When he bowed his head to do the same with the other wrist, she touched his cheek to stop him. "Don't. I can't bear it. I can't make the promise you ask of me. I so wanted this new life to be mine, but it can't be. I was never meant to be loved and cherished. I learned that long ago. It's just that I let myself forget. I had a few magic weeks, but now it has to end. I have to leave."
"No. No, that can't be true because I love you, Trissa. I cherish you. And the magic is only just beginning for us." He laid his hands softly on her cheeks and kissed her, a kiss that tasted of salt and sadness and lost dreams. When it ended, she reached hungrily for another, and her pulse quickened where his fingers rested lightly near her ears, a leap to the hope he offered her. Her hands circled his neck, and she pressed her body along the length of his, willing him to continue until he was dizzy with desire for her. "Trissa..."
"Don't say stop, Nicholas. Don't say anything."
He took a deep breath to clear his head and smiled. "I don't want to. But we have to go downstairs. Augusta must be frantic by now." When he saw the disappointment that edged into her eyes, he said, "I know, but it will be all the sweeter for the waiting. When all our troubles are behind us. Trust me."
He forced himself away from her and went to the bathroom again to get her brush. His yearning and his fear for her mingled in his heart so that there seemed no room there for the blood. It rushed to his ears and his head confusing him with its sound and heaviness.
He was losing her. She would leave and they would both be lost if he was not careful. When her hand touched his as he handed her the brush, there were sparks that were more than static. "Brush your hair," he said, his voice sounding strangely muffled through the humming in his head, "And we'll go down. I have to change my shirt."
Nicholas went to his dresser and pulled open a drawer. A wave of foreboding swept him, and he clutched the edge of the dresser and doubled over to rest his teeming head against the cool oak.
He had never been one to pray, not wishing to acknowledge the power of a god who tainted lives with such grief that the gift of life seemed more like a deprivation. But he prayed now. He prayed for the strength and sanity to save her and himself. And more than that, he prayed for time.
When he opened the bathroom door, Trissa stood a few footsteps away, a look of impossible hope in her eyes. She saw him again as her savior, her guardian angel. God, how he prayed he could be.
In the kitchen, Hattie had already come home for the day and was in the midst of telling Augusta a fervent tale of a disgruntled parent. "Imagine the nerve to assume that the tuition he pays entitles his child, his lazy dolt of a child, to be wet-nursed through..." Sensing she had lost her audience, she followed Augusta's eyes to the source of her distraction. Trissa clutched Nicholas' hand tighter and tried to ignore her disdainful look.
"Are you feeling better, dear?" Augusta greeted her warmly, stepping toward them to give her a hug. "Will you join us for dinner?"
"Augusta, could Ruth just fix us a couple of sandwiches and wrap a few cookies? It's such a balmy night, we'd like to go to the park for dinner," said Nicholas. Trissa cast a surprised glance at him.
"Of course! The fresh air will do you worlds of good."
"Thanks. Trissa, you stay with Augusta. I forgot something upstairs." She let go of his hand reluctantly. "I'll be right back."
"Now what kind of sandwich would you like?" asked Ruth. "We got some meatloaf here, or ham."
"Ham, I guess."
"Shoot, mizewell give you both. Balmy or not, it's only April and that spring night air can make you hungry. In fact, spring can get you hankering for all kinds of things. I wish I had some of that tonic my old Gram used to dose me with. You sure do look a worrisome bit peaky." She clucked her tongue and went to the refrigerator for the meatloaf and ham.