Page 13 of A Magic Deep & Drowning

A strange feeling had begun to creep over her skin, the sensation of knowing there is a spider on one’s hand before it even bites. “Who are you?” she whispered.

He took a hesitant step closer, hand outstretched, but stopped abruptly when he was still an arm’s length away. “I have no other name to offer you,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse. “Not one that you would understand.”

What didthatmean? She opened her mouth, but he shook his head, stopping her before she could speak.

“I am somebody who should not be here, and certainly not under these circumstances. I am somebody who should know better than to tempt myself with what I can never have, but I cannot stay away. I am somebody who is completely enchanted with the woman I see standing before me, and would do anything in their power to linger in her presence, even if just for one more moment.” His smoldering gaze leveled on her. “Will that suffice?”

She swallowed, and gave a tight nod. So much for not being swayed by pretty words. She was either the stupidest or luckiest girl that had ever lived. What she had thought was a harmless flirtation was turning quickly into something she had no words to describe. She only knew that she was standingon the edge of a very dangerous, very slippery precipice, and could not seem to back away.

At her nod, he let out an impatient huff, and swiftly closed the distance between them.

Cold fingers found her cheeks, but his eyes were fire as he pulled her into his embrace. His kiss was hungry, almost desperate, nothing like the gentle, teasing kiss they had shared the other day. “I think about you every moment of the day,” he murmured into her hair. “It is the most blissful torment.”

She allowed his words to wash over her, through her. While she was determined to keep her mind coolly reserved, her body had other ideas, and she lengthened herself against him, until her breasts ached and her nose was full of his delicious scent. His skin was smooth and cool under her fingers, and no matter how close he was, it was not enough.

“Clara,” he said hoarsely between kisses, “there’s something I must tell you. I—”

But he didn’t have a chance to finish. By the time the lamp came upon them, it was too late. Clara jumped backward, nearly tripping on the hem of her dressing robe.

“Holy Mary!” Helma dropped the lamp and crossed herself, sending shards of light splintering through the clearing. “You get away from her, you beast! Just wait until my master gets his hands on you!” She was reaching for a heavy stick and was lifting it to take a swing when Clara regained her wits and threw herself in front of him.

“Wait! Helma, wait, it’s not what it looks like.”

Helma slowly lowered the stick, but kept her gaze trained on Maurits as if he might try to beat a hasty retreat. Clara rushed to explain. “He was doing nothing that I did not wish of him.”

Another sign of the cross, this one slower, accompanied by a muttered prayer. Before Clara could say anything further, Helma burst into tears, the stick falling to the ground.“Have I been so lax in your care that you think sneaking off in the night with a man is appropriate behavior for a lady of your standing? The good lord have mercy—what would your mother say if she knew?”

“She can’t know!” Clara put her arms around Helma’s shaking shoulders. “Helma, listen to me. Mama must not find out. I’ll be married in a month and she never need know about this.”

She shot a glance at Maurits. He knew that she was to be married, but it was not a reality they had discussed in any of their brief encounters. His gaze was steady and penetrating, trained on her with an intensity that made her shiver despite herself. His hair was still ruffled from where she had run her fingers through it, his shirt still loose at the throat. Foolish girl that she was, the only thought running through her mind was how beautiful he looked, how perfect a tableau the rain and the moonlight made of his lithe body.

“Please, Helma,” Clara said, breathless. “Please just give us one more moment. To talk.” It was hard not to see Helma as anything other than a ball and chain in a lace cap, especially now.

Helma’s expression could have frozen canals, but Clara was used to her disapproval. Muttering a contradictory string of prayers and curses, Helma stomped back to the edge of the trees, arms crossed, her glare cutting through the rain.

Clara’s upbringing had been a gentle one, with the expectation of obedience first to God, then to her parents and a husband. But obedience had never come naturally to Clara; she’d had to push down her inclination to forge her own path. Now she had to call on every reserve of patience she had and reign herself in from the brink of disaster. Helma had shattered the magic glow of the kiss, the lamp throwing Clara’s situation into stark relief. She took a deep breath. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’ve continually lied to me about your identity. Perhaps it makes me a fool, but I gladly played the foolfor my own reasons. Now, however, it is time for me to say goodbye. I am to be a married woman and you cannot come back to see me again,” she managed to make herself say. “And even if I were not to be married, I’m not certain that I would want to see you after everything you have lied about.”

Maurits was very still, saying nothing. The clouds swept away on the breeze, revealing a plump silver moon. He was as beautiful as ever, almost otherworldly in the pale cast of the moonlight, but there was something not quite right. His breathing was labored, his tall body canting slightly as if he could not balance properly. “Are you sick?”

At this he cracked a smile. “Oh, Clara,” he said. “I wish I didn’t have to lie to you. I wish that we had more time. But your maid is right—you shouldn’t be here. You need to go.”

Her anger began to fade, replaced by concern at the strange sight of him. “Are you sick?” she asked again. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “No, not sick exactly. I just... I can’t stay.”

She had come with the intention of saying goodbye, of letting herself drink in his beautiful, calming presence one last time and then turning her back forever on this foolish chapter of her life. So why did it feel as if this was only the beginning?

He ran his hand through the short, thick layers of his hair, looked as if he wanted to say something, then thought better of it. “Clara,” he said finally, taking an uneven step toward her. “I’ve thought of nothing else since the moment I first set eyes on you. I know that I have no right to profess such feelings, especially after all my lies. And I agree—we can never see each other again. I only hope that you will not have cause to hate me someday.”

His words took the breath out of her, left her legs weak and her mouth dry. “Why would I hate you?” she managed to ask.

Maurits gave her a heated look. He was no longer the shaft of sunshine dancing on the water’s surface, but a dark, angrystorm cloud. But his anger was not directed at her. At the world perhaps, at the injustice of their situation, but not at her.

He shook his head. “This Hendrik—he’s a wealthy man, yes? He’ll take good care of you. Keep you safe.”

His words cut her like a knife. Maurits was as good as passing her off. She was not her mother’s daughter for nothing though, and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over, willed herself to take deep, even breaths.

Was this what love was supposed to feel like? Love was her mother’s cool hand slapping her for impudence so that she would become a better, more obedient girl. Love was her father’s steely distance and determination to make an advantageous match for her. Love was a distant God, watching and judging her. Surely the warm ache that Maurits elicited in her heart was some entirely different phenomenon, for it held no place in the ranks of what she knew as love. How did she tell him that he had begun as simply a novelty, something exciting in her wretchedly stale world, but that somehow, unbeknownst even to her, he had turned into something else entirely? The soft shadows of his affection had shaped her while she slept, the glow of his attention seeping into her skin and transforming her.

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