Friday Dreaming by Bailey Elizabeth

Author:Bailey, Elizabeth
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical romance, romance novel, sweet romance, traditional romance, unrequited love story
Publisher: Elizabeth Bailey

Chapter Seven

NICK’S smile was tentative as he came up, as if he was unsure of his welcome. He gestured towards the forest. ‘I followed your footprints.’

Friday drew a breath against the unruly pulsing of her heart. All she could think was how beautiful he looked. Not at all haggard as was she. No evidence of any distress of spirit. The visions of the night hours came whirling into her mind, and she felt herself grow hot. A shadow crossed his face as she continued silent.

‘Do you—object to my coming?’ he asked hesitantly. ‘Shall I go?’

‘No!’ came at once, unbidden, from her lips. She tried to control their quivering, ‘I thought—Caro said you had gone home.’

Nick nodded. ‘I am on my way there. At least, I was.’ He looked away. ‘I turned around and came back.’

‘To see me?’ Friday asked incredulously before she could stop herself.

A half-laugh escaped him. ‘Is it so odd? I have wanted to see you. Only I didn’t know if—’ He broke off, snatching off his hat and dashing it impatiently against his side. ‘Dash it all, Friday, this is absurd!’

She bit her lip, unaware that she was tightly clasping her fingers together. ‘Is it?’

‘Yes! No one would imagine that we had been friends for years and years. I feel as if everything I say to you is suspect.’

Friday could not look at him. ‘I told you it would not work.’

‘It should work, Friday, it should.’ He took a step towards her, but Friday drew quickly back. Nick’s face changed. Bitterly, he demanded, ‘That bad, is it?’

She swallowed. ‘Worse.’

There was the most dreadful silence, eerie out here in the still winter day, the enveloping white frost hushing the world. Such a constriction attacked Friday about the chest that she thought her lungs must explode. How could she have spoken in so hurtful a way? Why did he not say something? What was he thinking? At length she dared to lift her gaze to his face. Through the spectacles, she saw that his eyes glistened and wondered at it.

At her glance, he turned instantly away, shoving the hat back on his head, and she saw him raise a hand briefly to his cheek. All at once she understood. Her heart melted.

‘Nick,’ she cried, and reached out her hands to him.

Next instant, he had turned back to her, catching at her gloved hands. Then he released them, and she found herself dragged against his chest, his arms tight about her—just as they had been in her dreams.

Only it was not like her dreams. There was no sensuality about this fierce embrace that muffled her face into the folds of the many capes that adorned his greatcoat. There was instead desperation, panic, as of a small child whose mother had been thought lost to him. The impression was strengthened by the words that jerked hoarsely from his throat.

‘I need you, Friday! Don’t turn against me! I cannot bear your enmity!’

Friday could not speak for the emotion that instantly choked her. He did not love her, no.

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