Love, The Truth About(Cynster Novels) by Laurens Stephanie

Author:Laurens, Stephanie [Laurens, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 0060505761
Published: 2011-09-03T07:00:00+00:00

When the last lantern was up and the gardeners left them, he pulled out his watch. “There’s half an hour left before luncheon.”

All those who’d passed had gone to the lake; they could glimpse it glinting through the trees.

“I could use a moment away from the throng.” Pocketing his watch, he glanced around. “In all these acres, there must be somewhere else we can go for a moment of rustic peace?”

She smiled. “There’s a pond upstream. None of the others will have gone there—they always head for the summerhouse.”

“I’ve a fondness for ponds.” He waved her on.

She led him down a path lined with tall trees; within minutes they were out of sight and sound of the lake.

“You’re doing very well.”

She glanced at him, but said nothing. She was growing more comfortable, more consistently leaving her inner barriers down. More consistently and confidently being herself.

That was part of the reason he’d come, to simply be here if she’d needed help. But she’d weathered Cecily Hancock’s malicious spite well; she hadn’t needed him to intervene, yet he’d had to be there.

He glanced at her, very conscious of the other, more major part of his reason for remaining by her side.

She hadn’t yet agreed to be his.

He’d thought that by now she would have, or at least would have given him some sign of acceptance, of intent. His strategy dictated he shouldn’t pressure her. He’d weakened once; he remained determined not to do so again.

But…

He glanced briefly at her profile as she walked beside him. That night in the nursery…had he, perhaps, overplayed his hand? He looked ahead, matching his strides to her shorter ones. He’d been so utterly confident she would come to him; last night, even while he was painting, he’d broken off, again and again, to glance past the canvas at the door, and its knob.

Every little sound had had him focusing on that knob, waiting for it to turn. But it hadn’t.

Had he read her wrongly?

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Two seconds of remembering how she’d writhed under his hands, under his mouth, eliminated that as a possibility. Which meant that something—some thought, some consideration—was holding her back.

Causing her to hesitate, to rethink and assess.

He drew in a breath, felt a tightness reminiscent of desperation close about his chest. Nonsense—it could only be a temporary hesitation. If she needed reassurance, he was willing and able to give it; if it transpired he needed to adjust his approach, to modify his stance, his declared position, he was willing to do that, too.

Perhaps she simply needed a little encouragement?

Jacqueline kept her gaze on the trees ahead, on the path as she led him on, yet she was acutely aware of the glances he threw her, of the way his gaze lingered on her face.

As if he found her as puzzling as she found him. Just as she was so constantly aware of him, he, too, was absorbed with her; his attention, his focus on her, never really wavered.

The trees

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