Page 51 of The Dreaming Beauty
He put another stick into the bucket and scooped a little clay out for Tansy. She took it in her fingers, and he watched the wonder in her face as she felt the texture for the first time. “It’s not like anything I have touched before. Can you imagine artists making sculptures out of this?”
“Perhaps you should try to make a vase with the leftovers.”
“I think I would prefer to paint the vase another person makes. I cannot fathom having a knack for sculpting.” Tansy reached her arm toward the second fairy house while still trying to keep her knees on the blanket—probably to maintain space from him. “Will you hold the house up for me? This gap at the base will take some work.”
He did as she asked, and Tansy leaned closer. He was about to scoot toward her since the angle of her arm and body were not close enough to the house to be comfortable, when she lost her balance. Her hand covered with clay fell forward and landed on the knee of his breeches.
“Blast!” she cried.
He laughed at her wide eyes. “Blast?”
Tansy sucked in her lips. “You did not hear that. Not a word to Iris or Aster!”
He laughed again. “So many secrets.”
“And messes.” She wiped at his knee, smearing the clay. Her hand went to her cheek without thinking, and she pulled it back in dismay. It was too late; clay clung to her skin.
“Wait, hold still.” He reached out to remove the cold clay from her cheek, but to her surprise and his own, he wiped clay on her other cheek instead. “There. Now you are matching. I know how important that is to a woman.”
Tansy glared in mock anger. “I will have you know that a lady’s greatest preference is not matching herself but matching her companion.” She threw herself forward and caught his cheeks in her hands. She laughed at the gray streaks he knew she had left behind, and he groaned.
“And here I thought you were an artist. Is this the best you can do to improve me?”
“Ah, but I have only just started.” Tansy reached for the bucket.
He dove for it at the same time, but she was closer. She got a handful of it, and since he was so near her, he had to roll away to keep from getting a faceful of the stuff.
Laughing, he jumped to his feet. She did too. “Now, Miss Tansy, you wouldn’t want to dirty a man who has spent the day aiding you.”
“Dirty you?” Her eyes danced. “If you had a mirror, you would see you already accomplished the feat on your own. I am just trying to finish my attempt to improve you after you insulted my abilities.”
They stood several feet behind Daisy and the clay, his back to the willow branches farthest from the house. When she neared him, the clay in her hand taunted him, but he was ready. He feigned a step to the left, and when she followed suit, he quickly changed directions and weaved to the right. He snatched an arm around her waist, and with his free hand, he grabbed her wrist, narrowly avoiding disaster.
Her laugh was loud and musical, bringing out another laugh of his own. He met her gaze, regretting it immediately. She was a natural beauty, enough to entice any man, but he also knew of her unparalleled sweet and caring personality. Together, it was an intoxicating combination. Her eyes sparkled with mirth, and her wide smile drew him in, his arm naturally pulling her to him while his hand pushed past the clay and weaved their fingers together.
She tipped her head back, and strands of blonde slipped off her neck as her chin lifted toward him. There was no doubt she too felt the pull between them. A few inches more and he was certain she would let him kiss her. In mere seconds, his choices flashed before his eyes.
A kiss, to him, meant commitment.
He would have to go back to teaching and forever put his research behind him so he would have a stable career to support a family. He would have to go against Simon and his mother.
Uncertainty passed in her eyes, likely mirroring his own. She began to slide her fingers out of his. He snatched them back, his heart now pounding, and moved his thumb against the back of her palm. If anyone could live with his nightmares, it would be a woman like Tansy. Someone who did not turn away from those who were different.
But it was a lot to ask of her.
She had the right to decide for herself before he compromised her reputation by sharing a kiss with her. It was only fair. Questions flitted in her features as he finally stepped back, her hand still in his.
“Mr. Taylor!” Daisy called, her back still to them. “My clay isn’t drying.”
“Come,” he said, his voice husky. “We will practice your skills on the house instead of on me.” He led her to Daisy, reveling in the feel of their hands laced together, even if they were covered in clay. He let her go as they came in front of her aunt, and he assessed the house in Daisy’s hands. She had piled a great deal more clay onto it than needed. “Here, let us help.” He handed Tansy the stick and picked up the house for Tansy to smooth it for him.
As she did, her gaze caught his. She was self-conscious, he could tell, and so was he. But he knew there was no going back to the way things were. He wanted Tansy in his life. He merely needed to find a way to make it possible.
That night when he returned home, with his pen in one hand and the other in his hair, tugging at the errant curls over his ear, he penned two letters. The first was to the headmaster at Oxford, requesting to return to teach for the fall session. The second was to Cadogen.
I cannot thank you enough for your support and for your friendship. However, I have decided to return to Oxford in the fall and move on with my life.
He wasn’t giving up on his research completely, but he was accepting what he could not change. This was the only way if he was ever to support a wife. The first step, at least. There were still several obstacles he was not sure how to overcome, like his mother and Simon and his duty to them. He grimaced, knowing how difficult it would be. Still, the hardest thing might very well be telling Tansy about his nightmares.
