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CHAPTER THREE

‘Your sins?’ Elliot tried to stop his lips from twitching but could not restrain himself. Laughter burst out of him. ‘You have no sins.’

He regretted his taunt as soon as he spoke, but it was too late. Ava looked down at the feather. The fire that had sparkled in her eyes died.

‘The light will be gone soon.’ She grasped her skirts and stepped off the stool, disappearing behind a screen in the corner.

‘I only meant that you are too good,’ he offered in apology. ‘Too kind. It’s not a terrible thing, and you shouldn’t think of it as such. You will need to be strong going into marriage, not thinking you are bound to be a disappoint— a disa— Ava, are you undressing?’

‘As you said, I do not have time to dawdle indoors,’ she snapped. ‘Please guard the door.’ And again, there was his Ava, the Ava of old, from before the world had weighed her down with more than any person should have to endure.

Her hair was just visible above the top of the screen.

An arm stretched over the rim as it pulled a ribbon, and he caught a flash of a bare elbow.

A bunch of skirts appeared on one side, followed by a bare wrist, then the inner skin of her forearm.

Elliot backed away towards the door and angled himself towards the corner a little better.

Between the narrow gaps of the screen’s hinges, a confluence of tulle and skin, of white and peach flickered, moving too fast for him to see any part of her clearly.

He tried to put his imagination to work in sketching out the rest, imagining her breasts, the line of her stomach, the curve of her waist, but he could not quite pull together an image of the woman Ava had become.

Fabric rustled, along with the occasional scuff and grumble.

‘Drat,’ she finally exclaimed.

‘Do you need help with more buttons?’ he asked, half teasing, half hopeful.

‘My combs have come loose. I will need to fix my hair.’

Ava stepped out from behind the screen. She had changed into a simple white skirt and matching blouse with a lace collar and shell buttons. When she wiggled her fingers through her hair, it fell in loose, hazelnut curls.

‘Where are you looking for feathers?’ He tried to sound nonchalant.

‘By the pond at the edge of the gardens,’ she said, her tone bright again. She crossed to stand before the cold fireplace, peering into the mirror above the mantle and combed her fingers through her hair. ‘The swans are no longer nesting, so I won’t disturb them.’

‘Sometimes I think you know this place better than I do. I haven’t been to the pond in years. You know, last time I was there was with you. You told me that story. About how swans will be friends for years before they build a nest and mate. But once they bond, it’s for life.’

‘Many birds are like that. Swans are just the most poetic.’

‘What happens when one of them dies?’ His question tore the lightness between them as it reached into the dark depths of memory from that day.

That day . He had come home from school with a black eye and bruised ribs, and she had received a letter saying her father was ill, that she had to leave the following day.

Against uncertainty and the pain of feeling useless against the world, they’d walked the fields and talked about anything but their worries.

They’d sat together in the drizzle, and she’d spoken about this bird that hopped along a fence, then flew across their path.

That one that picked at insects before launching into the air.

They’d been complete in the immediacy of the world.

Neither of them could change the past, and neither of them could bear to think about the future, so they’d stayed in the present moment.

He hadn’t asked the question then, although he’d wondered.

And now, the space between them filled with that same sadness, worn and thin, familiar in its pain.

‘They grieve,’ she said. ‘Much like people. Sometimes for years. Sometimes forever. There are swans that die from grief.’

Ava tucked a lock behind her ear and smiled, but not with her eyes. She raked her nails through her soft brown curls. Blinking fast against the sad tug at her lips, she began to fix her hair.

‘Let me help,’ he offered.

‘ You want to help with my hair?’

‘I am not a complete buffoon.’ He bristled as he crossed the room. As he stepped behind her, she buried her hands in her skirts again, splaying her fingers until they disappeared beneath the fabric. He reached either side of her to take her hands in his and squeezed until the trembling stopped.

‘You are too close,’ she whispered.

‘Would you like me to go?’

‘No,’ she said, too fast. ‘I… I should. But I don’t.’

‘Maybe you do have it in you to be wicked.’ Elliot pushed a little closer and pressed his nose into the small gap behind her ear.

She smelt like the breeze, with its freshness and the promise of cloudless days.

He stroked a lock of hair, and when he tickled his fingers along her neck and teased her scalp, she gave the smallest little moan—yes, sweet, innocent Ava moaned , sounding as lush and depraved as any woman he had known.

‘Poor Ava, are you still up there on your… perch…’

Elliot hastily stepped away. Clasping his hands behind his back, he met Viola’s frown. Her eyes darted from him to Ava, then back again, before she pierced him with her glare.

Ava bunched her hair and twisted it into a rough knot before skewering it with a comb. ‘I had best head out of doors before it’s too late.’

‘I’ll come to your room to help you dress in an hour,’ Viola said as Ava rushed past her, although she kept her steely gaze on him.

Elliot moved to follow. ‘I should head up to my?—’

‘Don’t you dare ruin this for her.’ Viola blocked his path and scowled, fists on her waist.

‘I am the life of any party. Why would I ruin one?’

‘You know what I mean. Ava has been smitten with you forever, and you’ve never paid her any mind. You covet what other men have, and now someone is interested in Ava, you want her.’

Elliot turned his back on his sister and walked to the window.

Ava was already making her way across the field to the pond on the far side.

As he watched, her hair came loose, and instead of restraining it, she shook it out.

The wind picked up the ends and played with them, blowing them into umber flourishes that glowed like embers in the late afternoon sun.

She moved as a mirror to the willows at the pond’s edge, steady, graceful, and in sync with the world.

‘I mean it,’ Viola said, her voice crisp and low. ‘Lay a finger on her, and I’ll break it.’

The door snicked closed. Elliot threw a casual glance over his shoulder to confirm Viola had gone, then settled into the window seat. He pushed the window a little wider and leant into the frame.

‘Ava, Ava,’ he sang to himself. ‘When did you grow up?’

When she reached the willows, Ava pulled off her coat and slung it over a wooden fence rail.

She stretched out her arms and raised them over her head, reaching for the sun like she hoped to grasp it.

How was she still so bright, so full of wonder after everything?

And when had Ava become so damn radiant?

As she disappeared behind the curtain of the willow’s trailing leaves, he felt a pang of loss.

She was leaving. Possibly forever. An uncomfortable wedge angled itself beneath his ribs.

It tugged at his heart. A little like… almost like…

No.

He did not feel anything. He did not hope for anything. Primal and raw—those were his arrangements, and that’s how things would remain.

He did not imagine a time when a woman as delicate and pure, as out of reach as Ava, would ever become his.

She had always flown above him, just a smudge in the sky he could only shield his eyes against the sun to see.

But the thought of her landing with some country squire, of her being taken to the far north, of possibly not seeing her again…

it scratched at him. The hint of her smell had roused his appetite, and he damn near salivated at the thought of her.

He could not live his life like this, wondering. About the taste of her skin. Or the feel of her lips. He had to know.

There was nothing else for it.

He would have to seduce Ava.