Her Honorable Enemy by Mary Davis

Author:Mary Davis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Love Inspired Heartsong Presents
Published: 2014-08-25T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

For the next two and a half weeks, Rachel went to the overlook of English Camp every day that her siblings were in school. It was easy to break away in the afternoons when Genevieve took a nap with Priscilla.

Charles had gotten into the routine as well, and evidently knew when to meet her each day. He’d taken to bringing a blanket for them to sit upon.

“Why do you keep coming back here?” Rachel asked.

Charles eyed her for a moment, some sort of conflict playing on his expression. “Why do you keep coming back?”

She hesitated. “To see the garden in each of its seasons.”

“The garden. Is that the only reason?”

“Of course. Anything else would be improper.”

“Improper indeed.”

She would try again. “So why do you keep coming back?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “The garden.”

* * *

He watched her go. He liked watching her. Liked it a lot. “My dear sweet Rachel, what are you doing to me? You consume my every waking thought and even invade my dreams. I can’t seem to get you out of my head. Not that I want to or that I have even tried. You are the song in my heart, the smile upon my lips, the hope for a future bright.”

Now who was being dramatic? Rachel must be wearing off on him.

As long as he declared nothing and didn’t allow his fingers to brush against hers even accidently, he could keep control of his disobedient longings. As it was, the memory haunted him of their first meeting, when he’d caught her from tumbling backward down the hill, and then later, when he’d taken her hand and bowed over it. He reveled in reliving those moments, even while he tried to forget what it had felt like to have his hands about her waist or her soft, delicate hand in his.

She was both intoxicating and sobering. She was American. He English. Their peoples were at war. On opposite sides.

His Romeo to her Juliet.

Neither the play nor war ever ended well.

* * *

The following week, Rachel sat with her back against a large tree. Charles had brought the blanket and found a place they could sit where no one was likely to stumble across them.

Charles faced her, his hip nearly touching her own, the closest he’d ever sat to her. His nearness made her heart skip a beat. He hadn’t touched her or attempted to touch her since that first day when he prevented her from falling on the hill and then bowed over her hand as they parted.

“Continue reading,” Charles encouraged her. “I like your accent.”

Rachel smiled. “I don’t have an accent. You do.”

“You have one to me. Please continue. I like the way you read. You have passion. You read with a fresh perspective that comes out in your voice.”

“How can you hear a perspective in my voice?”

“In the emphasis you give certain words and syllables. You don’t just read the piece. You experience it.”

Amazing. That was just how she felt when she read the poetry, as though she was transported into the world of the poem.

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