Chapter Six

July 13, 1815

Marjorie bid whomever knocked at her door to enter, for she had finished the breakfast that had been sent up on a tray to her room. Now ensconced in a comfortable chair with her ankle on a footstool, she sighed. The breeze coming in through the open window was delightful, and the air was clear, unlike that of London in the summer months. Clad in her shift, for that was the only clothing available to her now, she'd put a lightweight throw over herself for modesty.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Perkins, opened the wooden panel and came into the room with a couple of dresses hanging over her arm. "I brought you some clothing."

"Ah, good." When a maid brought her breakfast tray, she asked the girl to have the housekeeper either locate a dress or send a footman into the village to purchase one.

"Since His Lordship is out of the house on one of his rambles again, I went through his wife's wardrobe and pulled out a couple of dresses that I thought might fit your frame. She was of your same height but not as well-endowed in the bosom as you." The woman grinned. "However, these were from her last pregnancy and will probably do in a pinch."

Not the best circumstances, but it would need to suffice. "It's better than my current situation." Under no circumstances would she reveal what had happened to the dress she'd worn to the house during her rescue. As it was, heat went through her cheeks upon remembering that tempestuous coupling with Benedict yesterday.

Mrs. Perkins held up a dress of ivory muslin stamped with lines of green ivy leaves. "This one would serve you well for visiting or entertaining, but then, so will the other." She switched out the dresses to show Marjorie another muslin creation, but this one was of a daffodil color. "This one is more vibrant and cheerful." Then she peered at Marjorie from over the rim of her half-moon spectacles. "Is your ankle improving?"

"It is. There is only a twinge of pain now and again if I overtax it." She snorted. "All this sitting around and reading was apparently good for it. I am not used to having so much free time."

"No, I don't guess you would be." The older woman shrugged. "But you are here now. Have you had news from your cousin? I'm surprised she didn't send a carriage for you."

Heat went through Marjorie's cheeks for an entirely different reason. "No news and obviously no carriage. It seems my cousin-in-law doesn't wish to have me underfoot." Which was annoying in and of itself. It had been expensive to travel to England, and she'd used a good portion of her saved funds from what her husband had left her, only to be given a cool reception. "I suppose that doesn't bode well for the open companion position."

"Some women become used to being alone and don't often change their ways." A frown pulled down the corners of her mouth. "Regardless, you can't remain sitting here in your undergarments. Let me help you into the yellow dress." The housekeeper came closer as Marjorie stood up from the sofa. "There are also unmentionables I've resurrected from an armoire in the attics. They are currently being laundered and aired, but will be at your disposal later this evening. I will try to find you some slippers as well." She tsked her tongue. "It's bad manners, that's what, that His Lordship can't see fit to look after his guest."

"I suppose it's understandable after all he's been through with the death of his son." As much as she wanted the details of the marquess' life, it was bad breeding to ask a member of the man's staff to gossip.

"That was five years ago when he lost his son." Mrs. Perkins held up the daffodil-colored garment and then slipped it over Marjorie's head. "But his wife died a little over two years ago. That's when his hold on sanity started to waver and he stopped caring about anything."

"Ah." That made sense; he seemed oddly still attached to a dead woman's memory, but then, perhaps she was jaded, because she'd felt nothing but relief and freedom when her spouse had died. "I'd imagine that was when he came to the Lake District, permanently?"

"Oh, yes. One day we were all settled into the London townhouse, and the next, he ordered everything packed and readied to be moved in two days." The older woman shook her head as if she still couldn't quite believe it. "Didn't matter that we had families or lives in London. He wanted what he wanted and wouldn't hear anything else." She turned Marjorie about and tightened the laces at the back of the dress.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I was too. However, there is some hope."

"Oh? How so?"

"He isn't quite as detached since you've come. Almost as if he thinks you a project." When Mrs. Perkins turned her about once more, she gazed at Marjorie with speculation and a frown. "Which is odd in itself, for he wasn't in the habit of bringing people home, especially women."

"What of Lord Traverston's presence here?" She'd seen the earl at dinner, but Benedict didn't bother to show himself for the meal.

"He is Lord St. Synedon's best friend. I'll wager he can't be kept away. Has other visiting to do in the Highlands after his stop here, but I think he is concerned for His Lordship."

"Understandable. It seems to me that the marquess is one of those personages that is difficult to ignore but can be a fast friend and a staunch supporter when he wants."

"Absolutely." The housekeeper nodded. "He has a good heart on him, that one. He cares for people around the area and in the village. Helps them until they're ‘fixed' or what he thinks the word for that is." A soft chuckle escaped her. "Until they are saved from whatever has ailed them or kept them beaten down."

That was interesting. "Because he couldn't save his son?"

"Perhaps." Mrs. Perkins cocked her head to the side as she surveyed how the dress lay on Marjorie's frame. "Either that or his wife." She tsked her tongue again. "The bodice is slightly snug, but it will do. Sets off your figure nicely."

It was good to wear clean clothing again. "Was the marchioness' death tragic as well?"

"Oh yes but it is not my place to tell."

His staff was an odd mix of loyalty and concern which meant a tad bit of gossip. "Should I ask him about it?"

Worry lined the other woman's face. "You can try, but as far as I know, he has never talked about it to anyone, not even his closest friends."

"I'm not surprised. He and I had an argument about that very thing yesterday afternoon when he, uh, caught me snooping through his rooms."

"Ah. I'd wondered what had become of you, and then I heard yelling and a crash, so I chose not to refresh his sheets until later that evening."

Another round of heat went through Marjorie's cheeks. What else did the housekeeper overhear? Pushing that thought away, she asked, "Does he ever go back to London?"

"Not if he can help it. I believe he's been back twice since we came out here, and those were only fleeting visits having to do with parliament."

"Ah." What a sad existence for a man who must have been quite vital. "Does he have friends here?"

"They are more rare than what he had in London. The earl is here in an effort to pull him out of his depression, but I rather think His Lordship will push him away, as he does everyone."

"Because he is afraid of growing attached." She shook her head. "Yet he's known the earl since they were boys."

"Yes.

"That's sad."

"While I will agree, some folks don't have a charmed life. Existence is both light and dark. His Lordship's came with more dark than light, and that is sometimes the way of things." An expression of sadness went over Mrs. Perkins' face. "I think most of his problems stem from loneliness and guilt. He keeps things shoved deep down. His father was emotionally stifled as well. He doesn't know how else to be."

"And he's too proud to ask for help lest it be viewed as a weakness." There was much to think about. She smoothed a hand down the front of the dress. It was of fine fabric, soft to the touch, but then, he was a wealthy man. "Where is he now?"

"He didn't say before he left, but I'll wager he's out at Hummingbird Lake. It's his favorite thinking spot."

So many lakes on the property. "Is it near to the manor?"

"Near enough. I can draw you a quick map if you wish to go after him." The light of hope appeared in Mrs. Perkins' eyes, and Marjorie was shown just how much his staff worried over their master.

"I do." It might enrage him further, but she couldn't help that. There was a connection between them, and she wasn't about to give up on him merely because he struggled. "As an American, I don't understand the English hesitation to keep things to oneself."

The housekeeper grinned. "Perhaps you'll be successful in helping him. He deserves at least peace."

Marjorie nodded. "I agree, but I can't stay here indefinitely, especially since my ankle is healing." Not that her cousin-in-law would care overly much, and a walk out to the lake where the marquess was located would no doubt tax the tendons.

"The estate is quite large. I'm sure His Lordship wouldn't mind."

"It's scandalous." Regardless of how she adored being pleasured by the man, she couldn't stay on lest Lake District society brand her a harlot. Not that she cared overly much for the opinion of others. She was only visiting England, after all, but Benedict might care.

"Perception, Mrs. Stowe." The housekeeper snorted. "A bit of scandal would be good for Lord St. Synedon. It will help him to remember he is alive for a reason."

And another obstacle Marjorie didn't know if she wished to take on. Depending on how immersed into maudlin feelings the man was, it might be a futile attempt in trying to keep him from that brink. "I'll do what I can, for I've never met a man like him."

"Oh, indeed you probably haven't. He's a force unto himself, and I wish you knew him in his prime. Quite the man."

"There is still enough prime about him, but I think he's forgotten that." And he certainly had no issues in becoming aroused yesterday afternoon. "Thank you for the loan of the dress. Let us hope that it doesn't inflame Syn's temper any more than it already is."

"That is always the risk, but he brought it on himself without properly taking care of you." Mrs. Perkins shrugged. "If you meet trouble, I'm sure Lord Traverston will take the marquess to task. They are good for each other." After another grin, the woman moved to a small secretary in the corner. "Let me draw you that quick map."

By the time Marjorie left the manor house, Mrs. Perkins had dressed her hair in a loose chignon that made her look more regal than she truly was. She'd donned her half-boots and then set out to track the marquess to earth.

The lake in question was nearly two miles from the house, and by the time she reached the location, the throb in her ankle had returned, and the trip had taken longer than she'd anticipated, for she'd been distracted by the scenic views as well as the gorgeous beauty the land provided. How did he live here and not sob at least once a day from the sheer glory of it all?

Much different than Virginia, but a tiny bit the same with all the rolling hills and vast green grass. Sheep and cows dotted the landscape, but she didn't bother them, and they largely ignored her. Every lungful of crisp, clean air was like a balm to her tired spirit. It might be therapeutic to live here for a few months, but then, she suspected winters were harsh in the Lake District and the roads might prove impassable more often than not.

Being stranded here might have advantages if she had Syn all to herself for various purposes, but then, that was assuming far too much.

At the shore of the lake—for it was indeed a lake and not the ponds that were quite a bit smaller in scale—she didn't immediately see the marquess. Then his sleek dark head broke the surface of the water, and upon sighting her, he swam toward the shore with long, powerful strokes. No doubt that was how he kept himself lean and fit, and those muscles in his arms and legs served as testament to that fact.

That impossibly blue water of the lake reflected an equally blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. It was a scene straight out of an oil painting. Would he hire an artist if she said she adored this landscape and wished to remember it from her stay here?

Seconds later, every thought in her head scattered, as he stood upright on the lakebed and came toward her, leaving the water behind. She stared, for he was absolutely, completely, gloriously naked. Belatedly, she discerned a pile of clothing nearby he must have shed prior to swimming.

"Oh, good heavens." A wave of heat slammed into her, for though she'd seen him nude yesterday, today was completely different.

Rivulets of water ran down his powerful form, and as he raked his fingers through his dark, wet hair to slick it back from his forehead, she drew her gaze up and down his person. Muscles rippled beneath the golden tanned skin. Droplets of water clung to the mat of hair on his chest. Though his shaft wasn't erect due to the coolness of the water, it was no less impressive as it sprung away from a nest of dark curls. Those thighs made powerful by swimming and riding captured her imagination, and suddenly she wanted him in the basest way possible merely to have him close and caress the parts of him she didn't have access to yesterday due to the frantic nature of their coupling.

Clearly the man was unashamed about his nakedness, for he came to a stop not far from where she stood and let her look her fill. Damn his eyes. And of course his body was gorgeous, especially for a person his age. "Good morning, Marjorie. I'm surprised to find you here. Usually, when I'm at Hummingbird Lake, most folks know I'm not to be disturbed."

"I can see why. It's a lovely area." With effort, she wrenched her attention to his face, met his stormy gray gaze and nearly tumbled into those turbulent depths. "I trust you enjoyed your walk and subsequent swim?"

"I did." He rested his hands on his slim hips and frowned. "Why are you here? And wearing a dress that once belonged to my wife to boot." A hint of annoyance echoed in his voice as he swept his gaze over her.

Did he truly not realize what a delectable image he presented? Or perhaps that was his intention. "To talk with you. As for the clothing, you left me no choice by ripping up my dress yesterday. Thank goodness for Mrs. Perkins."

"Ah." The corners of his mouth pulled downward with a frown. "Why do you wish for me to talk?"

"Because that is what people do, especially people who have already indulged in certain… things." Remarkably, her cheeks heated again. "And it will be good for you. Mrs. Perkins is concerned for your well-being as is Lord Traverston."

He snorted. "You are spending copious amounts of time with him." It wasn't a question.

"Not at all. If we come into contact with each other, I chat with him. And when you neglect to come to dinner, he is there and is my only companion. Why shouldn't I engage him in conversation?" That was basic etiquette.

"Well, I don't wish to talk." He crossed his arms over his chest and stood there, solid and wet, like a stubborn Djinn from an Arabian fairy story. And oh, how he made her mouth water.

If he wanted to be obstinate, she could too. "Fine by me. There are other ways to communicate and to make my point." Once she closed the distance between them, Marjorie dropped to her knees before him. This act would either seal her fate as a wicked widow or he would be truly repulsed by it, but for her own peace of mind, she needed to touch him. "You are far too tense, Syn. I can help with that." Before he could protest, she began to tease and caress her fingers along his shaft in an effort to encourage that organ to grow into an erection. Oh, he smelled so good and was so solid beneath her hands with the scent of the lake only enhancing his shaving soap. What was it about this man that made her throw caution to the wind and forget all common sense?

"What are you about?" When he reached for her, she batted his hand away.

There would be no distraction from him now that she'd gotten the idea in her mind. "Urging you into relaxation in the hopes you'll trust me enough to talk candidly with me without retreating or hiding behind a display of temper." With a tiny grin, she continued to manipulate his shaft. Slowly, that appendage hardened and elongated, and nothing pleased her more than knowing she affected him thusly.

A grunt sailed from the marquess' throat. "Since meeting me, you have become far too wicked, even for a widow."

"Perhaps I have, or perhaps this tendency is the real woman I am but couldn't show this side with my husband." She frowned but kept her concentration on his growing member, delighted when it thickened in her palm. "When I met you, it was as if you put a match to dry tinder."

Truly, he'd accepted her as she was without question. That was either a good or bad thing, she hadn't decided yet.

"Why couldn't you show this side of yourself to your husband?"

"He didn't think it proper that a mere wife could enjoy intercourse. He said that pleasure was the right of a mistress or a whore, that a wife's duty was to produce offspring only."

"God, what a complete nodcock." A chuckle left his throat. As his aroused member grew, he widened his stance so she would have more room to work. "Knowing a woman is enjoying a coupling is one of the greatest compliments of the act, and if a man can send her flying, even more so."

"Not according to my husband, may he rot in hell." It was such freedom to say what was on her mind. Daring much, Marjorie caressed her fingers up and down the inside of his splayed thighs. She adored how men felt, much more solidly built than she was. The rasp of the crisp hairs covering his skin sent tendrils of need through her lower belly. If someone were to accidentally ride by or walk over to the lake to discover them thusly, there would be hell to pay, but the race of her heartbeat behind her ribs and the tingles of excitement at the base of her spine urged her onward.

Never had she wanted anyone more.

"Do I have a choice?" The inquiry was a tad breathless, for she'd begun to caress the underside of his shaft.

"You do not. For as many times as you've sent me flying or made me temporarily mindless with your attentions, consider this as payback." She sent him a wink before she settled into her task of seeing how quickly—and how hard—she could make him find release. "You are far too removed from life as it is, and at least this will make you feel… something."

It was a bold statement and might set off his temper, but he said nothing, merely gazed down at her with a bemused expression.

The more she handled his impressive equipage, the tighter and longer that thick, hot length grew. Touching him in this way was more erotic than she'd dared with anyone else, and she loved the power of it. Marjorie curled her fingers around him; his girth fit well in her palm. As she experimented with various degrees of pressure, moans escaped him. The coarse hair at the base of his shaft tickled her skin. While she watched the emotions flitting over his face, she fondled his stones, squeezing and releasing, finding a rhythm she liked that incorporated both them and his length to bring him the maximum pleasure.

"Where did you learn this?" His inquiry sounded forced.

"From my husband's tutelage over the years. Most of the time he demanded it even though he never returned the favor, so I did it to hone the skill."

"Why?"

"Men don't live forever, and I hoped I might marry again one day to a man better suited to me and my inclinations."

"How your mind works is both wondrous and intimidating, but you are becoming something of an expert in stroking me off."

She snorted. "I've only just started, and this is the beginning of what I plan to do to you." Today, tomorrow, days from now, who could say? Then she held his gaze as she moved closer to his body. When she licked the wide head of his member, he hissed in warning. The scent of him wafted to her nose while the earthy taste of lake water and him lingered on her palate.

Performing this erotic act made her erratically careless, yet she took his hard length into her mouth. One of his hands curled into a fist and then relaxed when she eased off. The strong feel of him as she bobbed on his member ramped her own arousal; it was yet another level to her budding addiction to him.

Benedict groaned. "Do you enjoy doing… this?"

"It depends on the day... or the man. On my husband, I did not, for he wasn't nearly as mouth-watering as you in both form and hygiene, but when I get that pleasure back in return? It is marvelously worth it."

Returning to her work, she swirled her tongue around the underside of his head and added caresses and squeezes to how she worked him over with her mouth. His moans came more quickly.

"How often do men pleasure you?" His voice was strained by this point.

Marjorie shrugged. "My husband didn't and then I had one tryst after he died."

Again, she took him into her mouth with more determination this time in the hope he would stop talking. Eventually, he slowly thrust, which sent his shaft deeper until the tip hit the back of her throat. She paused, briefly, to consider if she liked that sensation of fullness, and deciding that she didn't mind, she swallowed. It was a trick she'd learned from that former lover.

Would Benedict enjoy the massaging sensation of her throat muscles on his sensitive flesh?

"Good God," he breathed, and his hands went into her hair, fisting and tangling the length while tugging out the pins. After the mass fell about her shoulders, one of his hands cradled her skull. "I won't last if you continue."

She chuckled as he backed off, but she didn't decrease her rhythm. How much longer would he last? Would she? Already, her nipples were taut and aching while throbbing need made itself known between her thighs. Perhaps she should have encouraged him to claim her body instead. It didn't matter. He was a man who didn't need much urging to fall into bed, so she increased her intensity and friction on his shaft, working to bring him directly to that brink.

"Nearly gone." His whisper was choked as he thrust more forcefully into her mouth.

There was such power flowing through her being as she literally held his pleasure in her hands. It wasn't a favorite act by any stretch, but when she glanced up, saw the concentration mixed with pleasure in his face, her own satisfaction grew. Could a woman find release merely for giving a man carnal attention?

Many things about that world remained a mystery.

"Marjorie, damn…" The more the marquess stroked into her, the more she used her fingers to heighten that delicious tension. She manipulated his stones, caressed the backs of his thighs, even dared to pinch one of his taut buttocks, which caused his member to pulse. "I'm going to come."

She squeezed his stones as she pulled off his shaft with a slight pop. "Then do it. I want all of you," she whispered and then contented herself with sucking on the head of his member, swirling her tongue around that sensitive flesh merely to see if he would fall over the edge.

"How was I to know I'd find a vixen in the wishing well?" His hands on her head tightened, guiding her, holding her steady as he went in and out of her mouth. Seconds later, his eyes rolled back into his head.

Oh, but he was close. Even now, his length twitched and jerked from her handling. Pre-ejaculation seeped from his tip, and she licked it away; the salty taste was curious and interesting. Feeling wicked and wanting to keep on until he broke, Marjorie eased her fingers beneath his stones to massage the thin skin directly behind them. She'd overheard a whispered conversation between maids once that if a woman massaged that part of a man, he'd be useless for an hour afterward.

"Fuck!" The word was propelled from his throat with such force and surprise, and she was hard-pressed not to giggle. He bucked his hips, sending his shaft deep, while his fingers delved into her hair. "Marjorie, you are going to kill me." The statement was graveled; his body taut as he apparently fought against breaking.

"Fall, Syn. Let me see you in your rawest form." She continued her relentless quest to make the marquess fall over the edge. Again and again, she twisted her fingers about his length while sucking and then soothing with her tongue, followed by taking him deeper into her mouth while he continued to thrust like a man possessed. Every few seconds, she would massage that highly sensitive skin behind his stones.

"Yes! Oh, God yes!" The muscles of his thighs tensed while his grip on her head did the same. She couldn't move away even if she wanted to. "Marjorie, ah…!"

This was the moment when Benedict lost control, and with a muffled shout, he hit release. When he tried to pull out, she held him by his butt cheeks, keeping him steady. She wanted to take all he'd give, and as he exploded it was just as powerful as the last time. She swallowed his essence a few times in succession, determined to drink every drop he offered, for the experience was raw and real, and the power she'd gleaned from bringing him to that state was arousing. It was the same but different than with her husband, made better by the fact that the marquess had enjoyed it immensely and watching him as he fell over the edge was something she would always remember. Being here, doing this to him connected her to him, strengthened the bond they'd formed from that first moment.

Once he finished spending, he pulled out of her mouth, stepped away from her with shock lining his face. His breath shuddered from his lungs, ragged and rapid in the silence, and with the lake as a gorgeous backdrop, it was an image that would forever remain lodged in her memory.

"Thank you," he whispered as he drew her to her feet. "That was… unexpected." Genuine honesty reflected in his eyes.

This time she gave in to a chuckle as she wiped at the lingering moisture on her cheeks and lips. "It should have been better than that, Syn."

"I suppose it was. It is not often I let myself go like that." When he grinned, the gesture was genuine as well, and it erased years and worries from his face.

Mercy, but he is beyond beautiful.

And it stunned her, his looks as well as the abandoned way he'd finally let himself go, as if he were safe with her and could be the man he'd always wished he could be. "Perhaps you should do that more often. It is when you are most authentic."

He grunted. "And vulnerable." Moving away, he went toward the pile of his clothing.

"There is no shame in that, and sometimes it's needed to clear the mind so we can find the path again."

"You are a wise woman, Marjorie Stowe." Then he dressed in silence, but he didn't put his jacket back on, for it was warm for this time of midday. "Come and sit with me. It's a good spot for contemplation."

"Of course." If she let him be without prompting, he might talk with her. The moment she settled into the tall, cool grass beside him, an odd feeling of contentment fell over her. When was the last time she'd known that?

"This property has been in my family for at least a hundred years."

"I can't fathom that. It's mind-boggling to me since America isn't that old."

He snickered. "Yes, America has a way to go. They were only colonies not too long ago." With a sigh, he looked out over the lake as a pair of geese came in for a landing on the water's surface with much honking. "The water is my favorite part, I think, and the solitude. There is so much that nature can teach us, and when I feel like retreating from the world, I often come here for walks, swimming, fishing, or hunting. I've been known to stay out here for days."

"Yet your thoughts always come with you," she said in a soft voice. "You can't escape them."

"No." His swallow was audible. "It's a horrible curse at times."

Not wanting to touch him and break him out of this reflective mood, Marjorie made a sound of encouragement. "Tell me about your wife."

"Where to start?" A muscle in his cheek ticced. Was he clenching his teeth? "My courtship of Phoebe was a whirlwind. She interested me from the first even if she had been a debutante. At that point, I'd been home from the war for a couple of years and needed something else to occupy my time." He shook his head. "I was eight and twenty when I married her; she was just seventeen, but I knew shortly after meeting her at Almack's that night she was the one I wanted to pledge my life to."

"I often think marriages that begin quickly are the ones that will last and be the happiest over those that have a long courtship or engagement period." Her own had certainly not been a blissful union.

"We were happy, but with each loss, cracks grew between us."

For long moments, he remained quiet, and she didn't insert herself into the conversation merely to speak, but eventually, her curiosity got the best of her.

"Do you still love her?"

"Yes? I don't know." A mournful sigh escaped him. "Love doesn't truly die. It just… ends, and we're forced to make room for grief regardless of whether we're strong enough." A waver set up in his voice, but he didn't let the emotions overcome him. "I remember her fondly, but honestly, I don't know that I'm acclimated to being by myself. Even after two years."

"That is to be expected since you were very much in love with your wife." She watched the geese for a while. "You've not taken a mistress or lover?"

"Ha." He snorted. "Mistresses, no. Lovers, a few times, but not for a handful of months. It has been… difficult."

She nodded. "Because you don't wish to get close to another woman again."

"Yes. The prospect of potentially falling for someone and then losing her is enough to drive me the remainder of the way into madness or depression."

Cold panic threaded through her chest. "Is that what you wrestle with now?"

"I don't know if that's it or if it's loneliness and grief that pulls at me." When he shrugged, his shoulder brushed hers, and tingles of awareness danced over her skin. "Many times, I'm plagued by thoughts that I don't want to stay in a world where I'm alone, where everyone I have loved is on the other side."

"There are people who love you here, though. Would you choose to be that selfish as to cheat them out of having you in their lives?"

"They do not have a say in what I do with my existence."

Annoyance stabbed through her chest. "I disagree. You were put on this earth—and have remained here—for a reason." Marjorie shook her head. "The earl is certainly worried, and if you decide to remove yourself from life, think of how that will affect him. He will take it personally, and his memories of you will forever be tainted. To me, that is disrespecting your history." Had she gone too far?

Benedict blew out a breath. "And what of you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You and I have only just met not too long ago, but we have become unlikely lovers. What will you think of me if I decide I'm not strong enough to remain?" With his attention still on the water, it was difficult to ascertain his thoughts.

"I would be disappointed because you have much to offer this world still. Who is to say that your wife and family were the only ones to bring you happiness?"

Silence reigned again, and since she didn't want to further prod him since he was in a delicate frame of mind, she sat beside him in continued contentment, but she hoped he would garner strength from the people around him. For it would be all too easy to fall for a man such as him.