Part 20 (1/2)

She didn't know how to let him know. And she imagined Lyon waiting and waiting for her . . . and when she didn't come . . .

The notion was unbearable.

The timing of the message could, of course, be entirely coincidental.

Or her father, in his own subtle way, had set out to make a point, and had put in motion a plan to protect her.

But they couldn't possibly know anything for certain about her and Lyon.

Then again, she wasn't precisely looking anywhere but at Lyon when she was walking. Or kissing him. For all she knew the entire town had been watching them through field gla.s.ses.

Surely not.

She thought she detected a hush in the kitchen while she was looking down. As if everyone had frozen to watch her reaction.

But when she finally, slowly looked up again, everyone was chewing, or reaching for jam, or holding a sore head (Colin).

Regardless, they didn't know Lyon.

Lyon was determined.

And Lyon was a planner.

And if they thought it would be this easy to keep them apart, if indeed this was the intent . . . they didn't truly know her.

”What does Mrs. Sneath want, Olivia?” her mother asked.

”She'd like me to visit a new family!” she said brightly. ”I'm very much looking forward to it.”

THE CHURCH SERVICE that Sunday was interminable, made slightly less interminable by the presence of a particular pair of shoulders and a beautiful fine head for Olivia to stare at throughout the service.

She might have imagined it, but she thought they vibrated from the strain of not turning about to look at her.

And when at last they had been set free from their weekly duty, and everyone had stood and shuffled out of the church, she paused a moment, as if peering fondly in at all her buried ancestors, and dumped her prayer book from her hands.

She dropped to her knees.

Lyon Redmond, who just happened to be strolling by at that precise moment, dropped to his to pick it up for her.

”Mrs. Sneath moved me to the O'Flahertys,” she whispered. ”Two o'clock on Tuesdays.”

He said nothing. He merely picked up her prayer book and placed it back in her hands, then touched his hat once when she muttered thanks.

It took superhuman discipline not to open her book during the walk home. It took superhuman discipline not to run all the way home, for that matter.

But once there, she scrambled up to her bedroom and gave her prayer book a good hard shake.

A little strip of foolscap fluttered out.

Meet me at three o'clock tomorrow by the stand of oaks near the O'Flaherty's. I know a clearing.

She clutched it to her with a delighted laugh. Somehow he had found out. He had, as always, been prepared.

”I WAS SO worried you thought I abandoned you,” she said breathlessly, as she ran to greet him. He took her hands in his, because they could now.

They could and oh, how they would, touch each other.

”I knew you wouldn't, Liv. I knew something must have happened. So I paid Mrs. Sneath a visit, and we had a little chat about the virtues of charity. I made a small donation, and then I told her that my sister Violet was interested in volunteering to deliver food baskets. She was so shocked and dazed by this possibility that it was easy enough to winkle from her which families needed help and which young ladies were doing the helping.”

She laughed, imagining poor Mrs. Sneath, who would consider Violet Redmond a challenge and a project. ”Did you think I was frightened off by all the kissing?” she teased.

”Good G.o.d, no. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist coming back for more.”

She pulled her hands away and gave him a playful little shove, and he dodged her, grinning.

And then he took her hand gently in his, lacing his fingers through her fingers, so casually intimate, so precious an act, they fell silent.

And he led her to the clearing. The point of a clearing was to be alone, and it seemed such an obvious statement of what they intended to do once they got there that this kept them silent, too, tense and eager and abashed.

People rarely ventured into this part of the woods, but Lyon, as a boy, had explored nearly every inch of them.

”Voil, Liv!”

And they ducked through a hedgerow.

She gasped. ”Lyon, it's like a fairy ring!”

They were now all but entirely enclosed by serendipitous shrubbery, and elm and oak treefiltered sunlight poured down on them. Beneath them was a lovely, seductive cus.h.i.+on of moss and fallen oak and hawthorn leaves, perfect for sprawling.

”I discovered it when I was a boy. I always knew the knowledge would one day prove useful.”

He whipped off his hat and shook off his coat. He sank down onto the soft carpet of moss. He folded his coat neatly and gave it a pat, and she delicately knelt upon it.

They were both a bit too shy to set upon each other at once.

”Here. Put your head in my lap,” she ordered him.

”Very well. If you insist.”

He did and it was bliss to be cus.h.i.+oned by her thighs.

”This is perfect, Liv.”

She stroked his hair away from his forehead again and again and softly again, and he sighed with pleasure.

”Let's stay here forever,” she said.

”All right,” he murmured.

”I'll decorate. We'll make it look like your house in Spain.”