Page 79

Julian unbuttoned his heavy greatcoat without a word, removing it and draping it around her shoulders, his hands resting briefly on her upper arms before pulling back.

"I had not anticipated how cold the woods would become," he noted.

Adelaide pulled the warm wool around herself, inhaling his scent of cedar, fresh air, and soap.

Standing mere inches apart, an electric charge filled the narrow space between them. Adelaide felt the urge to close the distance, longing to feel his arms around her waist.

Julian took a quiet step back. "There is more," he murmured.

Guiding her further along the path, the trees thinned as the ground sloped downward to the bank of a clear woodland stream running over smooth stones.

Crouching at the water's edge, Adelaide smiled. "I remember this too. I used to believe woodland fairies used this stream to migrate, sailing on tiny leaf-boats all the way to the other side of England."

She laughed at the memory. "How foolish I was."

Julian crouched beside her. "Do not call it foolish."

"It was foolish. I was a child with a head full of nonsense."

"It was not nonsense." He picked up a fallen leaf from the bank, turning it between his fingers. "Rooted in deep imagination is a fundamental truth, Adelaide. When your mind wandered into wonder, you experienced something pure—an elevated form of adventure."

He looked out over the water. "I have traversed continents and unearthed ancient history buried beneath sand for thousands of years. Yet the pure wonder you felt as a child, believing in leaf boats and fairy migrations, is something I have never been able to match with any discovery of my own."

Adelaide stared at him, moved by his words. "That is the most generous assessment anyone has ever offered of my childhood imagination."

"It is not generous; it is accurate."

She studied his profile—the strong line of his jaw and the silver at his temples in the dappled light.

"Tell me one of your own," she requested softly. "One of your most memorable discoveries."

Julian grew still, the leaf motionless between his fingers.

"In Egypt," he began, "I encountered an archaeological team along the Nile excavating a burial site sealed for over three thousand years."

He placed the leaf upon the bank.

"I watched them uncover the grave. Inside, they found the preserved remains of a woman—a mother holding her infant child, her arms wrapped around the baby in a final embrace. Three thousand years of sand had not separated them."

Adelaide remained silent, listening intently.

"It moved me more than anything I have ever unearthed." His jaw tightened slightly. "It brought me face to face with something I had never known: The unconditional love of a mother."

He looked down at the flowing stream.

"Our mother died giving birth to Thomas," his voice turned rough. "My father raised the three of us alone. He did his best, yet he rarely spoke of her, referring to her only as an angel."

Adelaide offered a soft smile. "She must truly have been an angel."

Julian nodded, keeping his eyes on the water.

"A mother's love transcends time itself." His voice thickened. "I never knew her, holding no memory of her face, voice, or touch. Yet I can sometimes feel her love reaching across the veil between life and death."

Tears welled in Adelaide's eyes, spilling over her lashes to trace slow paths down her cheeks.

Julian turned and saw her tears. Stepping close, his thumb gently brushed the moisture from her cheek, his own dark eyes shining with a raw, long-held grief.

Adelaide reached up, her palm resting against his cheek as the warmth of his coat wrapped around her shoulders.