Page 21 of Redemption

Megan

The sun peeking through a gap in the dark curtains, wakes me. Where my room’s décor is more feminine in nature, Gawain’s is completely masculine: sleek lines, wooden surfaces with dark colors in the fabrics, and a soft gray on the walls. This house has definitely been purposely built for the man, and so far, I’ve not found anything I’d change. It matches his personality or what I’ve learned about it so far. There’s a sadness behind his eyes…as though he must atone for something in his past. I’m willing to bet it relates to how he lost his virginity.

I roll over in the bed and see Gawain is no longer beside me. Reaching out, I feel the sheets and find them cold. He must have been up early this morning. When I sit up and look at the clock, I realize it’s almost midday. I’ve finally managed to get some decent uninterrupted hours of sleep. Going back to my own room, I jump in the shower and wash my hair. The operation on my arm is in two days, and I can’t wait as I’m still finding it awkward to do simple tasks such as lathering up shampoo because the kink in it causes me pain. I get out of the shower and manage to wrap a towel around my damp hair until I can dry it.

I don’t know why, but I feel lighter today than I have in a while. My mood has lifted, and I feel like skipping. It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do for you.

Being careful not to slip on the wet floor, I pad into my bedroom but stop dead when I see a large bag on my bed. It’s the sort that clothes are put in to protect them and prevent them getting moth-eaten.

“Gawain?” I shout tentatively but don’t receive an answer. Hesitantly, I make my way closer to the bed, telling myself that only those with retina access can get into the house. This will be a present from Evelyn or something. On top of the bag I see a note. My hand shakes as I reach out and pick it up.

Mr. Gawain Vincent requests the pleasure of Miss Megan Ragnell’s company for afternoon tea. A dress is provided for this auspicious occasion, here within.

I can’t help but let out a little giggle at the formal use of language in the note. Gawain’s more likely to say to me, ‘Get out here, now’. Especially if he’s on his male period which often happens. I’m happy to go with whatever he has planned, though, especially when I undo the zipper on the bag and find a beautiful Georgian style dress, just the sort Miss Elizabeth Bennett would wear.

“Oh my god!” I exclaim to no one in particular and pull the dress out. Twirling around with it, I settle in front of the mirror. How in the hell did he get a dress like this for me? It’s stunning. The fine lace over the bodice is exquisite and even a pair of silk gloves and matching slipper shoes are provided. I’m still not the biggest fan of clothes, but I’m so eager to get into these that I drop the towel and start dressing. I’m struggling with the corset when there is a soft knock at the door.

“Megan, it’s Evelyn. Can I come in?”

“Of course.” I’ve never been so grateful for a visitor. She opens the door and gasps when she sees me.

“He told me what he was doing, but that dress is beautiful.” Evelyn comes over to me and runs her hand over the fabric of my skirts.

“I don’t understand?” I look at her in confusion.

“He knows you like the book, and he wants to give you something good to replace the nightmares. Now, let’s sort this corset out, and then I’ll try and do something with your hair. I’ve been looking at pictures all morning, but half of the time, I can barely get my hair in a ponytail, so I’m not sure what it’s going to look like.” Evelyn laughs, and it’s infectious. I join in with her as we set about preparing me for my afternoon tea.

Eventually, I’m ready, and Evelyn leaves more than impressed with the way my hair looks. I’ll probably be combing knots out for the next few months, but it’s worth it with the little ringlets now framing my face. I place a final swipe of lip gloss over my lips and make my way into the lounge. All the furniture has been moved to the side and a large table sits in the middle with teapots, cakes, and little finger sandwiches on it. Classical music plays quietly through the sound system, but it’s the man standing by the table who takes my breath away.

Gawain leans casually against the table dressed every inch as I imagined my Mr. Darcy: cream breeches and long riding boots frame his muscular legs, and a dark blue morning coat shows off how broad his shoulders are. I’m lost for words. He presses a button on a remote in his hand and a waltz starts up.

“I’m not totally sure if it’s in keeping with the time, but it’s the best I could do,” he says.

I smile warmly at him.

“It’s perfect. I don't really know how to do any of the fancy dances anyway.”

“Phew.” He theatrically wipes his brow, coming closer to me before bowing. “Miss Ragnell, if you're not otherwise occupied, may I request the pleasure of a dance with you?”

I curtsy back to him, hold my hand out, and reply, “It would be my pleasure.”

I’m whirled around into a hold with Gawain resting one hand lightly on my shoulder and the other around my waist.

“Is this ok?”

“Of course.”

We dance around the room. For a big guy, he certainly has the moves. Mine leave a little to be desired, though, as I resemble Bambi on ice more than anything graceful. Eventually, the music stops, and he leads me to the table where he pulls a chair out for me. I don't know where the urge comes from, but I lean up and kiss him quickly on the lips.

“Thank you,” I say.

He strokes his rough fingers tenderly down my face.

“New dreams. Good ones.”

The look in his eyes sends a strange warmth flooding through my core. Male touch has been abhorrent to me, previously, but in this moment, I long for it.

“Gawain.” I’m struggling for words. I don't know how to ask for what I want.

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