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He paused, the question reaching his eyes before it reached his mouth. “You said you would not return.”
Hannah looked away. Aye. A vow spoken in a moment of feminine hurt. But did she feel the same now? Of a sudden, the question blurted raw and ugly from her lips. “Why did you not tell me you bought Eaton Hill?”
Joseph’s expression went flat. “Hannah, I—”
“Why would you purchase this very land if you didn’t want me to know it?”
“I didn’t want you to think I’d done it only to be close to you—”
“You don’t want to be close to me.”
He raised his hand, irritation crouching his posture. “I didn’t say that.”
“You wanted to make us think you were fine with us staying when you were simply waiting for the right time to let us go?”
He stormed forward, inches from her. “I made a decision for my future, and you happened to once again be a part of it.”
“Once again?” Bitterness chirped free. “I was never part of your future.”
Towering above her, his timbre throbbed with aching. “You were everything to me.”
Grabbing for her waist, he pulled her against him and covered her mouth with his. The room dispelled, his hot mouth and strong hands consuming every sensation. She should push him away, not give in to this longing, but she was helpless as the years of wishing and wanting commanded more than she could resist. His lips toyed with hers, begging them open, and she complied, wrapping her arms around his back. Moaning, he knit his fingers through her hair, cupping and angling her face to more fully expose her mouth. She succumbed, rising on her toes to press even closer, her own hands kneading the firm muscles of his back. Never could she have imagined such a moment, though she’d dreamed of it endless times. Never until now did she truly know how desperately she wished to be his wife, as she always had.
Almost as if she had whispered the wish against his lips, he trailed kisses to her ear, his warm breath tingling across her skin. “Marry me.”
Light of breath, knees weak, she rested her forehead against his, willing him to speak the words over and over, that their mellifluous sound would drown away the discordant voice of the past. He isn’t the marrying kind.
Hands still in his hair, bodies still close, she whispered back. “Why?”
His tender words dusted her skin like a soft touch. “My heart has never stopped aching for you.” His lips brushed atop hers again, soft and hungry. “Whatever has happened between us, whatever has kept us apart, matters little when our hearts still beat as one.”
Hannah stilled, the gross sorrow of her secret looming like a dark spirit. “Joseph…”
Hands gently cupping her head, he brushed his thumb against her cheek. “Say yes.”
She clos
ed her eyes, praying God would give her strength it seemed her body hadn’t of its own. “There’s something I—”
The sound of an approaching rider tapped lightly against the door, and she pushed free from his arms. The same panic rimmed his gaze. Her hair was mussed, her lips red. If Stockton saw them…
Not waiting another moment, she raced up the stairs and into her room, closing the door only seconds before Stockton burst into the room.
Back against the door, Hannah pressed a hand to her constricting chest, listening to the muted voices of the men volley quietly back and forth belowstairs. Two steps forward and she collapsed on the bed, the humming of her soul still heating her body.
Joseph’s words curled before her like gold-dusted lettering. Whatever has kept us apart matters little when our hearts still beat as one.
Lies did not burn as hot as the truth. And here, in this moment, her heart was afire. She loved him more than she ever had. Mayhap, after all this time, at last she could have the life with him she’d always wanted. He cared for her—she knew it. But then…mayhap he would leave her again?
Yet, somehow the thought didn’t curb her longing. Nay. In truth, she would prefer a life of pain in want of him rather than ignore the pleading of her heart. Perhaps ’twas time to trust again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sleep did not always beget peace, though Philo wished it. He stared at the blackness of the ceiling, willing his eyes to close and the hours to drown away the vision of Hannah’s pain-filled expression, the sorrow in her voice. But the memory howled, long and lonesome. He sat up, the milky moonlight draping across his quilt. Rubbing his head, he picked apart all the reasons he’d acted toward her the way he had. Each action right, each choice just. So why did his conscience plague him like a possessed body, railing over and over that somehow he’d done wrong?
Grumbling, he threw off the quilt and tucked his feet into his slippers before pulling his banyan from the chair beside the bed and shrugging it on. Candle lit, he went belowstairs. Not to answer a hunger or ease a thirst as he might have done on nights before, but he must try something for his unsettled state, and tea might prove a remedy.
In the chilled kitchen he reached for a mug, unable to escape the memory of her words. I am your daughter in little else than blood. ’Twas true, but how could he have changed it? She had made her decision—she had gone against God and chosen Joseph and her need of the flesh over all else. Such was not to be borne from the daughter of a reverend.
