A Madness in Spring (9 page)

“Belinda,” he said, as they passed from the main room into one of the corridors.

“Why can’t you just be mean to me?” she shot back, her eyes threatening tears – which would just be horrid.

“Mean to you?” he asked, half a step behind her.

“Yes. Can’t you just make a trite remark about my dress or the party, and I can make a snide reply and everything will be normal?”

“No,” he said. “I can’t. I won’t let you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend. I won’t let you pretend there was nothing between us. That there
is
nothing between us.”

Why couldn’t he understand? She had been prepared to meet him here tonight. She knew she could not avoid him entirely. So she would act cold and standoffish, and in turn he would be sarcastic and brittle, and that she could handle. She knew all the steps of that dance. But this Adam – being gentle with her, and open, yet still standing firm…
this
Adam was an unknown. And she had no strategy for how to fight against him.

“I just… oh hang it! I cannot
think
with you here,” she cried, turning down another corridor.

If only she could get
away.
Away from him, away from here, away from people. But every time she turned a corner there were party guests, or servants, or couples hiding in corners. There was no space to even breathe!

As if sensing her discomfort Adam took her arm, whispering “come with me,” before guiding her into a new hallway, one that was vaguely familiar.

Belinda barely caught a glimpse of overheated monks on their knees before Adam swung the painting back, and pulled her into the dark beyond it.

The very dark.

“I can’t see a thing,” she said, feeling the walls and praying Georgie had thought to have the secret passages cleaned before the party.

Although, from what she could tell, it wasn’t really a passage, as Adam had previous described. It was more of a niche… an honest-to-goodness priest hole.

And as her hands crossed from cold stone to Adam’s warm frame, she discovered it was a decidedly small one.

“I’m not here,” he said.

“I beg to differ,” she replied.

“No, I mean… you can’t think when you’re around me? I have the same problem. So, pretend I’m not here. You cannot see me. You are alone.” He took a deep breath. “So tell me what is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“You would lie even to yourself?” he asked, the smirk evident in his voice.

“All right then,” she said, letting all artifice fall away. There was no use for it in the dark. “We
kissed
, Adam. That’s what’s wrong.”

“You think it was wrong? It felt very right to me.”

“Of course it’s wrong! Does it make any sense to you? Any sense at all that
you
and
I
would be kissing in the woods?”

“It didn’t make much sense before it happened,” he admitted. “But afterward it made all the sense in the world.” She could feel him stepping closer. “Like a puzzle piece that was turned the wrong way. Turn it around and everything clicks into place.”

She felt herself turning like that puzzle piece, shifting ever so slightly to match him.

No. She shook her head ruthlessly. Not allowed.

“It’s too strange,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest, and disconcertingly grazing his coat.

“Too strange…” he mused. “You mean, too different?”

“Yes!” she cried. “This isn’t fair, you know. Everything was normal and fine and then suddenly little birdies named Georgie and Francesca dropped hints in our ears that we are in love with each other, and suddenly I’m supposed to be in love with you. And I don’t know how to do that and I don’t even know if I want to!” She felt like everything was spilling out of the center of her chest, but she dare not stop it. “Is that too much to ask that I have some small say in my life? My parents died when I was nine and everything changed. Since then I have worked very hard to arrange things very much how I like them. And now you want to change it and I…”

Her voice died, and silence echoed in its place. The dim noise from partygoers walking up and down the hall was drowned out by the beating of her own heart. By the painful weight of her confession.

“Things have already changed between us,” he finally whispered. “It happened a long time ago. And it wasn’t one big shift. It wasn’t Georgie and Francesca. It happened an inch at a time, over years. It just took us this long to see the road we had traveled clearly.

“I knew you were scared,” he said. “But I couldn’t figure out why you would be scared of me. God knows, if I had upset you in some way, you would have taken my head off with a single set down. But I didn’t realize until now that you have been scared for the last fourteen years.”

His hand found that loose tendril of her hair, and he lightly wound it around his finger. Her eyes lifted, searching the dark for his face.

“You were scared when we first met, because you were new to the neighborhood and your parents had died, and you wanted to be liked and needed friends, and I mistook it for being a bossy know-it-all. You were scared of not being taken seriously at your first ball. You were scared when I left for war, and even more scared when I came back. And you were scared when we kissed.”

She his hand lifted from her hair to the line of her jaw. Her arms, crossed over her chest, fell to her sides.

“You’re afraid of what will happen if we let things change. But Belinda, I’m afraid of what will happen if we don’t.”

And then… he couldn’t say anything more. Because somehow, his lips had found hers in the dark.

Or was it the other way around? Belinda didn’t know. All she knew was that comfortable uncomfortableness, that delightful drugging settled over her skin and she didn’t want to think anymore. Her mind surrendered to the dark, and her body took over. And her body only wanted to feel.

It acted against every good objection her mind might have offered. Her arms came up, wrapped themselves around his neck. Her fingers found their way into his hair. Her breasts, entirely of their own volition, pressed against the broad expanse of his chest.

His hands pulled her to him, traveled up and down the length of her back, smoothing the silk. Gathering it in his hand. The cool air danced against her calf, then her thigh. Then his touch warmed her there.

And her body wanted nothing more than to let him explore. And to explore in turn.

There was a desperation to him, banked by what must have been an iron will. But as they teased each other with little bites and exploring fingers, some of that will must have crumbled because there was one thing he could not hold back.

“I love you.”

He whispered the words into her ear, and they floated into her brain. They echoed there, waking up her mind like a kernel of light, growing and expanding, showing the little priest hole – and what they were doing in it – in all its garishness.

She froze. Her mind panicked. That wasn’t what she wanted. That was too much at once – too uncontrollable.

His mouth lifted from her neck as he felt her still. “Belinda?” His voice was hoarse with want.

“I… I’m sorry.” She said, quickly disentangling herself from him.

Then she threw open the painting, shining harsh light into the little room, and ran.

Again.

“T
here you are, Bel! We’ve been waiting ages!”

Belinda blinked as she entered Croftburr’s front parlor. Her uncle sat across from Francesca and Georgie, who were all enjoying morning tea, complete with scones and sandwiches enough to stuff a regiment.

Although, was it even morning anymore? Belinda glanced at the mantle clock… good heavens, was that the time?

“I’m sorry,” she croaked out, surprised at the hoarseness of her own voice. “I overslept.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Georgie cajoled. “What with last night’s excitement.”

“Excitement?” her voice cracked again.

“The party, of course!” her uncle laughed. “You really are fog-brained today, aren’t you, Bel?”

Yes, she was fog-brained. But not because of the party. She’d actually left the party somewhat early, claiming a headache once she returned to the ballroom and making her way to the carriages. Her uncle had left an hour earlier, so she had deftly avoided him when she arrived home, and tiptoed up to her room.

Where she laid awake.

For hours.

Her mind and body remained at war – the former wanting to understand why the latter had betrayed every good intention she had regarding Adam Sturridge, and the latter needing sleep.

She spent far too much time cringing into her pillow and rehashing every single word, and touch, and moment that occurred in the dark of that priest hole. Dawn was lighting the sky before her exhaustion finally won and she drifted to a fitful sleep.

And now, having woken late and decidedly irked that the new day did not bring her wondrous clarity, she had to face her uncle hosting her friends for tea.

“I suppose I am fog-brained,” she replied, seating herself in the chair opposite her uncle as Francesca played host and poured her a cup of tea. “And you’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t recall us having planned to meet today.”

“Only you would think we came because we had a committee meeting!” Francesca laughed.

“We are here because I am distributing last night’s leftovers to the neighborhood,” Georgie said. “Cook made about twice as much food as even my staff could eat, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

“I thought it delightful!” Francesca added. “She stopped at Sturridge Manor first, and I decided to join her on her mission. I was more than happy to get out of the house too – what with Adam turning the place upside down in his haste.”

Belinda, who had only been half listening, suddenly paid attention.

“Why such haste from Mr. Sturridge today?” her uncle asked, before she could.

“Packing. He’s decided to begin his journey back north tomorrow, and the entire household must be at his command,” Francesca said, rolling her eyes.

“What?” Belinda asked abruptly.

“Yes, he’s leaving first thing in the morning. He said he only stayed this long because he wanted to see the Gages established in the neighborhood before he left.”

“Well, isn’t that a shame!” Sir Henry replied. “I was just saying the other day I’d not had the chance to catch up with the young man this winter, and suddenly he’s leaving. Such a pity – isn’t it Bel?”

Belinda’s mouth went dry. “But he… he can’t leave.”

The familiar panic began to rise in her chest. But, no… it wasn’t familiar. There was something different about this panic. It didn’t make her want to run. It rooted her to the spot.

“Why should he not?” Georgie asked, gently. “It was kind of him to stay as long as he did, but he has his estate, sheep to ready for spring sheering, a dozen reasons to go.” She eyed Belinda with open concern. “What reason does he have to stay?”

The words sunk under Belinda’s skin, weighed heavy against her heart. “I… I beg you to excuse me.”

And with that, she left her uncle, her oldest friend, and her newest friend in the middle of her front parlor without another word.

The day before yesterday, this news would have been met with relief. Or at least, that’s what she thought she would have felt. But now… now she was no longer able to blame it all on a random act of sentiment, and the inherent romance in hunting for crocuses shoots in cold, wet snow. Or on Georgie and Francesca’s interference. Ever since last night she’d been unable to push down her feelings and pretend normalcy. And now, with the news that normalcy was about to return with Adam leaving… a strange heaviness invaded her chest. As if her heart were breaking. But how was that possible. She was the one who walked away, unsure of herself. Not Adam. It was as if…

As if she was breaking her own heart.

Belinda was halfway down the hall to her rooms when the thought of entering them – of tossing and turning on the same bed as last night, of pacing the same ten feet of carpet – was suddenly abhorrent. She needed to be anywhere but here.

She left the house through the kitchens, drawing eyes but no words from the servants there. She didn’t know where she was walking, but let her feet take her where they may.

They trod a familiar path, and led her to where her thoughts were – Sturridge Manor.

Or rather, the woods she cut through regularly to get there.

It was warm again – warm enough that she didn’t miss the shawl she’d forgot to bring. And warm enough that the crocuses that only days ago had been covered in snow, were now in full bloom.

She stopped, and stared at those crocuses, for how long she couldn’t say.

They pushed through the snow. They could have retreated at that last snowfall. They could have dived back into the ground, where it was safe and warm.

But then, they wouldn’t be flowers.

She looked up, and saw the gray stone of Sturridge Manor through the still naked trees.

Belinda knew in an instant what she had to do.

She had a chance – a small one – to push through the snow. And she had to take it.

Before it was too late.

If Adam were to rank the days of his life from best to worst, today would be very near the bottom. Not the absolute bottom – that was reserved for his time in the war. But for a perfectly lovely day in spring where no one was shooting at him, it was absolute hell.

It had taken Adam approximately ten minutes after Belinda ran away from him last night to decide that he needed to go back north to his estate. Hemshawe, his home for so long, no longer felt as such. It was time to go.

He’d kissed Belinda Leonard twice. And she’d run from him twice. Adam knew himself to be less than observant when it came to matters of the heart, but really, how many clues did he need?

Two, apparently.

Hell, he’d even told her that he loved her.

He would have left this morning, if it had been at all possible. And he would leave now, if it wasn’t pitch black out and he wasn’t exhausted.