He’d struggled to tear his eyes from Violet during the evening meal. His body still pulsed from their proximity behind the curtain, and he admired her as she glowed, her soft smile never falling. But he sensed the detachment in her, something he recognized in himself. He masked his insecurities by being rough and unapproachable, all sharp edges. No one would approach him without fear of being left bleeding.
Violet, however, polished herself to a surface so slick and shiny that nothing could take hold.
He checked his pocket watch again and, with a reluctant sigh, accepted that she wasn’t coming out, when a slice of light cut across the grass then disappeared, and she was there, walking toward him.
Embroidered flowers swirled over her gown, vines and leaves twisting up and around her hips and bosom before the threads tangled together in a snowy froth of lace at her neckline, as though she were bursting forth from a winter garden that attempted to restrain her. Her exposed collarbone and shoulders, barely visible above the flounced sleeves, appeared so delicate, so elegant and simple in contrast, that Callum ached to drag his fingers across them, study each perfect curve until he memorized it. She held her hands clasped at her waist, the satin gloves reaching up and covering her elbows, and he wanted to tug them off, hold her hand in his like he had earlier that day, when the air between them had vibrated with electricity unrelated to the storm raging outside.
“Callum?” she whispered, and he released the breath that burned in his lungs.
“I’m here.”
The relief was palpable in her expression, her eyes meeting his with a timid smile. He cleared his throat, reminding himself why they were out here in the first place. “The last two nights, Valebrook has taken some men out here for cigars. I assume tonight will be the same.”
“Good. Then I suppose we… wait?”
“Aye.” He stepped closer, then hesitated. Proximity to Violet was addictive, and after having her in his embrace behind the curtain, he wanted another touch, another taste, although he couldn’t identify why. She was distant, but present. Kind, but guarded. A mystery he ached to solve, a cog that didn’t quite fit.
She leaned back, gazed over his shoulder at the sky beyond him, and pointed. “It seems appropriate that Cygnus is visible tonight.”
He turned and looked, but the scattered clusters of stars remained random, with no pattern or discernable reason. “What am I looking for?”
“The swan.” She leaned close and pointed so he could follow her gaze. “Do you see the cross of bright stars? That’s the swan, Cygnus.” She dropped her hand from his forearm and stepped to his side, her face turned upwards.
He squinted. “It doesnae look like a swan.”
“Use your imagination. It’s associated with rebirth and transformation.”
“Ye’ve studied the stars?”
In the low light he saw her cheeks glow pink. “You make my hobby sound more scholarly than it is. I’ve always found themythology of constellations interesting. Every culture uses myths to make sense of the human condition, so perhaps I can learn something from them.”
“I dinnae think any myth can solve all the puzzles of humankind.”
She gave him a long studying look, as though deciding if he was worth her time. He prayed that she found him worthy. “There is something comforting in knowing that the stars are more or less the same as they were thousands of years ago. With all the chaos and unpredictability in our world, something will be steady, there to guide us forward.”
“Was it the Romans who thought the stars could predict the future?”
“Yes,” she said, her expression brightening. “They believed the arrangement of the heavens at the time of your birth determined your path.”
He wanted to brush against her, see if her warmth would reach through the layers of fabric to his skin. But he refrained. “Do ye believe that?”
She huffed a laugh. “I’m not sure. I don’t want to believe everything that’s happened in my life was foretold, that I might have had some warning if I’d looked in the right place.”
“But if it was fated to ye, ye wouldnae’ve been able to stop it.”
Her lips flattened. “I like to think I control my future, but that isn’t the reality. Is it?”
“Ye’re taking control now,” he said, his voice a low rumble. The urge to wrap her in his arms and hold her steady pulsed in his chest. “And I—”
A twig snapped just beyond the hedgerow, and they froze.
“Someone’s coming,” Violet hissed. “What do we do?”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her over to the bench, then sat. “On my lap.”
Her eyes widened, but something rustled, moving closer, and she sat, then wrapped her arms around his neck.
Callum knew this was dangerous. The softness of her body, the shifting of her bottom on his lap, the intensity of her eyes as they met his, wide and uncertain—
