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He would not undo it. Even knowing what he knew, he would not accept any version of his life or his past that did not have Samuel in it. He had tried to block out the pain, but all he had done was also block out the love and joy.
That’s what Cassandra had been trying to tell him from the start.
He would never find the answer in Birmingham, or Sunne Park, or London or any place on Earth. The answer lay not in metal or roses or baby bonnets or even in a tiger-skin rug.
The answer lay in her, and him, and in their secret world of two.
For a smart man, he could be very bloody stupid.
He dropped the tiger skin, and with the energy borne of excitement, a new excitement powered not by fear or anger, but by joy and love, he left the house and went back to find Das. They had work to do.
Chapter 31
By the third day, Cassandra had accepted that Joshua wasn’t coming back.
The first day had been easy; rage had given her resolve and his departure had given relief.
The second day had been awful; she twitched at every sound, hoping it was him, and hurting every time it wasn’t.
The third day, she was useless. Her body was lethargic, her mind agitated. She blamed the rain, though it had never bothered her before; but Lucy and Emily were in a mood, what with Joshua’s disappearance and her news of an imminent governess, so when the rain eased, she escaped to her garden, to find peace.
No peace. Not here, not for her. She had vowed not to succumb to heartbreak, but heartbreak, it seemed, was a physical thing. Her limbs were tired, her middle heavy and aching, and although she had been mercifully free of nausea today, she had a hollow where her heart should be.
The rain began again. Softly, but enough to trap her here, in her folly, with her flowers and her fountain and her regret.
Good. She could not move anyway. It seemed very important that she did not move.
She closed her eyes and listened to the soft rain falling on the roof. From the bushes came the chattering of birds, indignant about the weather. In this spot, she and Joshua had made love, when she had no words and had tried to hold him with her body.
Stop giving up your space. Fight for what is yours.
Perhaps she should have fought harder for him, but it had been hopeless from the start.
“Cassandra.”
How she loved the way he said her name, his voice rough and husky over the rain, a soft lilt on the middle syllable like he was chanting a refrain.
“Cassandra.”
That hint of urgency, as though she mattered, as though he loved her too. As though any moment now he would scoop her up into his arms and hold her tight and never let her go.
“Cassandra?”
A confused note too. Worried even. She did not like him to be worried. Even a dream could wound her heart, so she opened her eyes to dispel it.
It was not a dream.
Joshua stood on the edge of the folly, the rain falling behind him, watching her with his hot-coffee eyes. She let herself look at him, his whole dynamic length. Hers, yet not hers, and so very real. Droplets of rain clung to his hair and to the wool of his coat, and his beloved face was gentle and told her nothing.
He came back!
He came back?
The horrid fiend left her and then dared tocome back? Did he so enjoy breaking her heart that he wished to do it again?
“No,” she said. “You left me, so you can stay left.”
He took one step toward her. Two. Her body wanted to move, but she must not move. Instead, she began to shiver.
