Page 15 of A Touch of Charm (Miracles on Harley Street #3)

W hen Mary came between Thea and Andre, he wandered away in thought. He seemed consumed by something that held him back, needing to cool his mind for some reason Thea couldn’t guess.

“Let’s not go back to conjugating verbs, Thea,” Mary pleaded when their break had ended longer than Thea had planned. “I want to do something exciting!”

“Isn’t it exciting to learn to converse like a lady?” Thea gave a superciliary glance, suspecting Mary felt about the answer just as she had as a child. Few things were more boring to a little girl than Latin grammar.

But Mary’s long and heartfelt groan response made her laugh. It was true, even if Thea would have expressed it differently than Mary. A lady in England was expected to converse about topics ranging from the dull to the mundane when in polite society.

The life of a princess wasn’t like fairy tales made it out; the pomp and luxury had felt more constricting for Thea than a privilege. Her most important duty was to obey her father.

No more!

Thea shook her head and hoped that Mary didn’t notice. She’d escaped, yes. But it wasn’t a permanent solution by any means.

“Can we stay out here, please?” Mary pleaded.

“All right, a little longer then.” Thea feigned reluctance to draw out their break but strolled through the park’s lush expanse surrounding Cloverdale House, the morning sun casting a gentle glow over the dew-kissed grass. The air was crisp, carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and the distant chatter of London seemed to fade into the background. Beside her, Mary skipped with the boundless energy of a child, her laughter ringing like a bell.

Suddenly, Mary’s eyes widened with delight. “Look, Thea! A rabbit” she exclaimed, pointing to a small, fluffy creature with a white cotton tail—just as in children’s books—nibbling on clover. Without a second thought, Mary dashed after it. Her curls bounced in ringlets with each step, peeking out from her bonnet.

“Mary, not too fast!” Thea called with a mix of amusement and concern. She quickened her pace, her skirts rustling against the grass. Thea’s gaze drifted over her shoulder, and her heart skipped a beat.

Andre was there, running effortlessly up the hill toward Mary with long and graceful strides. Thea’s breath caught in her throat. His presence was magnetic, drawing her in with an intensity she couldn’t quite understand. She hadn’t moved with such freedom since her childhood even though her breath came in ragged bursts as she sprinted up the hill to ward off Andre, her feet pounding the earth with a rhythmic urgency. But the closer she came to Andre, the stronger the exhilarating sense of boundlessness swept over her, unshackling her spirit—as if he’d set her heart free. When she reached his side, the sunlight danced on his dark hair, and his eyes, focused and determined, seemed to hold a secret just for her. He cast her a boyish look from the corner of his eyes.

“Again!” Mary cried out joyfully, reaching her hands up to Andre. He picked her up and twirled her in the air, and the little girl screamed with joy—as if Mary’s voice made the exact sounds Thea felt in her heart when she saw Andre.

“Hello, Thea,” Andre said, “I have my hands full.” He laughed heartily, and Thea saw his perfect white smile. Everything about him was packed, handsome, muscular perfection. He held her gaze and set Mary down.

It was such a hot day—or was it just Thea’s chest and face heating when Andre looked at her as he did.

She swallowed and blinked to regain her composure. She tried to, at least.

“I can see you are busy,” Thea jested when Mary’s sudden squeal pulled Thea back to the moment. The little girl had flung herself onto the grass with a delighted “wheeeeee,” rolling down the gentle slope with abandon.

“I always did this with my brother and sister.” Andre’s rich and warm laughter echoed, and Thea found herself momentarily stunned by the thought that he must have had a family he missed even though he never spoke of who was exactly part of his family.

He was tall and seemed careless in a cultivated way, as if he made an effort to push aside his woes and consciously revel in the pleasures of life.

Then Thea realized he was one of them for her—he was a pleasure to look at, with his deep mahogany eyes, ebony waves of hair, and broad shoulders.

But Mary’s laugh woke Thea from her reverie. The girl’s joyful squeal was louder than any other noise around Cloverdale House. It was a laugh that spoke of joy and freedom, a stark contrast to the reserved world she’d fled.

And it had to do with Andre, didn’t it?

Suddenly, Mary plopped into the grass and chuckled with playful glee as she rolled herself into a ball. It had been years since she’d done that, but not too long since she’d watched the peasant children playing outside Bran Castle just like that, rolling down a grassy hill. It had grown typical for Thea to look out her window from her ivory tower and smile at the people outside the castle walls, enjoying the sunny weather while she sat there with a pile of books and her hair pinned up to prepare her for a marriage she didn’t want.

Whoosh!

Mary’s rolling form collided gently with Thea’s legs, and before she could steady herself, she tumbled backward. Strong arms caught her, pulling her into a firm embrace. Thea’s heart raced as she pressed against Andre, their fall cushioned by the soft earth. They rolled together, tangled limbs and laughter until they stopped.

Thea lay still for a moment, the world spinning slightly. Andre’s grip was secure. His touch sent a thrill through her. She let out a small scream, half surprise, half exhilaration. It had been years since she felt this alive, unburdened by society’s expectations.

Andre’s eyes met hers, a playful glint in their depths. “Are you alright, Thea?” he asked, his voice teasing yet gentle.

Alright? That isn’t the word to describe how I feel with you wrapped around me. Delicious? Magical? All the most wonderful tingling feelings mixed together and even better!

She nodded, breathless and smiling, catching sight of Mary, who’d started to pick some flowers. “I haven’t done that since I was a child,” she admitted, a hint of wonder in her voice. The grass tickled her skin, and the sky above seemed impossibly blue.

Considering that she’d already disgraced herself—because it was unseemly for a princess to frolic in a meadow—she let all the rules go and plopped on her back, allowing the sunshine to tickle her nose.

Andre’s presence was intoxicating. In his company, the world felt brighter and more vibrant. Thea realized quickly that she was falling for him, this man who brought laughter and light into her life.

For an instant, she thought Stan called her name but if it were just her conscience preventing her from enjoying Andre’s presence, she’d better ignore caution. She didn’t want to care about the trouble of escaping Prince Ralph or her dynastic responsibilities. As they lay there, the sounds of the park around them and Mary talking to herself as she collected the bouquet of dandelions, Thea knew she was on the brink of something extraordinary. And for the first time in a long while, she was ready to embrace it.

*

Andre had never been more challenged to hide his arousal and hoped it wasn’t obvious when Thea all but toppled into his arms. He tried to stop her fall, but he lost his balance on the slant of the hill and the uneven ground. Instinctively, he caught her.

There hadn’t been time to consider the consequences of feeling her body pressed against his; he’d merely wanted to prevent her from succumbing to an injury.

Yes, in the soft meadow, on a little hill, rolling around like a lovesick farmer’s boy on the meadows in south Tirol. But this was London; he wasn’t just a boy but a physician, and in his arms was a princess.

Not just any princess, but the princess.

The one whose heartbeat he felt against his chest.

The one whose sweet breath made him want to kiss her.

The one who was laughing out loud, ignorant of the forbidden thoughts he had.

He mustn’t betray her trust, nor Stan’s. His task was to look out for her.

Basta! Enough!

Basta, Basta, Basta! That was all.

It had to be enough. He’d help her up, feign utmost regret for the mishap, and let her run off, leaving him disgraced for not stopping her fall, for harboring the most unchaste thoughts for a princess whose virtue he ought to protect.

Yes, he was going down, especially if Stan saw him like this.

She’d probably scream and run away.

How could he possibly explain himself if Stan confronted him about the situation?

Thea rolled off him and onto her back in the meadow just then. She closed her eyes and just lay there.

This was the moment, Andre knew, he ought to seize. It all unfurled so perfectly in his mind’s eye. He’d climb over her, put one hand on either side of her shoulders, she’d blink at him when he blocked the sun from her, and then she’d smile that perfect smile of hers. So he’d lower his mouth onto hers, and they’d topple in the meadow, under the bright sky and surrounded by fragrant flowers, for that’s what he felt like near Thea—wild and free.

But he couldn’t do it.

She was a princess, and he was just a bastard of the distant Habsburg branch. They weren’t even alone since Mary was there. Again!

Thus, he propped himself on his elbow and looked at the lovely princess crinkling her nose under the sunshine.

“It tickles, doesn’t it?” she asked, her eyes still closed.

“What does?”

“The grass on our necks.”

She thought he’d been lying beside her. She couldn’t know that he had been admiring her. He knew he’d hardly have another chance to commit such perfection to his memory. Perhaps, if he were lucky, he could remember this moment forever and draw from it when he was alone at night. He was sure he would be because something had changed in his heart, and he never wanted to look at another woman again—only Thea, the princess of his heart, since she couldn’t ever be the princess in his life.

“You are so beautiful, I have no words,” Andre said, half hoping she hadn’t heard him.

“No words?” she asked.

“None.”

“Not in any of the languages?”

She’s flirting.

He took heart. “Perhaps in a combination.”

“Which ones?” Thea blinked into the sun, but he felt her gaze on his skin like a wave of something he didn’t dare describe either.

“Let me think about it.” Andre lay beside Thea, the world around them a blur of soft sounds and gentle warmth. The sunlight poured over them like thick honey, slowing down time as Andre tried to stifle his impulse. A halo of flyaway hairs and the lace rim of her bonnet made her too inviting as she lay with her eyes closed, her expression one of pure tranquility. Every detail of her seemed etched into his mind—the way her breath created a gentle rhythm in the air, the slight upturn of her lips that hinted at an unspoken joy.

“Thea,” he began, “the superlative of bella is bellissima , and it’s not enough for you in Italian alone.” She looked at him as his words lingered between them, delicate as the sunlight that seemed to wrap around her blonde curls. “Painters couldn’t capture your golden glow. But even that pales, for éclatante , as the French say, gleaming with a radiance as if the heavens shaped you, blending the skies with their most precious hues, still isn’t enough.”

“Andre…” she whispered, her voice almost trembling, “I don’t know if I am worthy of such words.” Her hand fluttered to her chest, resting lightly as though to steady the rapid beat of her heart. “No one… no one has ever spoken to me this way before.”

“Should I stop trying to find the right words?”

I have overstepped.

“No! Tell me.”

“I know I shouldn’t, Thea. I’m greedy to even want to find the right words to capture your beauty because nothing about you can be captured. There’s a spirit and freedom of liveliness around you that I’ve never found anywhere else.” Andre paused as if to steady himself, his breath trembling, his voice now a whisper of fervor and longing. “You are not just a passing vision, not the sight of a dream. You are a constellation of stars that transcend the humble ideas I am capable of, stella mia , my star, the light that guides me through every shadow and every silence since I’ve met you.”

Definitely overstepped. Stan would kill him for how he spoke to the princess.

She glanced down for a moment, shyly, before looking back into his eyes, her cheeks flushed with a hue that rivaled the poppies in the meadow.

His heart pounded with a fervor that matched the vibrant colors of the meadow. The scent of crushed grass mingled with the sweet aroma of nearby honeysuckle and primroses, creating a heady mixture that danced around them. Every fiber of his being urged him closer to Thea, the princess of his heart, the woman who had unwittingly woven herself into the very fabric of his soul.

But he mustn’t.

As he shifted, the earth beneath him seemed to whisper encouragement, and he edged nearer, the proximity to her a sweet, torturous bliss. The gentle murmur of her breath, the soft rustle of her gown, created a symphony that played solely for them. He reached out, his hand hovering, before daring to smooth a wayward strand of hair from her face, his touch as light as the breeze that played across her skin.

“You make me feel,” she faltered slightly, her voice soft but laden with emotion, “as if I am not just Thea, a mere princess… but something more with you than when I am alone. Something beautiful, luminous, as you say. But it is you who paints me such with your words. Do you not see?” She tilted her head slightly, her voice dropping to a tender whisper. “It is your gaze that gives me light, Andre.”

Despite his attempts to remain still, Andre felt his body lean toward her, an unconscious movement that defied his better judgment. Thea’s cheeks colored the softest shade of pink, a delicate hue that spoke of innocence. Her lips parted slightly, drawing his attention like a beacon, and his pulse quickened, each beat a drum echoing in the silence that enveloped them.

His fingers brushed against hers, a light touch that sent a thrill through him, sparking a sensation that traveled up his arm, to settle warmly in his chest. Thea’s hand trembled slightly, yet she didn’t withdraw. Her fingers rested against his with a tentative trust that meant more than he dared hope. Her gaze held his, and they had a silent conversation that needed no words, each glance a question, an answer, a promise:

I won’t betray your trust.

Yet, he leaned in, their breaths mingling, the space between them electrified with a thrilling and terrifying tension. The subtle rustling of grass beneath them became the background music to their shared moment, a soft symphony that accompanied the beating of his heart.

He leaned in, the air between them charged with electricity, making his heart race. Her breath mingled with his, and he could almost taste the sweetness of anticipation. Her closeness was intoxicating, a promise of something beautiful and profound.

Just as their lips brushed the edge of possibility, a whisper of a breeze stirred, cooling the warmth between them. Thea blinked, and the spell wavered; the moment held in a delicate balance. Andre paused, the space between them widening, yet the connection remained, silent sparks hanging in the air.

Thea’s eyes flickered with a return to awareness, and Andre paused, the tantalizing moment stretching like gossamer between them. Though the kiss remained beyond reach, the bond forged in that instant was undeniable, a shimmering connection that promised more. As he leaned back slightly, the meadow resumed its gentle song, but Andre knew this moment would linger.

He lay back, the ache of the almost-kiss a bittersweet memory already etched into his heart.

“Look!” Mary called, interrupting Andre and Thea’s leisurely moment in the meadow.

Andre rose and squatted beside Mary, secretly grateful for the child’s interruption because he couldn’t possibly apologize enough to Thea for what he’d almost done.

Mary’s bright curiosity momentarily captured Thea’s attention. The child’s fingers danced over the jar, her eyes wide with wonder at the discovery.

“I have enough,” she announced, her voice bubbling with triumph as she held up her jar, its interior a miniature world of green leaves and promise.

“Are there butterfly eggs in there?” Andre asked, his voice gentle, indulging Mary’s fascination with nature. His interest in medicine started when his father brought home a stack of sketches of the skeleton. Father had indulged him and nourished his curiosity. But as Andre looked up, he caught Thea glancing over her shoulder, her brow furrowed. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying a sense of unease.

“Have you seen anything odd?” Thea inquired, rubbing her arms as though warding off a chill that had nothing to do with the low sun of the afternoon.

“Look! A tiny white dot on the bottom of this leaf,” Mary interjected, pointing to her jar with a mix of pride and wonder.

Andre’s attention flickered back to the girl, but the prickling sensation at the nape of his neck refused to fade. Thea had been standing a few paces away, her silhouette framed by the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy while Mary showed him her jar with butterfly eggs and was adorably excited about her finding. But something was amiss. Andre felt an inexplicable tug in his chest, an urgency that settled like a stone in his stomach.

A rustle in the underbrush snapped his focus back to reality. “Thea?” he called softly, the name barely more than a breath, apprehension threading through his veins.

She was gone.