The Whisper Of Wings (20 page)

As she descended the last few steps, he smiled and extended his arm for her to take. She only hesitated for a moment, then slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, her heart fairly crashing against her ribcage now.

"I'm glad you agreed to join me, Michaela. I feared that my bumbling efforts to help you had unwittingly alienated you."

"I..."

"No, no. You don't need to answer." He paused, and for a moment, looked as awkward as she felt. He took her hand out of the crook of his arm to hold it in both of his as he drew her around to face him, his smile gone, his expression serious as he contemplated her face.

"I've been meaning to apologize about that business with the psychologist. It was thoughtless of me not to consult with you first. I realize now that I should have given you more time."

She could see by his expression, by the earnestness in his voice, that he was sincere, and her heart sang an answer. He didn't seem to mind at all that the psychologist hadn't uncovered her memory. He was only concerned about her feelings in the matter. She felt enormously relieved.

"I only meant to help you. I thought perhaps I'd been remiss in that."

"No," she protested, anxious to make him understand that she held him only in the highest regard.

He shook his head to silence her. "I've heard you in the night. Sometimes you...cry out. I know you're plagued with nightmares, with the horrors of what you've suffered. That is what I sought to help you with, nothing more. So, you see, I was only thinking of you."

Embarrassed by this sudden knowledge, she lowered her eyes. She wasn't aware that anyone had overheard her agony, yet she was warmed by his admission that he'd been thinking of her welfare.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I never meant to disturb you. I'll have to take more care in the future."

"No," he answered. "It is I who should take more care. I've been thoughtless, perhaps even selfish, and for that I must express my regret. It will greatly relieve my mind if you will accept my apology."

She lifted her eyes to meet his, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. Her forgiveness seemed to be important to him. "You've no need to apologize, I—"

He placed a finger against her lips to stop her. "We need not talk about it again. It is finished. I promise not to interfere in your life again without first consulting you."

She stared up at him, all her emotions mirrored in her eyes. His finger had brushed her lips for no more than a second, but it burned where he touched, and she thought she might never forget it. Just as she'd never forgotten the feel of his lips on her hand. It was foolish to make too much of his gesture, but she knew she would forever cling to the memory, hold it dear to her.

"Shall we enjoy our picnic then?" he murmured, smiling as he once again offered his arm.

She didn't hesitate this time, just placed her hand on his arm with an answering smile of her own. She would be willing now to walk into the very core of the sun with him were he but to ask it of her.

He opened the door for her and put his hand on the small of her back as she stepped through. A thrill raced up her spin at the possessiveness of the touch. She was being ridiculous, she knew. But she couldn't seem to help herself. He was just so gallant, so much of everything a woman could ever want. She knew he hadn't any romantic interest in her, knew she could never capture his attention in that way, but it was wonderful to just relax and enjoy him, Christopher Standeven the man, every aspect of him, his sheer masculinity, his intellect, his charm, his strength. All that was him. However brief the moment might be. The stimulation of his attention was perhaps better therapy than any psychologist could offer. She didn't like to think it would ever come to be dangerous to her, this hopeless desire she was beginning to develop, so she deliberately thrust the inkling away, determined to live in the moment, if only for a short time.

Michaela stared in awe at the automobile that waited for them in the driveway. She glanced at the man next to her in surprise, and only stepped forward to get into the vehicle at his urging. It was an immaculately preserved 1910 Silver Ghost, Rolls Royce. She couldn't believe he would be driving her to their destination in an automobile most men would have kept in a garage, locked away from any harm that might befall it. When she said as much, Christopher was quick to differ.

"Nonsense. An automobile is to be enjoyed. How can one take pleasure in a vehicle when it is sitting in a museum forever being polished by an ape of a man who has no concept of what he is touching?"

"But it's so beautiful," she murmured, running an appreciative eye over every detail as he helped her into the passenger seat.

She studied the interior as he came round to get in the driver's side, her eyes hungry to devour anything new, anything challenging.

"I'm surprised you understand the import of owning such an antique," he commented as he slid the automobile into gear. "Most women don't even pay attention."

"I love to learn new things. It's been said that it was a man's world until woman arrived."

He laughed. For the first time he actually laughed, a rich baritone of sound that pealed from his throat with amazing ease. She stared at him, awed, realizing that she was privy to something few people ever saw. Laughter did not come easily to a man like Christopher Standeven, yet she had been able to tease his sense of humor to life. She found herself laughing along with him, happy that he was capable of mirth, and pleased that she was the one who had brought it out in him.

At the sound of her jollity, his laughter died and he turned to give her an incredulous look, the road ahead forgotten for the moment. "You're laughing."

She instantly stopped.

"No, please do continue. I want you to laugh."

"You were laughing, too," she murmured. It was all she seemed able to say.

"Yes," he softly answered, his eyes piercing right through to her soul. "I did, didn't I?"

One wheel of the automobile suddenly hit the grass on the edge of the driveway, and he had to take his eyes off her for a moment to steer the vehicle back onto the pavement before they careened into the ditch. She gave a little squeal of alarm and clutched at the dash. He automatically reached for her hand to soothe her.

"It's all right. I won't crash us into a tree. I'm a very capable driver."

"I trust you," she answered.

Something inside Christopher's chest constricted, almost painfully. He had wanted to hear those words for a very long time, but he sensed that she still didn't trust him enough to tell him her story. Her confession of trust wasn't enough. He wanted more, so much more from her.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then released it to put both his hands back on the steering wheel. Michaela found herself watching him. Her confession seemed to have affected him in some way. He'd grown quiet, so quiet that Michaela began to wonder if she'd spoken out of turn. But she'd merely voiced the truth. It was as much a revelation to her as it was to him. Somewhere along the line, she had come to trust him implicitly. She only wished she knew what he felt about her sudden admission. He'd seemed to want it before, but now...he was reserved again, his expression impassive as ever. And when he finally did speak, it had nothing whatever to do with her statement. It wasn't at all what she wanted to hear.

"Do you drive, Michaela?"

"No. Fa—" She'd been about to explain that Father would never allow either of his daughters to learn to drive—that was far too independent a thing for a genteel lady to do—but then cut herself off short when she realized what she had been on the verge of doing, virtually admitting that she'd been lying to him.

He gave her a sidelong glance but didn't press her to continue, just returned his attention to the road ahead. "I'll teach you if you like."

She glanced at him in astonishment and could not disguise the excitement in her voice. "Do you really mean that?"

He turned and briefly studied her expectant face. "Of course." He frowned a bit. "Why wouldn't I?"

She shrugged, a smile already lighting her face. "I don't know. I just assumed that...well, you're a man."

"I'm not at all intimidated by a woman who knows how to drive," he answered, as if he knew precisely what she was thinking.

Michaela had no doubt that nothing could intimidate him. He was far too strong and self-assured for that sort of nonsense.

Her smile broadened. "In that case, I would like very much for you to teach me to drive."

She was amazed when he slowed the automobile and pulled it over to the side of the road. They weren't yet out of the long driveway that led up to the mansion and already he was turning the vehicle over to her. She stared at him in surprise. "You can't mean now?"

"Why ever not? Now is as good a time as any," he replied, already getting out of the vehicle.

Nervous and excited all at the same time, she watched him walk around the front to open the door for her. He actually meant to do just as he said, teach her to drive. She was thrilled at being given the opportunity to learn something that gave men such freedom, thrilled at the chance to enjoy something with him. He seemed to take pleasure in the fact that she was so eager to challenge her mind, and it inspired her to do her best.

In just moments, she was behind the wheel, getting a rather jerky start, and they were both laughing at her attempts at the gearbox. She learned quickly, and was soon tooling down the road like an expert. Much to her delight, Christopher allowed her to drive all the way to the spot he had chosen for their picnic. She arrived exhilarated, feeling as though she could accomplish anything, her cheeks rosy from the sheer joy of simply existing.

He helped her out of the car and led her to a grassy knoll overlooking the mountains. Satisfied with the view, he spread the blanket on the ground and motioned for her to sit down.

She remained behind while he collected the baskets from the car, and then watched as he brought them back and spread them before her. Mrs. Avery had packed sandwiches piled high with roast beef, pickles Cook had put up herself, and perfectly aged cheese. There were apples and bananas, and a red wine that rolled off the palate like smooth silk. Everything was perfect. The food, the view, and the man who shared it with her. He seemed a much more carefree Christopher Standeven than she'd ever seen before, a boisterous, convivial Christopher Standeven, a man she could relax with. She was pleased to make his acquaintance. Somehow, she managed to forget that she had ever been frightened of him at all.

Michaela ate until she could eat no more, then followed Christopher's example and rested back on one elbow to enjoy the view as she sipped her wine. She felt like she was living a novel, a beautiful heroine with her handsome hero in a perfect setting. It was a dream she'd never imagined could happen for her. She only hoped that she could keep it in perspective. She couldn't let her imagination run wild. She must guard her heart, protect it from being broken.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he murmured, his gaze sweeping the landscape before them.

"Yes," she agreed. She studied the lush green hills before her, then turned her head to look at him. "Is it yours?"

He shook his head. "This is the border of my property, where we sit." He made a wide sweep with one arm. "All you see out there adjoins the property, but I've never quite been able to get the man who owns it to part with it. One day I hope to acquire it." He paused for a moment as he stared out over the land, then continued. "I think perhaps he shall come around soon."

She turned back to study the view again. It was hard to imagine that Christopher Standeven didn't already have everything he wanted.

"Someday Gerald will need a place of his own, and I think this is the perfect spot," he murmured as if to himself, still contemplating the view.

She nodded. She could almost envision Gerald happily building his own house in the valley that lay before them. He would have such a wondrous time with his architectural pursuits. She smiled at the thought of Gerald finding fulfillment in his dreams. It was something she wished for every human being. Even herself.

"It would make him so happy, designing his own house to build down there. I can just imagine him with all those papers and pencils, planning everything from the ground up," she mused, the words out before she realized that she had blundered.

Christopher's head snapped around, and his mouth turned down into his customary frown.

"He would be in heaven...." She turned her head to share her enthusiasm with Christopher, but she trailed off when she saw the expression on his face.

"Designing?" he queried, looking confused.

She lowered her gaze. She'd said too much, but she knew it was too late to retreat now. He wouldn't let her leave her blunder unexplained.

"Michaela, what did you mean?" he asked, his tone almost brusque.

She shrugged.

"Please. This is my son. If there is something you know, I need to know, as well."

She stared at the grass that bordered the blanket they shared, wishing she hadn't been so foolish as to open her mouth. It would be awful if her slip of the tongue caused her to lose her friendship with Gerald. His friendship meant everything to her.