After a few more silent moments, Luna pushed away from the bridge rail and started walking again. Nigel remained where he was, regathering his composure. Then, lengthening his stride, he hastened to catch up to her, just as she reached the path on the far side, which looped around the lake in a slow, lazy, meandering fashion. They walked for some while, not speaking, and Nigel couldn’t decide if the silence was tense or natural. His own heart kept thumping oddly. But then, that was his standard state-of-being when sharing proximity with this woman. He was almost used to it by now.
“So, what did you think?” Luna asked at last. “Was the duck-feeding experience worth it? Do you feel your very soul elevated to new heights of being?”
He opened his mouth, prepared to meet her nonsense with equal nonsense. Some ridiculous quip to keep the shared joke between them alive. But the words tripped on his tongue, and he stopped. Pivoting on heel, he cast his gaze out over the lake. Hands deep in his pockets, he bobbed on his toes then back on his heels and emitted a long, slow sigh. “Do you know, Miss Talbot,” he said quietly, “I cannot remember a time I’ve been happier in my life than I am in this specific moment.”
Another silence followed. And really, as inappropriate as his previous faux pas may have been, this statement was far worse. Far more vulnerable. Because what he’d said was the absolute truth. Every chance he had to be with her was better than the one before, each moment building on the beauty of the last. Yes, there was pain in those moments, but if anything the pain only added to the exquisiteness of the overall feeling.
Still, that didn’t mean it was right for him tosayit. Indeed, he wouldn’t be surprised in the least if his companion were rendered uncomfortable enough by his forthrightness to call an abrupt end to their excursion.
But the words were spoken now. He could do nothing but wait in terrible suspense for her response. Would she come back with more of her hyperbolic teasing, keep their repartee alive? Would she simply retreat into herself, leaving him to wallow in embarrassment and regret?
Nigel stared out at the sparkling water and the ducks swarming after the last few pellets. His gaze tracked the progress of three cyclists on the far side of the lake, oddly fixated on their movements. Anything to keep his gaze averted from her. The solitary standing turret of Bally Castle dominated the scene, reflected in the water below, and he lifted his eyes to its heights, watched a bird flit through the sky overhead, and . . .
. . . and all the while, he felt Luna’s gaze on the side of his face.
Finally, unable to stand the silence a moment more, he turned. Looked at her. Her lips were lightly parted, but when he caught her eye, she pursed them quickly into a little line, which then curved up in an odd sort of smile, like she was trying to repress it. She faced away from him, curls bouncing on her shoulder, and studied the lake herself now, still silent. Leaving him in pitiable suspense.
Then, very softly she murmured, “Me too, Mr. Grimm.”
Nigel felt all the breath leave his lungs in a single gust. His gaze fixated on her mouth, and he felt in memory the softness of her lower lip beneath his thumb. She hadn’t recoiled from his touch. Not right away, at least. He couldn’t say where the audacity had come from, driving him to make a move like that, and he’d feared in the moment that the whole day would be spoiled. How many times now had he done something that ought to have spoiled the day? And yet the day remained unspoiled. Was it possible that it simplycouldn’tbe spoiled? Because what was happening between them was simply toorightto be spoiled?
Even as this thought crossed his mind, it was followed swiftly by the vivid mental image of Ward the Wardsman swallowing Luna’s face in an enormous kiss earlier that very day.
But,another part of his brain whispered back defiantly,she turned him down. For you.
Luna suddenly shrugged her shoulders up to her ears. “Shall we get back and finish up at the shop?” she asked in a bright, easy tone of voice. “We can probably get there in plenty of time for the four o’clock rush. And more of those commissions for the Governor’s Ball might come in as well. They’ve been quite steady all morning.”
Nigel nodded slowly, considering his next move carefully. Then he tilted his body toward her, hands still in his pockets as he angled his elbow.
Luna blinked and looked at him. “What?”
“My arm, Miss Talbot,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Take it.”
She hesitated for a count of three breaths before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. He performed a nimble about-face and set out walking back the way they’d come, pulling her along with him over the duck bridge. But when they reached the far side, he didn’t turn back toward the park exit. Instead, he took the opposite way. “Where are we going?” Luna asked, surprised.
“You did say you wanted to see the Old Bally Castle, didn’t you?”
“Yes . . .”
“No time like the present, don’t you think?”
She was silent for a few paces before querying, “Are you sure you want to risk becoming ‘part of the history,’ Mr. Grimm?”
He turned a grin down at her. “I’m game if you are.”
She took a few more paces. Then he felt her hand squeeze his elbow a little tighter, and his heart positively soared. “I’m always game,” she said.
The last guided tour of Old Bally Castle started at 4 o’clock promptly. It was made up of an odd assortment of characters, including a sunglasses-clad retired couple on vacation, a gaggle of gawky college students, ostensibly on a “research” trip, a pair of honeymooners, who made everyone else uncomfortable with their public displays of affection at every possible opportunity . . . and Nigel and Luna, of course.
The tour guide was a man with a seen-it-all demeanor, uninspired and unrushed in his delivery of the dryest facts he could dredge up about the ancient walls and keep. The tour was not two minutes underway before Nigel found himself suspecting he’d made an error of judgment in bringing Luna here. By twenty minutes in, he was awash in regret.
“And here you see the chamber in which King Balliarmus the Seventh signed the Charter of Liberty drafted for him by the barons of old Brythoni. But the stipulations of the charter were such as to compromise the king’s authority as the gods-ordained sovereign, leading the following year to the instigation of the war of—”
A long sigh issued from near Nigel’s shoulder. He glanced down to see Luna’s cheeks puffed out, her expression dismayed. Her hand was no longer looped in his elbow, and he couldn’t help thinking this whole ordeal would be a lot more pleasant if he could somehow convince her to place it back there again. But she had released her hold on him when they joined the tour queue, firmly stuffing her hands into her pockets, and in her pockets they resolutely remained.
