bed?
You enjoyed the music?
Very much. Music? Had she said something inappropriate about the music? She could be so stupid about such things. Barely, she repressed a shudder as he reached out to toy with her hair. It was wonderful to be able to dance outside, near the gardens.
She stepped back, hoping to turn toward the stairs, but his hand fisted in her hair, held her in place. Yes, I noticed how much you enjoyed dancing, especially with Mitchell Rawlings. Flirting with him. Flaunting yourself. Humiliating me in front of my friends, my clients.
Evan, I wasnât flirting. I was onlyâ
The backhanded slap sent her sprawling, the bright shock of pain blinding her. When she would have rolled into a protective ball, he dragged her across the marble floor by the hair.
How many times has he had his hands on you?
She denied, she wept, he accused. Until he grew weary of it and left her to crawl away and sob in a corner.
But this time, in this dream, she crawled off intothe shadows of the forest, where the air was soft and the ground warm.
And there, where the stream gurgled over its smooth rocks, she slept.
Then awoke to the cannon-blast of thunder and the jagged rip of lightning. Awoke to terror. She was running through the woods now, her white dress a sparkling beacon. Her blood pumped, the blood of the hunted. Trees crashed behind her, and the ground heaved under her feet and boiled with mist.
Still she ran, her breath tearing out of her throat and ending in whimpers. There were screams in the wind, and not all of them hers. Fear ruled until there was nothing else inside her, no reason, no sense, no answer.
The wind slapped at her with sharp and gleeful hands, and clawing fingers of brush tore her dress to shreds.
She was climbing, scrabbling like a lizard along the rock. Through the dark the beam from the lighthouse slashed like a silver blade, and below, the wild violence of the sea churned.
She kicked and cried and climbed. But she didnât look back, couldnât force herself to look around and face what pursued her.
Instead, choosing flight over fight, she leaped from the rocks, spun and spun in the wind on her plunge toward the water. And the cliffs, the light, the trees all tumbled in after her.
Four
O n her first day off, Nell rearranged the furnitureâwhat there was of it. She watered her flowers and herbs, did the wash, and baked a loaf of brown bread.
It was still shy of nine oâclock when she cut the first slice for her breakfast.
Evan had hated her early-rising habit, and had complained that that was the reason she was dull at parties. Now, in her little cottage near the sea, there was no one to criticize, no need to creep about. She had her windows open wide, and the whole day belonged just to her.
Still munching on bread and with a heel of the loaf in the pocket of her shorts, she took herself off for a long walk on the beach.
The boats were out, bobbing and gliding over the water. The sea was a soft, dreamy blue with frisky waves that rolled up lacy on the sand. Gulls winged over it, white-breasted in their graceful dance on theair. The music of them, the long, shrill cries, pierced the low, endless rumble of the surf.
She turned in a little dance of her own. Then she tugged the bread from her pocket and tore it into small pieces, tossing it high to watch the gulls circle and dive.
Alone, she thought, lifting her face to the sky. But not lonely. She doubted she would ever be lonely again.
At the sound of church bells she turned to look back at the village, at the pretty white steeple. She glanced down at her shorts with the frayed hem, her sandy sneakers. Hardly dressed for services, she decided. But she could worship in her own way, and offer a prayer of thanksgiving.
While the bells rang and echoed, she sat near the edge of the water. Here was peace, she thought, and joy. She would never, never take either for granted. She would remember to give something back every
You enjoyed the music?
Very much. Music? Had she said something inappropriate about the music? She could be so stupid about such things. Barely, she repressed a shudder as he reached out to toy with her hair. It was wonderful to be able to dance outside, near the gardens.
She stepped back, hoping to turn toward the stairs, but his hand fisted in her hair, held her in place. Yes, I noticed how much you enjoyed dancing, especially with Mitchell Rawlings. Flirting with him. Flaunting yourself. Humiliating me in front of my friends, my clients.
Evan, I wasnât flirting. I was onlyâ
The backhanded slap sent her sprawling, the bright shock of pain blinding her. When she would have rolled into a protective ball, he dragged her across the marble floor by the hair.
How many times has he had his hands on you?
She denied, she wept, he accused. Until he grew weary of it and left her to crawl away and sob in a corner.
But this time, in this dream, she crawled off intothe shadows of the forest, where the air was soft and the ground warm.
And there, where the stream gurgled over its smooth rocks, she slept.
Then awoke to the cannon-blast of thunder and the jagged rip of lightning. Awoke to terror. She was running through the woods now, her white dress a sparkling beacon. Her blood pumped, the blood of the hunted. Trees crashed behind her, and the ground heaved under her feet and boiled with mist.
Still she ran, her breath tearing out of her throat and ending in whimpers. There were screams in the wind, and not all of them hers. Fear ruled until there was nothing else inside her, no reason, no sense, no answer.
The wind slapped at her with sharp and gleeful hands, and clawing fingers of brush tore her dress to shreds.
She was climbing, scrabbling like a lizard along the rock. Through the dark the beam from the lighthouse slashed like a silver blade, and below, the wild violence of the sea churned.
She kicked and cried and climbed. But she didnât look back, couldnât force herself to look around and face what pursued her.
Instead, choosing flight over fight, she leaped from the rocks, spun and spun in the wind on her plunge toward the water. And the cliffs, the light, the trees all tumbled in after her.
Four
O n her first day off, Nell rearranged the furnitureâwhat there was of it. She watered her flowers and herbs, did the wash, and baked a loaf of brown bread.
It was still shy of nine oâclock when she cut the first slice for her breakfast.
Evan had hated her early-rising habit, and had complained that that was the reason she was dull at parties. Now, in her little cottage near the sea, there was no one to criticize, no need to creep about. She had her windows open wide, and the whole day belonged just to her.
Still munching on bread and with a heel of the loaf in the pocket of her shorts, she took herself off for a long walk on the beach.
The boats were out, bobbing and gliding over the water. The sea was a soft, dreamy blue with frisky waves that rolled up lacy on the sand. Gulls winged over it, white-breasted in their graceful dance on theair. The music of them, the long, shrill cries, pierced the low, endless rumble of the surf.
She turned in a little dance of her own. Then she tugged the bread from her pocket and tore it into small pieces, tossing it high to watch the gulls circle and dive.
Alone, she thought, lifting her face to the sky. But not lonely. She doubted she would ever be lonely again.
At the sound of church bells she turned to look back at the village, at the pretty white steeple. She glanced down at her shorts with the frayed hem, her sandy sneakers. Hardly dressed for services, she decided. But she could worship in her own way, and offer a prayer of thanksgiving.
While the bells rang and echoed, she sat near the edge of the water. Here was peace, she thought, and joy. She would never, never take either for granted. She would remember to give something back every
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