Page 16

The Crescendo

S everal minutes passed as she fought to recover her breath, seated at his side while she slowly descended from the heights of magical kisses. Eventually, she rose to tidy herself and pull her night rail back into place. Embarrassment was setting in.

What have I done?

She had kissed a man with unseemly enthusiasm. A man who was not her husband. Again.

A hand came up to rub the ache in her chest.

This served only to prove she was weak. An unchaste woman.

She handed William a clean cloth, unable to meet his eyes, before walking over to the other settee to retrieve her wrap. As she lifted the garment, she heard William settle back behind her.

“Join me?”

Caroline stared down at the embroidered fabric in her hand, uncertain how to respond or make sense of his request.

“Please?”

Tears sprang to her eyes. This was unprecedented. Did the blacksmith truly wish to hold her? Just hold her? She glanced toward him. His blue eyes were earnest in the low firelight, and as before she saw admiration—perhaps even affection—shining in his gaze.

Without quite making the decision, she drifted closer. William shifted over, creating space and lifting an arm in invitation. Caroline did not know what to make of it, but the urge to settle beside him was impossible to resist. She lay down carefully, wrapping a slender arm across his chest.

The blacksmith tucked her head beneath his chin, his muscled arm curling around her in a gentle, protective embrace.

After a few moments, it became clear he had fallen asleep, his breathing even and deep.

Caroline listened to the steady thrum of his heart beneath her ear, the heat of his body seeping into hers, and felt astonishment.

William seemed to regard her with genuine esteem. Shame, which had burned so hotly, slowly began to dissipate.

She had broken her vow not to grow close to anyone.

Caroline knew from past mistakes that she could not be trusted to protect what mattered most, but just for tonight, she would allow herself this fleeting reprieve.

The blacksmith seemed to like her. More than that, he had seen something in her that others had not.

She would clutch this moment—however ephemeral—and hold it tightly until the world reclaimed them both.

Yes, she was weak. She had proven that. But for one night only, she wanted to forget her failings and accept the comfort of William’s embrace. The slow rhythm of his heart, beating steadily beneath her cheek, lulled her toward sleep.

When she awakened, the room was dim with the hush of a winter morning. The candle had burned down, and the fire was no more than glowing embers. She stirred slightly, intending to rise, but William grumbled in his sleep and pulled her closer.

Caroline blinked rapidly in confusion.

Is this what it is like to be married to a kind man? To be cherished?

Work, Caroline! Do not get any ideas about love and companionship!

She lay perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe. The notion was so very tempting. Yet the familiar mental refrain— work is safety —held no comfort this morning. She did not wish to return to reality. Not yet.

William smelled of leather and fire, of soap and metal. She nestled in closer, and this time, it was with intention. In the warmth of his arms, she felt—at last—safe.

When she awoke again, she found William pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. She looked up into his eyes, blue and steady, and he smiled at her—a soft, intimate smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes—before gently kissing her brow.

“I am afraid I need privacy,” he whispered.

Caroline immediately lifted her head. He slowly released his hold, and she sat up.

“Do you need any help?”

“A fresh poultice and water to clean up would be appreciated.”

She nodded and began clearing the table before slipping from the room, closing the door behind her so he could tend to himself.

In the kitchen, she put water to boil and prepared a fresh cloth.

Once the linens were cleaned and folded, she assembled a tea tray with sandwiches, fresh tea, and the new poultice.

When she called to confirm his readiness, she returned to find him seated upright, his long nightshirt neat and his dark beard softened by fresh stubble. His folded buckskins rested on the table. He looked … wonderful. At ease. At home.

Caroline could not help but imagine what it might be like to see him thus each morning.

They shared a quiet breakfast, sipping tea and eating sandwiches. There was peace in the domestic stillness, a harmony that felt entirely unfamiliar and wholly comforting.

Once she had finished her meal, she leaned back and sighed. “I shall clean up and then I must attend Christmas service. My absence would raise questions.”

“As will mine,” he muttered, reluctant.

“Yes, but eventually the town will know you were injured. My absence will lack a convincing explanation.”

William tilted his head in slow agreement. “You should go.”

“I do not know how long it will last, but afterward I shall pick up my order from Mr. Andrews and return to prepare your meal.”

“Thank you. For everything you have done.”

Caroline smiled, her cheeks warming. “I am reluctant to leave. It is as though I have been dreaming, and now I must wake to find the world unchanged.”

William regarded her closely before replying in a hoarse voice, “It was no dream. Everything has changed.”

Her brow creased at that. He must realize that this interlude could not last. As much as she wished to linger in the fragile bloom of their kinship, life would intrude. And she had nothing of real value to offer a man such as William Jackson.

Despite his earlier kindness, he did not know the full truth. He did not know the weight of her betrayal, the damage she had caused. Not even her dearest friend had forgiven her.

The blacksmith would not either, if he knew.

She cleared her throat and stood. “I shall clean up before I leave for service.”

William lay back, a book resting on his breastbone, his gaze fixed on the dark beams overhead.

Since Caroline had left through the back door, an eerie hush had settled over the cottage.

It felt as though he had slipped into one of the dreams from the night before, the quiet only broken by the faint crackle of the fire. A dream without her.

He regretted the sequence of events.

Caroline was to be his wife. Of that, he was certain.

But his desire for her—his need to feel her near—had overtaken him in the small hours, and now all was uncertain.

The line between what had passed between them and what ought to have passed had blurred, and he could not be sure where they now stood.

He ought to have courted her properly. That would have been the sensible course.

Respectful. Safe. But last night had not been a time for sensibility.

It had been magic. He had been caught in the power of their connection, swept along by the beauty of her spirit and the warmth of her presence, and for a brief moment, he had lost all sense but that she belonged beside him.

He only hoped his moment of foolishness would not thwart his intentions.

It weighed on him—that Caroline was hiding something.

Some secret that burdened her spirit. Whatever it was, she had not realized that nothing— nothing —she might confess could alter his regard for her.

The shame she carried was invisible to him.

He saw only a courageous, remarkable woman.

But now, in the silence of his sitting room, with her gone, doubt crept in.

The future he had dreamed of so clearly seemed suddenly delicate, as if it might fracture with the slightest misstep.

He must convince her. Today. Before she left for good to return to her rooms, to the world they both knew so well.

Their connection felt inseparable from the spirit of the holiday.

A fragile enchantment. And if they parted without an understanding, he feared that spell might not be so easily recaptured.

William sighed and shut his eyes.

The vicar. Blast the man. He had better not keep the parish locked in pews until sundown, rambling through his fifth point on humility or his annual treatise on the mystery of the Virgin birth.

Reverend Murton was an earnest man, but he often forgot that sermons had an expiration point—and that not everyone in the village was so patient.

William needed the time. He needed to speak with Caroline again before the sun went down on this strange and wonderful Christmas Day.

Before the spell of their night together dissolved into memory and regret.

He had seen a glimpse of a future filled with laughter and children and love—and he intended to make it so.

Caroline shifted upon her rented pew—one of the privileges afforded by her increased income was that she no longer had to stand through the entire church service.

The vicar delivered a lengthy sermon from his pulpit, but she scarcely heard a word.

Could there be a more uncomfortable place to reflect upon one’s failings than here, in the holiest of places?

She could at least be grateful that it was a Christmas service of goodwill, rather than a discourse upon the evils of man.

Rising to sing a hymn, her eyes fixed dutifully upon the words in her book, Caroline tried to make sense of her choices.

Her lips moved to form the lines of the verse, but her thoughts remained far from the music.

This connection with William differed from her experience with the earl. She knew it— knew it —but that did not erase the reality of her past. Two years earlier, she had betrayed her dearest friend in the most shameful manner a woman could.