AllFreeNovel
Share Us
No one's ever given me those words before.
It was high time someone did.
Still, Aurora reminded herself, he had tensed when she'd first uttered her admission—out of shock, yes, but out of something more.
And that something was uneasiness; concern that being loved meant sacrificing his autonomy, relinquishing his freedom, altering his life.
Loving in return.
Julian might be half in love with her, but he was going to fight like hell to keep the other half to himself.
How unfortunate that he couldn't see how much he needed her.
Ho
w spectacular that she'd have to show him.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
"So this is your Windmouth lighthouse." Julian paused, tilting back his head to view the entire stone structure, nestled at the foot of the hills just south of Pembourne.
"Isn't it glorious?" Aurora darted about, assessing the fifty-seven-foot tower with as much pride as if she herself had constructed it.
"It is indeed."
"You'd never know it was over a hundred years old, not with the condition Mr. Scollard keeps it in. His magic is evident in every gleaming stone, every flicker of the lighthouse beam…"
"Every thrilling legend," Julian teased.
He saw the unexpected flash of hurt in her eyes—something he'd never seen before, much less put there—and instinctively he reached for her, drew her to him. "Soleil, I didn't mean…"
Aurora gazed up at him, that incomparable candor supplanting the hurt, compelling her to explain. "You're but the second person I've ever brought here. Somehow I knew Courtney would love both the lighthouse and Mr. Scollard. With you—I'm just not certain. You're more of an enigma, Julian; you have the mind of a realist and the soul of an adventurer. Frankly, I don't know what sort of reaction to expect from you. I know I shouldn't care—but I do. You're my husband, and I badly want you to understand, perhaps even to share, my faith in the lighthouse and Mr. Scollard." She paused, a sort of sad resignation crossing her face. "However, I suppose I, too, must be realistic. So if what I wish cannot be, if you find this whole experience dubious at best, all I ask is that you respect my feelings. This lighthouse has been my refuge all my life, the only place I could go to find peace, joy, and most of all, friendship. Mr. Scollard is as dear to me as if he were my own father. So if you find him—or the enchantment I feel over his legends—inane, please refrain from saying so. And please, don't ridicule me."
"Aurora." Struck by an unfamiliar surge of emotion, Julian framed his wife's face between his palms, damning himself for causing the light of her exuberance to be doused even for a moment. "I'd never ridicule you. Nor did I mean to diminish either Mr. Scollard's role in your life or the magnitude of your faith. On the contrary, I find everything you've shared with me about the Windmouth lighthouse and its keeper fascinating." Julian's thumbs caressed her cheekbones. "And if I haven't yet told you this, I'm telling you now: I find your enthusiasm, your zest for life, both exciting and infectious—one of your most alluring traits. Never explain nor excuse it. And never, never let it fade." He felt an odd constriction tighten his chest. "As for the lighthouse being your refuge, I'm glad you had such a place, such a man, to go to."
"Because you didn't," Aurora finished for him. She stood on tiptoe, brushing her lips to his. "But you're about to." With that, her melancholy vanished, and she tugged Julian toward the lighthouse door. "I know Mr. Scollard will help us solve our puzzle." She tapped Julian's coat pocket, within which the falcon book was carefully tucked. "He'll guide us as flawlessly as his lighthouse beam guides passing ships."
As if on cue the door swung open and a white-haired gentleman with brilliant blue eyes stepped out. "Rory—good. The tea is still hot." He wiped his hands on an apron, his keen gaze leveled on Julian. "'Tis a pleasure, sir." He paused. "I shan't address you by your title, not out of any disrespect, but because you loathe the memories it conjures up. All that will change, of course. Not my form of address, but your aversion. Actually, both. But the former won't be the result of the latter. No, I'm proud to say that by the time you've overcome your aversion, I'll be addressing you by your given name. Therefore, I'm not destined to refer to you as 'Your Grace'." A decisive nod. "Won't you come in?"
Somehow Julian was more amused by the convoluted greeting than he was surprised. In fact, Mr. Scollard was precisely what he had expected. "'Tis a pleasure to meet the man of whom my wife speaks so highly."
"Ah, she speaks of me, but she dreams of you."
"Mr. Scollard!" Aurora's jaw dropped.
The lighthouse keeper chuckled as he led them inside. "I've no more embarrassed you than I've uttered a great revelation. Your openness precludes both."
Julian liked Mr. Scollard already.
Strolling into the cozy sitting room, he glanced about, noting the pot of tea and cakes—complete with three cups—that awaited them. The room was furnished with twin armchairs, a cushioned settee over which hung pastel watercolors, and a brick fireplace housing a roaring fire, and Julian found himself thinking that the decorating matched Mr. Scollard perfectly: warm, distinct, and attuned to the finest of details.
"Have a seat, sir." The lighthouse keeper gestured toward an armchair, hurrying over to pour the tea.
"Since you've already foreseen it, why not begin addressing me by my given name now?" Julian suggested, lowering himself to his seat and placing the book on the end table beside him. "I'm not terribly partial to 'sir'."
