Page 61 of In Want of a Wife
Lily laughed, glancing over at her companion, who strode through the center of the village with such a strong, unaffected air. She was a little jealous to be honest.
“Now you sound like your brother.”
“Oh, not Henry. He’s a dreadful bore.”
“No, not Henry. Though I hope that’s not true.” A seagull circled above in the sky, then swooped down and landed by the small fountain in the center of the village.
“I don’t know many people, Lily, but I like you. Henry though, sad to say, is the most boring of bores. He made me eat turnips, and I despise turnips. It’s a wicked vegetable that should be banished.”
Again, Lily snickered. “I’m not sure I love turnips, either.”
A bell overhead rang as they stepped inside the small haberdashery. The worn, wide pine floors creaked beneath her walking boots.
“See? We’re destined to be great friends, you and I. Rafe adores you more than his sailboat that he built with father.”
Lily froze, clutching a rose silk ribbon between her fingers. She glanced at the shopkeeper, who busied himself behind the counter, then toward a small group of women who were admiring a new bonnet on display. Her cheeks warmed, first out of embarrassment, then because she remembered swimming with him only last evening.
And how he looked under the moonlight, and the way his hands had braced the small of her back as they kissed.
“And what’s Rafe’s opinion on turnips?” she asked, eager to change the topic, though she was inclined to agree about Rafe’s adoration, which was the problem. How could she marry Henry when Rafe was suddenly such an unknown in her life?
Mari leaned over, clutching a light blue ribbon the color of a robin’s egg. “Oh, he detests them, as any good person should. I’m going to buy this one.”
She hurried to the shopkeeper to pay, then gestured toward the door. Lily followed, leaving behind the rose ribbon. Ribbon would be nice, but an idea had struck her the evening before in the boathouse that would likely require more coin than she possessed at the moment.
“Can you bring me to the docks, Mari?” Lily brushed aside the curls dancing by her cheeks.
Mari raised her eyebrows, slipping her new ribbon into her reticule. “Rafe will take you sailing, silly goose. Mama said he will be visiting us again soon. He’s in Brazil. You should come with Henry, so we can all have a picnic at the beach when he returns.”
Lily bit her tongue, suddenly realizing the weight of the guilt consuming Rafe.
“A picnic sounds lovely.”
But first, she needed to find a seafarer who would sail Rafe’s sailboat to the Isle of Wight, where perhaps he would and could enjoy it. It broke her heart to think of him leaving it behind for the sake of everyone else.
Which led her to only one inconvenient truth—she was in much too deep.
Later that afternoon,armed with a full picnic basket, Lily ventured down to the beach with Finn and waited for Rafe to return. She held her hand up to protect her eyes from the sun and watched as the sailboat became larger on approach. And all the while, her eyes were trained on Rafe, who waved at her.
Heady excitement coursed through her as soon as she spotted him. It was foolish to admit as much, but she had missed him and wished to thank him for seeing their luggage returned.
And she desperately missed him…
She jumped up to the dock and waited as the water sloshed against moorings. The sky was the bluest she had ever seen. A perfect summer day.
“Grab this line,” he said, tossing her a rope. “And slip it over that mooring there.”
The rope was heavy and rough in her hands.
He ducked under the boom and stood, perfectly sun-kissed as he reached his hand out for hers. “Can I take you sailing?”
She clutched the picnic basket tight, running her stare down the length of his chest and the bruises that shadowed his skin, down farther to the dark trail of hair that disappeared beneath his waistband as his shirt hung open.
For a moment, maybe longer, she stood there smiling, unable to find the words she wished to say as desire rioted around inside of her. “My telescope has been returned. Thank you.”
He dropped his hand, his hazel eyes squinting into the sun. “You’re welcome.”
She looked up toward the cottage, weary of watchful eyes. “Are you afraid?” she asked, glancing back at him.
