Page 23 of To Follow her Heart

She sat upon a neat bay mare, dressed in a pale blue riding habit that hugged her figure and made his mouth grow dry. Her dark curls clustered about her face beneath a stylish little hat with an ostrich feather dyed to match the gown. Her dark eyes were huge in her face, which was pale and wan, and made him want to cut out his heart for the pain he’d caused her.

“I take it I have your word as a gentleman you’ll keep your hands to yourself if we allow you some privacy?” St Clair asked, giving Luke a hard look.

Luke’s heart leapt. Privacy? With Kitty?

“Yes,” he said at once. “Word of honour. I… I can’t thank you enough.”

St Clair nodded and looked like he would turn away, but he didn’t. When he spoke, he seemed almost reluctant to, as though he knew he ought not. “Don’t mess it up,” he said, somewhat tersely, though there was sympathy in his eyes. “Love doesn’t come along when and where you want it to. It’s worth fighting for.”

“I know,” Luke replied, a little startled by the man’s passionate words.

He also knew that if he loved Kitty, he’d have no choice but to walk away from her.

“There’s a summerhouse just over the hill there,” the earl said, gesturing away from the trees. “We’ll be waiting there for you both. If you walk into the thicket here, you’ll find a path which leads to a small lake. It’s private and no one will disturb you. It’s… a romantic spot,” he added with a smile. “Good luck, Baxter.”

“Thank you. You’ve been very kind.” Luke nodded and forced a smile he wasn’t feeling, but he was grateful to the earl and wanted him to know it. He needed the chance to explain things to Kitty and… to tell her goodbye.

“Don’t waste the opportunity,” St Clair muttered, before turning his horse and riding away, up the hill. His mother and the two other ladies followed him, leaving Kitty alone.

Luke swallowed and wished he had the slightest clue of what to say. He dismounted and tied his horse in the shade before moving towards her.

Kitty said nothing, just watching him as he drew closer. He reached up, putting his hands on her tiny waist and helping her down. How many times had he done this in Ireland? How many times had he taken the little intimacy for granted and believed it would always be his right to do so?

She slid to the ground, her hands coming to his shoulders, her eyes fixed on his. They were so close, close enough to kiss, and the familiar scent of her stole over him.

In an instant, the present fell away and they were back in Ireland. He remembered picnics and adventures, laughter and a world free of cares. There were rainy days hiding in camps and telling each other wild stories, endless sunny days fishing in the river and trips to the sea, to the Giant’s Causeway.

He remembered Kitty telling him the story of the terrific fight that legend told had created them, spoken in her lilting accent. Any words were instantly more romantic and intriguing when she spoke them, but the story of the giant Fionn mac Cumhaill, who was challenged to fight the Scottish giant Benandonner, had caught his boyish imagination. That day was one of those perfect remembrances that remained forever in his mind, where the sun had shone and happiness had filled him to the brim. It gilded the memory with joy and glowed all the brighter as he knew such things were lost to him.

Kitty stared up at him, everything she felt clearly expressed in her eyes, just as he remembered.

“Oh, Kitten,” he said, his own heart breaking.

She moved towards him, to embrace him and he moved back at once. He’d given St Clair his word as a gentleman and if she touched him… if she touched him, he would be lost.

“We don’t have long,” he said, trying to smile at her, and holding out his arm for her to take. “I understand there is a lake within. Shall we go and discover it?”

She took his arm, still saying nothing, though the hurt in her expression at his rejection clawed at his soul.

St Clair had been right, though he could curse the man for it now he saw the danger. It was romantic here. The sun glinted on a small lake bounded by large rocks. On one side of the lake was a clearing, alive with wildflowers and the drowsy hum of insects. Butterflies flew from bloom to bloom, their colours catching the sun as they moved to the meadow, flying beneath the dappled shade of the trees on all sides, drawn by the lure of the sweetness beyond.

It was the perfect setting for lovers: beautiful and intimate, set away from prying eyes. Luke wanted to weep.

There was no point in putting off the inevitable, though. He must tell her his feelings had changed; he must at least try to make her believe it. If she was angry with him, it would be all the better. She could forget him then, and move on.

His every instinct rebelled against it, but….

“I was never more surprised to see you last night,” he said, trying to smile but too afraid to meet her eyes. “Though that bear ought to have given me a clue,” he added, able to smile honestly for a moment, for that was nothing but the truth. “I’m sorry that I didn’t write to you and explain after I’d left. Everything happened so fast. I was swept up in this exciting new world and I suppose I believed you would have forgotten about me just as I—”

“Stop it,” she said, the words full of impatience and scorn.

Luke hesitated, knowing he had to persist, but she stopped and turned to face him, pressing her finger to his lips.

“You never could lie,” she said, those fierce eyes holding his, stripping away the man he’d forced himself to become, and finding the lonely boy he’d once been. “Don’t try to tell me everything has changed, and that you have forgotten me, for it’s obvious that isn’t true.”

“Kitty,” he began, his heart thudding with fear and longing and so many damned emotions he couldn’t begin to make sense of the tangle in his chest. “Kitty,” he said again, except this time her name caught in his throat and it sounded like a plea.

She threw herself at him then, the movement so unexpected that he stumbled and fell to the ground, taking her with him. Why he’d not expected this, he didn’t know; it was just like her to do something so bloody rash.