Page 97 of Enticing the Devil

When there was no answer and no suggestion of movement within, he knocked again.

Silence.

As concern started to overcome his nerves, he glanced around. The cottage was quite a distance from any neighbors. If anything had happened to Anne, no one would know.

Gripped by a sudden fear, he pounded more forcefully on the door.

“Back here,” Anne called out. The words coming from behind the house.

Hearing her voice after so long sent an immediate rush of warmth and tension through Beynon’s body. His relief that she was all right was quickly overcome by the acknowledgement that he still hadn’t the slightest idea what to say to her.

Another glance around revealed a stone footpath nearly completely covered by moss. As he started around the house, he noticed a large patch of upright Amaranthus just off the path. On impulse, he gathered a handful of the deep red flowers in a makeshift bouquet.

His stomach in knots, he continued along the path. The back garden was just as riotous as the front. Flowers growing in no particular plan, falling over each other and keeping Anne from view until he was almost upon her.

When he did finally see her, his feet and his heart stopped at once.

She sat partially turned away from him on a blanket spread over a tiny patch of grass. She wore a shawl around her shoulders and her hair was styled in a simple chignon at the back of her head with gentle wisps brushing her cheeks. The quickly fading light of day reached her on a low slant, giving an almost unnatural glow to her skin. Her paint box and a small easel were set up beside her as she gazed toward a mixed bed of aster and salvia. She was clearly very focused on the stunning watercolor she was creating and didn’t turn around to greet him right away.

Beynon was grateful as it gave him a moment to soak in the sight of her and calm his riotous emotions. It was only another moment, however, before she glanced over her shoulder with a questioning lift of her brows.

Her eyes widened. “Beynon.”

His name was a sigh and a question at once. The sound of it made his hands fist and nearly destroy the flowers he held as an achy heaviness settled behind his sternum. He couldn’t bring himself to walk toward her—not trusting his ability to resist the fierce urge to haul her in against him. But when she started to rise, he shook his head. “No need,” he muttered.

She hesitated a moment, a slight frown tugging at her brows, but she settled back on the grass, her paintbrush still held tightly in her fingers.

He couldn’t approach her but he couldn’t stand still either. So, he turned and started forging a gentle path through the shrubs and bushes and plots of randomly mixed flowers. He could feel her watching him, focused and slightly wary.

She didn’t seem angry to see him. But she wasn’t elated, either.

It became clear that she wasn’t going to speak first, so when he reached a dead end at a trellis covered in climbing honeysuckle, he turned around.

His mouth went dry and his heart raced as he tucked the handful of Amaranthus behind his back.

Don’t muck this up.

Caillie’s words remembered from weeks ago were not exactly the vote of confidence he would have preferred at that moment, but at least they managed to loosen his heavy tongue.

“You look well,” he muttered.

She stared at him silently for a moment, then gave a light sigh before replying, “As do you. You grew a beard again.”

He lifted a hand to self-consciously brush his knuckles along his jaw. “I did.”

Her reply was barely above a whisper. “I like it.”

The small talk was unbearable. He wanted to rush toward her and drop to his knees and pull her into his arms. He wanted to fill his lungs with her scent and steal her taste with his tongue.

Instead, he scowled.

And she scowled back. “Why are you here, Beynon?”

His throat closed as he looked at her—really looked at her.

She was so beautiful. So confident and strong and proud.

The overgrown garden surrounding an aging but quaint cottage suited her. The sunset and the soft grass and the light breeze that teased the pale wisps of hair falling against her cheeks suited her. The quiet yet undeniable self-assurance in her expression and the glint of challenge in her eyes also suited her.