Chapter 5

FIVE

His afternoon ride led Desmond to Harper's Meadow. From there, he dismounted and walked into the copse of trees. In the distance, he heard her voice. She was singing softly, the song a haunting melody that had been around forever. But he stopped, stock still, and listened. Even his horse, an impatient beast under the best of circumstances, was soothed by the sound and was positively placid as the lilting notes drifted through the trees.

Suddenly, with no warning, the sound halted. There was a moment of silence and then she called out, "You do not approach quietly, Mr. Crane. But then I think you are not given to being quiet by your very nature."

That wasn't fully accurate. He was quiet with those whom he had no interest in. He was reserved with almost of everyone else, whether they be family, friend or of more intimate acquaintance. It was not in his nature to be disingenuous and feign interest and enthusiasm where it did not exist. But with Belladonna Goodwynne, he would never have to worry about that. She did not simply interest him. She fascinated him. Mesmerized him. Drew him like a moth to a flame.

Stepping deeper into the trees, he finally caught sight of her. She knealt beneath a large oak, plucking wildflowers from the base of the tree and depositing them in her basket. "You inspire me to a boldness and to boisterousness, Miss Goodwynne, that are far from typical in my everyday life. What is it that you are collecting there?"

"It's bleeding heart," she said. "There are many uses for it… the treatment of bruises and sprains. 'Tis good for the nerves, as well, and sleeplessness. Do you suffer from sleeplessness, Mr. Crane?"

As a general rule, he did not. But the previous night had not been restful—because she had been ever present in his mind. Never, in all of his life—not even as a callow youth—had he suffered such immediate obsession and infatuation for any woman. "On any other day, I would have said no. But having met you, I fear there will be more of those in my future."

She sat back, resting her hands on her thighs. "What a strange response."

He smiled, shrugging. "I suppose it is. Have you ever met someone, Miss Goodwynne, and known immediately that they would alter your life—your entire world—irrevocably?"

She didn't look at him. Instead, she kept her gaze focused straight ahead of her. After the longest moment, she finally gave a slight nod. "I have. It typically has not been for the better."

"Then I think it is high time that changes." Desmond held out his hand to her, offering his aid for her to stand. She accepted it reluctantly. "I cannot imagine that meeting you will be anything other than wonderful for me."

"You are confoundingly optimistic, sir," she observed.

The sensation of her smaller hand in his, of touching her bare skin, even if it was only in the most innocent of ways, still resonated within him. The rightness of it, the sense of completion that he felt in doing so, was shocking. It was as though he had found something he had not realized he'd lost. It was surprising, gladdening, and altogether more than he could ever have anticipated. "Only hopeful, Miss Goodwynne."

His touch was something she had not anticipated. Not that he would do so, but that she would respond to it so keenly. How could she have imagined that simply having him help her to her feet would render her breathless? How could she possibly have known that, from every point of contact between them, it would feel like sparks? She'd seen fireworks once. They'd been set off at a fair. Showers of sparks in all different colors raining down from the sky. That was how it felt to have her hand in his. It jolted her, unsettled her, terrified her, and yet she made no move to break the contact. Because it also felt very, very right.

It appeared he was as reluctant as she to give up that pleasure. Instead of releasing her hand, he moved it so that it rested on his arm and he kept his hand over hers as they strolled through the woods. "This could be a dreadful mistake."

"It could," he agreed. "I've never felt this way. I've never instantly looked at someone and thought that there was something predestined between us. But I do feel that way when I look at you. I feel as though this is where I was already meant to be… at your side."

Bella didn't say anything to that. She couldn't. Because she agreed with him but also because it terrified her to admit something so momentous out loud after such short acquaintance. Everything her aunt had told her about the family curse came rushing back to her mind. But one thing stood out, one phrase that reverberated in her mind. Cursed to love instantly and fully, but never to wed . And thus far, every generation had proven that true. And she had grown smug, she realized. Smug in her certainty that she would be the one to escape that curse because she would never let herself fall. Such certainty had been easy when she had never faced temptation, when she had never met a man who stirred her so.

"Do you never feel moved to caution?" She asked him. "To feel that perhaps some things should not be revealed immediately or approached with at least some degree of timidity?"

"No. But then this is a situation I have never faced before."

Bella turned to face him then, halting their steps. "I had intended to make you work. To have you picking the very smelliest of mushrooms—stinkhorn— and herbs that would stain your hands and your clothes and, if you are like most people, make you itch. In short, I intended to sabotage whatever it is you are about so that you would lose all interest in me. I find I no longer have the heart to do so."

He grinned at her honest if somewhat sheepish admission. "Well, it wouldn't have worked regardless. It would take far more than that to turn me from you. Let's walk into the village."

Instantly she was on guard. "Oh, no! No, that is a terrible idea. If people see us together?—"

"They will rightly assume that I am courting you. And make no mistake, Miss Goodwynne—Belladonna—that is precisely what I am doing."

She wouldn't let him subject himself to that sort of ridicule. He did not deserve it, but it was not entirely motivated by altruism. She wanted to be courted by him. Despite her initial reticence, all it had taken was one simple touch for her opinion to alter entirely. Temptation was an undeniable force, it seemed. Still, if he received the same sort of cold welcome from people in the village that she did, he would likely change his mind about her and she couldn't bear that. Not just yet.

"Let's walk here. We can follow this path. It leads us near the village but not into it. I have no wish to face prying eyes or heartless gossip," she implored. "Besides, the purpose of this was for us to get to know one another, wasn't it?"

"Yes," he agreed cautiously.

"How are we supposed to do so when everyone will be hovering around us either to call me a witch or to call you a fool for daring to tangle with a woman like me?"

He turned to face her directly. "It will help me to resist the temptation of you. If we are alone, I will likely take liberties."

Thinking of the myriad sensations that had coursed through her from no more than him taking her hand, Bella shivered slightly. "You cannot take what is freely given… What sort of liberties would you take?"

His eyes darkened as he looked at her. "Only those that you would give me."

Taking a deep and steadying breath, Bella uttered a request that she knew would change the entirety of her life. "I think, Desmond Crane, that I would very much like for you to kiss me."