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The drapes closed, and Maidie was enveloped in semi-darkness. She forced herself to look at Delagarde, who had released her and was leaning back against the railing, his eyes only just visible in the pale light of a partial moon.
“You have obviously taken leave of your senses,” he said in conversational tones.
“Merely because I allowed Eustace to talk to me?” It was hard to maintain her poise, but Maidie hoped she sounded quite normal.
“You were actively encouraging him to suppose you are reconsidering his offer.”
Their last meeting came back to her. “Why should you care? You told me I might marry him with your good will.”
In one swift movement, he moved forward, grasping her shoulders and pulling her towards him. His voice was harsh. “You know I didn’t mean that!”
Maidie could not speak. His touch, his nearness were causing the most unsettling sensations within her. Her heartbeat was so flurried she thought it must choke her.
Something of her agitation communicated itself to him, for he paused, and his grip loosened. “You’re trembling!”
“No, I’m n-not!”
One hand left her shoulder. She felt his fingers caress her cheek and then he was pushing up her chin, scanning her features in the dark.
“Maidie…” A whisper on his breath. He leaned towards her, and his lips just brushed hers.
As he pulled away, Maidie felt her knees shaking. Faintness threatened to overcome her, and she reached out to seize the railing. He let her go and she turned to clutch the cold iron, catching at her breath to steady it. She heard him curse softly, but she could not look round.
“I’m sorry,” he said on a guttural note. “I did not want—I did not mean—It is the fault of that gown! You look—heaven help me!—so alluring. And this confounded starlight! Oh, the devil! Maidie, I did not intend it. Think nothing of it. It was nothing—a mistake, that is all.”
He had said enough. More than enough. He had not meant to kiss her—a light, feathery kiss which had turned her limbs to water. But it was nothing. To him, it was nothing. Her eyes pricked.
Forcing down the surge of emotion, she gripped the railing. She must not be affected—must not appear to be affected. She turned her eyes heavenwards, and saw the night was relatively clear. The stars beckoned lovingly, and as of long habit, she searched for her winter base and began to pick out her friends. Rigel, then Betelgeuse. The pointer gave her Taurus, and peace began to seep back into her veins.
“Aldebaran.” Then down again to Canis Major. “Sirius.”
She had been unaware of murmuring aloud. Delagarde’s voice startled her.
“What are you saying?”
She seized on the safety of her familiar territory. Pointing, she showed him Orion. “Look along his belt—there. That bright one is Aldebaran. It has one of the strongest lights. Then, if you return to the Hunter, you must search for his feet. The brighter star is Rigel, but look!” Her pointing finger moved, drawing an arc. “The lesser star, his other foot, will lead you to the Great Dog, and there you can find Sirius—see how bright he is?”
Delagarde had closed with her, was standing half behind her, perhaps in order to follow the correct angle of her pointing finger. His voice was a murmur close to her ear.
“Beautiful!”
If she had not buried herself in the comfort of her celestial world, she would have died inside with the force of his presence—so close: the arm which almost touched her breast as it partly encircled her to steady him with a hold on the railing; the warmth emanating from him, burning the length of her back down one side; and his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, a heavy flame.
Delagarde heard her words, looked and saw the stars to which she directed his attention: Procyon, and the twins Castor and Pollux. With half his mind, he was drawn with growing interest. The other half wrestled only with the pull of his desire, as the tremble of her limbs gave answer. This was madness! Why had she not run from him, escaped? He could not see her face, but the memory of it, that night in her bedchamber, gave him the image he must be glad was hidden from him at this moment: in this place, inflamed with a vision of what he might have done—could still do—in that place, with Maidie and her starlight lure.
Sanity hit. “My God, what am I doing?”
He thrust away from her as she turned to look at him, startled. A sudden smile lit her features, and she laughed. “You are asking me?”
Then consciousness returned, and she looked quickly away. The response had been involuntary. She could not think, now, why she had remained out in this seeming wilderness with Delagarde. Yet she did not move.
He could see the confusion even in the darkness, and a sudden urge seized him. Not to kiss her into submission—to the fate he had just been picturing—but to catch her up into his arms and simply hold her there.
The drapes moved, and Lady Hester stepped through them. As one, each shifted swiftly away from the other, to the furthest points of the railing.
“Dear me. Has it occurred to either of you that you are setting tongues wagging?”
Maidie blushed in the darkness. “Oh! I had not thought!”
