Eden trembled at the open desire in his eye. She didn’t know when she had made the final decision; in the dimmest reaches of her mind, she knew she must have made it long ago.
Oh, she had had doubts, the most troubling within the past several hours. Some of the things Hartley had said reminded her in some inexplicable way of Cornelius. His attachment to the forest, his contempt for civilization, even his ability to captivate her. He did not look like Cornelius, but there was something… something that seemed to connect them. And he had the same abilities as her son. Abilities he had inherited from…
She gave herself a mental shake. As if the movement had awakened her brain, she caught a glimpse of an answer.
What if Hartley were like Donal in every way? What if he, too, had a parent who was not quite human? It would explain so well his devotion to her son. His complete understanding of Donal’s situation. And his own extraordinary talents.
She could not bring herself to be horrified by the possibility. Her love for Donal had made her tolerant of what she would have rejected five years ago. This man had nothing in common with the creature she had nearly married. He, too, might be a victim.
Eden thought she had never seen Hartley clearly before this moment. The insolent servant was gone; in his place was a man stronger than any she had known, a wise initiate to the secrets of life that had eluded her for five long years. Many had offered so much more than this man could hope to give, or would promise, even to win her love.
He made no promises at all, and she did not care.
The forest cast a spell over her, urging her to become like the animals Hartley and Donal loved: heedless, driven by ancient instincts, sparing no thought for a future that might never come. The tenuous barriers she had built to contain her desire had turned to gossamer and air.
“Yes,” she said, though she was not sure whether she spoke aloud, or only in her heart. “I want you, Hartley Shaw.”
He kissed her hand lingeringly and then turned to lead her away. She followed, her feet stumbling in haste, to what must be the very center of the wood.
To paradise.
In a tiny clearing surrounded by the oldest trees lay a carpet of wildflowers of every hue, many unknown in the north: orchid, iris, bellflower, campion, foxglove, betony, pimpernel, primrose, violet, and cranesbill. They were as richly bright as if the sun shone directly upon them, though night had begun to fall; they seemed to glow with their own light. Their mingled perfumes were heady enough to intoxicate.
Each tree surrounding the glade was the most perfect of its kind, whether elm or oak or birch. Leaves of vivid green lent cool peace to the hidden world they shaded, and the branches seemed to bend and rustle in welcome.
At the foot of the most magnificent oak Eden had ever seen was a nest of soft leaves and blossoms, laid out as if it had been prepared for the marriage bed of a new bride. A tiny beck traced a path of liquid silver alongside. Bird-song drifted overhead.
“I have never brought another to this place,” Hartley said. “I never will again.”
She could well understand his reasons for keeping it a secret, and she felt honored that he had chosen her to see it. This was his gift to her: a bridal gift for one who could never be his wife. A hard lump formed in her throat, and she looked up into his face.
In the reflected glory of the wildflowers, his features lost their harsh angles and became unearthly, beautiful as few men were beautiful. His groom’s apparel was as incongruous on him as a plow harness on a fine thoroughbred. He met her gaze, and though he did not smile, she thought that she might forget to draw another breath as long as she lived.
That was when she understood. It was not merely the magic of this paradise that made her see him thus. It was not simple desire that made her so ready to risk what she’d once held dear to lie in this man’s arms.