Rebecca (55 page)

Lifting her easily, he did not hurry to put her on the ground. When her eyes were level with his, he held them and smiled.

“Is there something wrong with me?” she asked.

He placed her on the grass and brushed dust from her nose as he laughed. “Except for a dirty face, I'd say you are about perfect.”

“That's because you don't know me very well,” she stated pertly, afraid of the powerful emotions that could build so easily between them. “Have you visited the beach yet?”

“No.” He followed as she walked away through the tall weeds. “If you please, Mariel, a bit slower. It is not easy to part this grass with my cane.”

“I—I'm sorry.” Buried in her own uneasy thoughts, she forgot his need for the cane. It was easy to do, for he stood as straight as a beefeater.

Smiling, he drew even with her. “Do not sound so embarrassed. I don't want my problem to make you unhappy.”

“Does it bother you often?” She lowered her eyes, knowing her question was far too personal to ask a man who was barely an acquaintance. Yet, it seemed that she knew him well. In their short conversations, much of what he said struck a chord with her. Perhaps that is why she saw him as a fellow adventurer seeking excitement in the mundane things of life. “Forgive me if that question is—”

“No, it is no problem for you to ask. The leg does not trouble me too often.” He sighed. “It concerns others more than it does me. I have become accustomed to it.”

She wanted to ask what had happened to him, but she did not want to continue in this personal vein. If she did, he might ask her some things about herself and the other Wythes she never wanted to discuss.

“I am sure you have been warned how dangerous these cliffs are.” She gazed out at the surging waves, which created an even pattern as far as the horizon. The crash of
the breakers swelled over the rim of the stone wall to spray the scent of the salt water over them. “From the earliest days of my childhood, I remember being told never to come here alone.”

He walked to within a few feet of the jagged lip of the precipice. “So wild and untamed. It is odd to think this is here so close to the cities of England.”

“This shire clings to the old ways, but I think the residents will change long before the sea does.” She laughed. “Or maybe not.”

Flashing a smile over his shoulder, he walked along the edge to look at the slender strand below. She pushed through the grass to join him. When he held out his hand and offered her a challenging smile as she hesitated, she slipped hers onto his palm, discovering it fit perfectly.

They wandered along the cliffs until the sun dipped toward the western horizon. Its crimson touch dyed the fluorescent waters. The lonely cry of the sea birds grew more poignant as the night winds tugged at the clothes of the two silhouetted against the multi-hued sky.

“I think we should return to the automobile,” Mariel said quietly, loath to end this pleasant walk. “It is too dangerous to stay here after dark.”

“The piskies will get us?”

She smiled. “No, not the little people, but I do not trust my footing along the cliffs when I cannot see well. Ian, will you come to the Cloister and have dinner with us?”

“I can't. It's Friday. I have to finish that sermon tonight. Tomorrow I am marrying Louis Bradley and Molly Gray.” When she laughed, he asked, “What is so funny?”

Picking her way around a stump, she did not let go of his hand. He drew her back next to him as they continued toward the car. Reflectively, she queried, “How does it feel to say a few phrases and know you have married someone forever and ever?”

“Wonderful.” He mused, “The first time I officiated at a wedding, I was more nervous than the bride and groom. Such an awesome power to join two lives, knowing that the worse might come more often than the better. I no longer dread saying the wrong thing. Everyone usually is joyous at weddings, even when the vows have been anticipated and the girl's father is insistent she marry immediately.”

When she laughed, he regarded her shadowed face. Most women he knew would be shocked by such a statement. Not Mariel. She might be conventional about her own moral behavior; she did not judge others harshly. As they reached the automobile, he released her so she could don her odd driving costume.

She sat next to him and reached for the ignition. His hand halted hers. Drawing it back to him, he lifted her trembling fingers to his lips. In the purple glow of the twilight, he could see the warmth in her eyes.

Mariel did not move as she felt Ian's other arm slide along the back of the seat to bring her to face him. Highlighted by the setting sun, the intensity of his emotions was engraved upon his face. He released her hand, and she moved to start the car again.

Again he stopped her. His hand on her cheek brought her face back to his. Refusing to release her tense shoulders, his arm contracted to tilt her toward him. When she saw he intended to kiss her, instinct alone saved her. With her hands against his chest, she broke his gentle hold on her.

Inserting the key into its slot, she refused to be waylaid from starting the motor. She put the automobile into gear and turned it to go back to the village. By her side was a small lantern connected to the batteries. She lit it, not to help her see, because it obscured her vision more than helping it, but to let others know the vehicle was on the road.

She said nothing during the long trip back to Foxbridge. Several times, Ian asked her a question, but she did not answer. When she drew the automobile even with the porch, she stated coolly, “Good night.”

“Do not be angry,” he said, refusing to leave until they had this misunderstanding solved. “If you do not want to be kissed, that is your prerogative. If I want to kiss you, it is mine.”

“Which you have no right to inflict on me!”

He smiled. “Which I did not inflict on you, as you so nicely put it.” He leaned toward her and spoke in a low voice no passersby could hear. “Do you think you could have prevented me from kissing you if I had wanted to?” When she gasped, he went on swiftly, “I know what you are thinking. I am a minister. I should not be thinking of such things.”

His vehemence disconcerted her as much as his shadow flowing over her in a dark caress. “That's right.”

His hands framed her face. “Mariel Wythe, I like you. You have a wonderful sense of humor and a cockeyed way of looking at the world. Something about you revitalizes me. If you do not want to be kissed, I can accept that.” He grinned ironically. “I can accept that reluctantly, but I do not want to go back to the spitting catfight of yesterday. Can we be friends?”

“Friends?” Her eyes moved from his to the line of his lips. Her breath felt tight in her chest as she imagined how wonderful they would have felt over hers. Forcing that thought from her mind, she murmured, “I would like that, Ian. Just don't press me. I do not like to be cornered. Then I fight nastily.”

“I noticed.” He alit from the quietly purring automobile. “Will I see you Sunday?”

“No,” she answered.

“When?” He knew he was ignoring the advice she had given him only moments before, but he wanted to be sure this day was not a fluke.

She hedged. “I have to come into Foxbridge on Tuesday for the school board meeting. Until then, I will be busy with some work I must do to prepare for it.”

“I will see you soon.”

Taking the statement as the command it was, she said, “Perhaps.” She pressed on the speed control, wrenching the automobile from the rectory in a spurt of dust.

Ian brushed off his coat as the buzz of the motor disappeared into the distance. She had warned him not to pressure her, and he had risked her wrath. He grinned. He told himself he had not expected she would attempt to use that odd conveyance as a weapon against him.

Walking toward the door, he greeted Mrs. Reed warmly. He suspected Mariel would be as anxious for their next time together as he was. Her behavior had not changed his mind. It would be soon.

Mariel Wythe was not the only one determined to have her way.

Chapter Three

Mariel swore under her breath. When she thought of how Phipps would reprimand her for such language, she repeated herself more vehemently and much louder. Nursing her aching wrist, she kicked the hard, rubber tires of the automobile. It did nothing to get it running, but made her feel better.

Reaching for the key, she decided she had to give the ignition another try. If she could not get it started, she would have to walk all the way back to the Cloister. She grimaced as she looked at her narrow silk gown. As she had so many times, she cursed the current styles, which effectively swaddled women.

This time she released the brake before the key snapped back to burn her fingers. The motor remained as silent as before. If she did not return to the Cloister in time for dinner and a chance to change her clothes, she was going to be late for the meeting of the school board.

She looked at the dark bag on the floor. All her materials were prepared. She had worked late into the night for the past three evenings to be ready to answer all the stupid questions the other board members were sure to pose to her. The task had kept her from thinking about the strong desire on Ian's face when he spoke of kissing her. She could not ignore her own reaction to that tempting invitation.

As she had too often in the days since their walk along the cliffs, she forced the thoughts of him from her head. She did not want to find her life tangled with Ian Beckwith-Carter's quiet existence as minister of this shire. What she longed for she did not know, but she was determined to find it alone.

“Damn automobile!” she snarled as she refocused her frustration on the unmoving vehicle.

“Need help, miss?”

She whirled to see a man standing in the middle of the road. She wondered where he had popped out of so suddenly. He was far too tall for an elf, and his graying, once-dark hair did not seem to fit in with any of the other residents of fairydom. Well worn clothes announced his profession as a landsman. Her eyes rose to meet his midnight black ones. Tall and thin, he seemed as much a part of this silent road as the trees behind the stone wall.

Swallowing her shock, she said in a normal tone, “It's the automobile. It won't start.”

“I have heard of these, but I have never seen one before.” He placed his hand on the chrome of the fender and stroked it with admiration. His fingers were long and slender, not the short, stubby ones she expected from a farmer. “Shall I look at it for you, miss?”

“If you don't know—”

He smiled, showing even teeth. “I can't hurt it if it's broken. I might be able to fix it. I have worked on other machines.”

Reluctantly, she nodded. She stepped back to allow him to check all the wires she had never bothered to study. The car always worked, so she had not prepared for the time when it might break down. She explained the sounds it had made just before it coasted to a stop. With a nod, he leaned over it to check the motor and electrical connections.

She rubbed her sore fingers and watched him. When he stepped to the front and gave the key a sharp turn, she jumped as the motor purred to life. She laughed uneasily as he turned to see her astonishment. “Thank you, Mr.—?”

“Walter Collins, miss. You are welcome. Just a wire needed wiggling. Have your mechanic check it for you right away. I would not guarantee you could start it again tonight. You'd be smart to head straight for home.”

With a nod, she acknowledged his sound advice. She leaned across the front seat for her reticule. When she straightened, she found his eyes following the narrow lines of her gown. She bit back her normal sharp retort to such impudence. The man had helped her. She must be gracious to him. As always, her conscience spoke to her in Phipps's voice.

“May I offer you something for your kindness, Mr. Collins?”

“Nothing, miss.” He tipped his broad-brimmed hat. “'Twas my pleasure to help you.”

“But, Mr. Collins, I must insist.” Inspiration dawned, lightening her expression. “At least come to Foxbridge Cloister and let us offer you a meal and a night's shelter.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You are very shrewd to see I am in need of a roof over my head tonight, miss. Or I should say ‘my lady'?”

Waving aside his words, she stated, “I am Mariel Wythe. My name does nothing to change my obligation to you, Mr. Collins. Let me offer you a ride in my automobile that you have gotten started so efficiently.”

A slow smile spread across his face. He could not hide his boyish delight at having a chance to ride in the horseless vehicle. Although she guessed him to be more than a decade her senior, he leapt like a child into the passenger's seat.

On the journey back to the Cloister, Mariel was kept busy answering his questions about how the automobile worked. She showed him the acceleration lever and how the floor pedals regulated the rear wheels. He was properly impressed when she spoke about the automobile's speed. That she could drive in one hour what it took many a day to walk seemed miraculous.

Many of his questions she could not answer. She discovered her technical knowledge of her vehicle was sadly deficient. At the same time, she listened intently as he spoke of how much this motor was like other machines he had worked on. As they drove through the open gate of the Cloister and turned onto the road leading to the stables, she dared to voice the question nagging at her thoughts. “Mr. Collins, may I ask you something personal?”

“Personal?” He looked at her uneasy face shadowed by the coming twilight.

“Somewhat.” She wished her voice would not try to quiver as if she was begging for favors. “Do you have a position somewhere?”

“A job?” With a laugh, he leaned back on the plush seat and put his foot on the running board. “I could say I am between positions right now, my lady, but the truth is that I am broke. I am heading to Liverpool to look for something on the docks.”