Madeline knew she could have asked him where he grew up. She tried again to place his strange accent. Perhaps he had been gifted with some schooling and then ran off to be a sailor when he grew old enough to realize that there was more to life than what he was living. Madeline did not want to know anymore, because Madeline did not want to be asked what she was doing here, or who she had been. At this point, Madeline was sick of who she had been, and it hung over her head like a ghost.
If he was surprised at her lack of interest in his life, he did not show it, and instead they walked for a while in silence, enjoying each other’s company. Madeline could not help but feel surprised, about what she did not exactly know, but once they reached the docks again she turned to him, her heart bursting with the desire to figure out what was burning in her stomach.
“What is this?” she asked him, the words exploding out of her as though she could not hold them in for one moment. “Why is it that whenever I am around you I feel so…so…”
“Alive?” Harland asked.
“Perhaps,” she replied. “Something like that, how did you know?”
“Because I feel it too.”
She stopped walking then and they stood for a long time simply looking at each other. Madeline’s heart was pounding so heavily in her chest that she did not think she would be able to breathe; perhaps she would die like this. It would be terribly romantic, would it not? To be killed by such a longing.
They were in that moment—something that Madeline had never experienced but instinctively understood. That terrible and wonderful moment where either of them would take that step, break through the invisible barrier that people constructed around themselves, and stop it all with a kiss. She could do it, she wanted to do it. She wantedhim to do it, but at the point of no return, she found herself taking a step back, distancing herself from him.
This wasn’t her; she wasn’t this person. She did not fall in love at first sight, she wasn’t the kind of person who eloped or ran off or died for love. That wasn’t Madeline. All of this—the connection, the handsome man taking her for a walk, the moment of the kiss—that wasn’t who she was and it never would be.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I…I can’t.”
Harland’s face crumpled into confusion. “You cannot say that. I’ve never met a woman like you. We’re standing here and we have everything at our fingertips and you are going to walk away?”
Her heart was pounding, reacting to the notion that he was attempting to fight for her. He reached out a hand and gently touched her cheek. She leaned into it as though she never wanted him to stop touching her.
“I am sorry,” she said, taking another step back.
“Do not be.”
There was such a gentleness in his voice that she looked up at him in alarm. He seemed sad, a little frustrated, a little sick himself, and the way he looked in the moonlight was so striking that Madeline ended up closing that distance and pulling him in for a kiss.
It was electric. It was everything, and whatever sickness Madeline believed she had from her infatuation with him melted away at the touch of his lips. Her entire body felt as though it were on fire, her heart beating wildly in her chest. He felt so warm, and his arms circled around her waist to pull her closer.
This was the closest she had ever been to a man, and she would not want it any other way. She felt as if she were a woman on fire, feverish in the best way possible, and something seemed to take her over when he deepened the kiss.
She had no idea that it could be like this—all of her thoughts and furtive fantasies about what it might be like had never prepared her for this. Of course, she had tried to imagine it, tried to picture what it would be like kissing a boy, but she had never been able to imagine it feeling quite like this. When she tried to picture kissing Reginald, it had been like kissing the back of her hand. She never imagined that it would feel like fire and ice and ecstasy all rolled together in one.
She was breathless when they parted, and as she looked up at him, she saw an entirely new and strange aspect of her future unfold. Unfettered by the life that was expected of her, she was technically unfettered from the expectations of her place in society. No longer did she have to maintain her modesty; on the contrary, she was free to be with whomever she desired, regardless of whether they were going to end up being her husband.
Madeline had to admit the idea of it all scared her, for she had grown up with the understanding that lovemaking was entirely in the hands of her future husband, and that it was her duty to submit to him. One night when she was 15, she had playfully discovered a few secret novels that her maid had hidden. They spoke of fire and passion, of wanting, and although the thought of it thrilled Madeline, she was old enough to believe that such a thing could never happen to her. But she had taken comfort in the idea that it existed. Now, as she stood panting and looking upon this man, she realized that if she were so inclined, she could make him her love.
“Would you like to come back to my room with me?” she asked boldly.
In another world, perhaps he would have cracked a joke; he would have said something or backed away from the feeling, but she watched the want and need in his eyes. She watched the connection that neither of them could really deny even if they wanted to.
“Yes,” he told her, and she could hear in his voice that he, beyond a shadow of a doubt, wanted her as much as she wanted him. She reached for his hand and she took it, feeling the buzz of the connection between them, and she quietly brought him up the stairs to the small apartment above the tavern.
Caoimhe was most likely asleep, so they snuck as quietly as possible down the hall into her room.
This was something Madeline had never considered. Although she knew well enough what went on between a man and a woman, for a moment she thought that she might swoon in his arms.
They kissed again and again, Madeline’s heart pounding desperately with the excitement of the feeling. As she lie in his arms, she could not help but feel as though she finally belonged somewhere, tosomeone, and she knew in that moment exactly what it meant to feel love.
“Where have you come from?” Harland murmured into her hair once they were finished with their kisses. She wrapped her arms around him before finally saying it.
“A manor house,” she replied. He raised his head to study her face, the expression on his own too hard to see in the dark.
“Were you a maid?” he asked her, and she shook her head.
“I was a lady.” Admitting such a thing felt like a great burden had been removed from her chest. So many people so far had already basically guessed who she was, most likely from her posture and the fact that she had started working at The Admiral’s Arms with the softest hands anyone had ever seen. “I suppose it does not come as much of a surprise.”
“Perhaps not…but you arehere. What happened? Were you orphaned? I mean that’s…”
Madeline turned to look at the ceiling. “No, I just ran away.”
“Why?”
She explained everything to him then, knowing that out of everyone she had met since the day she walked out of her parents’ house, he was the one who deserved to know the most. If they were going to be lovers, she wanted him to know exactly who he was spending his time kissing. She told him about Reginald, about the engagement, about how she had run like a thief in the night from the idea of being the wife of a duke. Harland listened to all of it with a quiet, contemplative look on his face. She did not know what that meant.
“I’ve terrified you now, haven’t I?”
He chuckled in the darkness. “No,” he replied. “I was just surprised, is all. Come here.”
Harland pulled her close and she laid her head on his chest. With his arms around her, she did not feel like her past. She did not feel like much of anything.
Kissing a man who wasn’t her betrothed was supposed to imply that she was tainted in some way, as though she had been spoiled for her future husband. Perhaps that might have been true, but as she drifted off to sleep, the only thing she could think was that she felt free. She felt in charge. She felt as though she were finally coming face to face with the wonder of her destiny.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In the harsh light of morning, Madeline expected to feel mortified, but instead she felt rather pleasant. Her lips were chapped, but it was merely a delightful reminder of his kisses the night before. She half expected Harland to be gone, leaving Madeline behind as the product of some terrible rake. As she opened her eyes and realized that she was alone in her bed, it seemed as though her expectations were coming true.
It was a strange feeling, to be sure, mostly because if he did love her and leave her, she probably would just go on living. She had expected, in a way, to be spoiled, but she did not feel that way at all. She simply felt like a woman who had lived through an experience, an enjoyable one. She was a woman who had embraced an attraction to a beautiful man and now was free to go on with her life.
Of course, despite looking on the bright side, she still rolled on her side, closing her eyes and breathing in his scent from the pillow. He smelled like the ocean. The only regret she had in this moment was the fact that she would not have the chance to get to know him further; she felt as though she would have liked that, all things considered.