Thief of Hearts (39 page)

A pent-up laugh, full of emotion, burst from him. She joined in it, and soon they were giggling and touching each other, trying to be quiet, trying not to cry.

"Say it again."

"I love you."

"I love you, Annie. When did you start?"

She tried to think. "I'm not sure. Last night? No, before. When you told my aunt that Milly could live with us. No, no, before that, when you were kind to Mr. Trout. No, I don't know! A long time ago, I think." She wanted to ask him when he'd started to love her, but she was too shy.

She kissed him instead, with a brand new tenderness that hurt his heart and took his breath away. "God, Annie, how can I leave you?" He felt her go rigid, and knew she'd misunderstood. "I have to go back to work," he explained, unable, like her, to speak of that other leave-taking yet.

"Oh," she breathed, relieved. "I wish I could see you." He chuckled. She heard him fumbling, and all at once the opening door brought light and cool air into their tiny, intimate den. They blinked at each other, not sure they liked this invasion.

"What will you tell your aunt?"

She laughed softly. "I can't even imagine." She began to straighten her clothes, her hair.

"You look beautiful. Perfect." He stilled her hands and kissed her again.

"Why do you think I'm beautiful?" It had been on her mind for a long time. "I'm not, but why do you think so?"

"Because you are. I don't have time to tell you all the reasons."

"Will you tell me tonight?" Then she blushed and looked away.

He took her in his arms, smiling. "Yes," he promised. "I'll show you. Run away now, Annie, before they find us. I'll leave right after you." When she didn't move, he realized he was still holding her hands. "Go," he ordered, releasing her. He watched her scamper across the hall to the staircase. Midway up the steps, she turned and blew him a kiss, laughing. But her face was still wet from her tears.

Everybody said it was the prettiest day of the year. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the air smelled as fresh as new flowers. On Hadley Hill hardly a breeze stirred. The perfection of the midsummer afternoon was especially welcome because, for two years running, Jourdaine Shipbuilding's annual employees' picnic had been rained out.

"Look down there, between those trees. Can you see it, the custom house?"

"Yes, sir, I can see it."

"You weren't even born when they filled in the Old Dock to build it. Then they stuck the post office in there next to it, and the excise house. Everything's changed, boy. The city's tripled in size since I was your age."

"Yes, sir, I expect that's so." Aiden sent Anna a private smile above her father's head; she returned it, acknowledging his kindness. In fact, Aiden had been eight or nine years old when Old Dock had been torn down, but neither of them felt like correcting Sir Thomas today. He was the center of attention in his garden chair and lap robe, regaling a respectful cluster of workers and colleagues with unusually clear-headed reminiscences of the city and its past.

"When I was a boy, there were no mansions over there in Childwall or Allerton," he went on, pointing; "there was nothing but fields and pasture back then.  Same with Everton Hill, although Toxteth had a house or two, now that I think of it.  I remember when they started laying out the Mosslake fields… "

Anna spied Milly in the distance, toiling up the last few yards of the hill, and sent her a welcoming wave. She waved back, making a face of exaggerated exhaustion, and started toward a group of women who had begun laying out picnic food on long tables. Anna was glad Milly had come, she'd said she probably wouldn't. "Oh, but it won't be the same without you," Anna had protested; "you
always
come." Things were different now, Milly had tried to explain, but Anna wouldn't listen. It was good to see that her arguments had prevailed.

She felt a light touch on her elbow and looked around. Her heart did a familiar little dance in her chest. Brodie's fingers brushed her shoulder in a flicker of a caress. He smiled, and the warmth of it seeped into her bones. "Hello," she said, as if they hadn't spoken only ten minutes ago. She had an urge to touch his tousled, reddish-brown hair, blazing with streaks of gold in the sunlight, and another to bury her face in the open collar of his shirt and inhale the heady masculine scent of him. She did neither. But she saw his thin, sensitive nostrils flare and a private light flash in his beautiful eyes, and knew that he knew.

"If you're going to surrender, you have to give up your weapon."

"What? Oh." She smiled, and handed him the croquet mallet she'd forgotten she was holding.

"How's our team doing?"

"Better since you left."

When he laughed at her expression of mock outrage, baring his straight white teeth, she felt a quaking in her stomach. "I stopped playing," she told him in a low murmur, "so I could look at you." Your long, handsome legs and your hard shoulders, wiry and muscular and controlled, and the way you move, without a single wasted motion…

His laughter faded. They watched each other for many wordless seconds, oblivious to all the sights and sounds around them. It felt like ages, not hours, since they'd made love. His wide mouth looked delicious; it made her tremble with weakness, as if she were starving. She heard someone call "Nick!" behind him, and dropped her eyes.

"Come on, Nick, it's your turn!"

"Better go," she murmured.

"Rather kiss you."

"Me, too."

He drew a deep, not quite steady breath, turned, and trotted away.

She took a steadying breath of her own, deliberately avoiding Aiden's fascinated stare, and looked about for Milly. She wasn't with the ladies by the picnic tables anymore, nor with the mothers organizing children's games under the oak trees. She hadn't joined the croquet players nor the sober circle of matrons sitting on lawn chairs under a canvas awning. She spotted the familiar dark head striding off in the direction of the path that led back down the hill, stiff-legged and straight-armed, moving steadily but with a studied lack of haste. Anna broke away from the group around Sir Thomas and hurried after her.

"Milly!" she called.

Her friend halted but didn't turn around. "I shouldn't have come," she muttered when Anna, out of breath, reached her. "I knew it."

"What's happened? Has someone said something to you?"

Milly's face hardened and she didn't answer.

"Come over here with me, I've set out a blanket" She slipped her arm through Milly's and pulled her along gently, trying to read her expression.

"You're foolish to do this, Anna, in front of all these people. You shouldn't even be seen with me."

"
You're
foolish to even say such a thing," Anna retorted, giving her a little shake. "We'll sit over here, under this tree. No one will bother us. Who spoke to you? What happened?"

"Nothing, it doesn't matter."

They sank down on Anna's plaid blanket, Milly with her back to the others. Anna realized she didn't want to talk about whatever hurtful thing had happened, and stopped asking questions. They sat quietly, Anna munching on cherries from a black bowl and, feeling wanton, flinging the seeds into the grass. From where they sat they could see the estuary, and beyond it the distant hills of Wales. The Great Heath spread out behind them, the Pennines to the south. A part of Anna's mind noticed that the leaves on the trees were a deep, dark, heavy green, as if they were tired and almost ready to give up. Even the birds sounded grown-up and weary. Sadness, she knew well, lurked at the edges of her thoughts all the time, just out of sight. If she allowed it, it could obliterate her fragile joy. But she would not allow it.

"I've hired a lawyer," Milly said suddenly. "Did I tell you?"

"You said you were going to."

"His name is Mason."

"Is Mr. Mason a good lawyer?"

"It's Mr. McTavish. Mason McTavish."

"Oh."

"Yes, he's a very good lawyer."

Anna couldn't help asking. "Did you tell him why you left George?"

Milly stared at her hands. "I did. I had to. He said I had to."

"I suppose so." In silence, she fought against feelings of hurt and disappointment because Milly had seen fit to confide in a stranger, a man, but not yet in her best friend.

"I wish I lived up here," Milly sighed, leaning back on her arms and gazing up through the branches overhead at the blue sky. "Far away from the city and the people. I'm so tired. If I lived in the country, I would start writing again. George wouldn't let me, did you know? It was… one of the things he didn't approve of."

Anna saw a door opening in the wall of Milly's reserve and took a chance. "Why are you so unhappy? Tell me about you and George." But one look at her friend's face closed, retreating; embarrassed,  made her regret the impulse immediately. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked, it's just that I care about you so much and I wish—"

"Oh, it's my fault! I can't. Anna, I just I still can't talk about it. Not quite yet."

"Then we won't." She cast about quickly for another topic. "My father seems so much better today. Look at him, he's almost like his old self."

"How is he?"

"Not well, not really. Every day he's a little worse. He calls John calls Nicholas 'T.J.,' thinking he's my brother. And me… " She laughed softly. "Sometimes I don't think he really knows who I am." A state of affairs not so very different from when he'd been well, if she wanted to be honest.

"When is Jenny coming back?" Milly asked, perhaps to distract her.

"I'm not sure."

"It's been rather a long visit, hasn't it?"

"Yes." And likely to be even longer, Anna guessed. She had wanted to write Jenny and tell her all was forgiven she suspected that was what her cousin was waiting for; it would be like her to expect the first gesture to come from Anna, but Anna needed a little more time. The wound was still fresh, and she wanted her forgiveness to come from the heart. Jenny had been foolish and dishonest, but she was paying for it. What saddened Anna was that, no matter what happened, things would never be the same; they might forgive each other, but what had passed between them would never be forgotten.

"Oh, my. Will you look?"

Anna was already looking, and listening. About a dozen coatless and collarless men, Brodie among them, had formed a loose, very loose, semicircle beside the stream and were singing "When Violets in the Valley Bloomed," in rather good four-part harmony.

"I had no idea Nicholas sang so well," Milly exclaimed.

Anna was thinking exactly the same thing. Brodie's voice came to her clearly over the others', a rich, strong baritone, perfectly pitched, with a warmth and vibrancy that inexplicably made her want to cry. Instead she laughed out loud. "Oh, my," she said, echoing Milly. The men had their arms around each other, their affection unabashed and undisguised. Their enthusiasm was a little stronger than the song warranted, and she suspected there was a bottle hidden somewhere among them. But no one was drunk; they were just happy. She felt a bittersweet happiness rising in herself, and shut her eyes to contain it. Oh, John, she thought. Oh, my dear.