers. “You are my first male friend.”
Startled, he gazed into her face. Her eyes were warm, serious, completely free of teasing, of mockery. He found himself absurdly touched by her declaration. Proud. He curled his fingers around hers and held them.
“Perhaps you aremyfirst friend.” Why had he admitted that? Why did he even feel it?
Her long eyelashes, alluringly darker than her hair, swept down. He would have thought she was hiding except that she suddenly lifted his hand to her cheek. So soft and smooth and warm. Like all of her.
Then she released both his hands, and he was sorry. With an effort, he forced his mind back to practical matters, in particular to their eavesdropper.
“Take care, Constance,” he said urgently. “Go nowhere alone, or even with just one companion. And let’s think of a trap for our murderer before he comes up with one for us.”
Chapter Sixteen
The Reverend PeterAlbright woke with a sense of wellbeing he had not experienced for a long time. It took him only an instant to remember why. For the first time ever, Miriam had initiated their physical love last night, and clung to him with a tenderness and a need she had never shown him before.
They had always been friends, of course, a partnership, but it had taken him several weeks after their marriage to realize she did not love him, longer yet to recognize that it hurt him. How ironic that it was her father’s death that had finally brought them closer and given him hope of something more.
He turned his head on the pillow and found her eyes already open and on him with a slightly embarrassed affection. It seemed a shame to risk that, but he could no longer put it off.
“I borrowed money from your father to pay for the building work.”
“I know.”
He blinked. “You do? Did he tell you?”
“Of course not. But I manage the household, Peter. I know what you earn and where it all goes.”
“It seemed a good idea at the time.”
“Itwasa good idea. I am very happy with the changes, and it made entertaining the bishop and his family much easier.”
“It cost too much,” he confessed. “I rather assumed your father would cover that too, but he didn’t. I’m sure he thought I should stand on my own feet, and he was right.”
She gazed at him expectantly.
He swallowed. “I am in debt, Miriam. I cannot pay the tradesmen who are in greater need than I. I asked Mr. Bolton to cover it, as your father had once implied he would. He told me to apply through the bank.”
Miriam’s eyebrows flew up. “I call that shabby.”
He smiled ruefully. “I call it disastrous.”
“Of course it is not,” she said in surprise. “We can pay it now with my dowry.”
He sat abruptly. “That is for you, for our children…”
