Arthur gave her a sideways glance. ‘I know you said you were planning on writing music again, but you could do anything else you want too. Travel, go to university, set up a charity…’
‘Or all of those,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’ll let you know. The High is here on the left,’ she added, gesturing to him to go through the wrought iron gates. ‘I told you it was close.’
The Land Rover roared over the gravel and drew to a stop at the front door.
‘The High is an interesting name,’ Arthur said, ‘considering it’s halfway down the hill. Where did it come from?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’ll ask Avery. She’s bound to know. Before I forget, there was one other thing I wanted to tell you.’
‘Only the one?’ Arthur said.
‘It’s the stone angel,’ Lizzie said. ‘The one that Johnny took the night he disappeared. That day at Amelia’s wedding when I cut my hand on the gazing ball and you bandaged me up—’
‘Yes?’ Arthur was smiling at the memory. ‘You were a sulky teen in those days.’
Lizzie pulled a face. ‘Please don’t remind me.’ She sighed. ‘When I touched the stone angel that afternoon, I saw a vision. Or more accurately, I experienced one.’ She swallowed hard, holding Arthur’s gaze. ‘Arthur, I felt as though I was falling. I could feel the air rushing past and I felt utterly terrified.’ She broke off. ‘I think… I’m scared that I foresaw Amelia’s death.’
‘Or had a flashback to Amy’s,’ Arthur said grimly. His put his hand over hers. ‘God, Lizzie, how horrible.’ His grip was warm and strong. Lizzie had the sense of him drawing comfort from her touch as much as giving it.
‘I know,’ Lizzie said miserably. ‘I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish I’d never met Dudley and I wish I didn’t have this gift and that I didn’t think Johnny was lost—’
‘Hey,’ Arthur said. He put his arms around her and drew her closer. It was awkward trying to hug in the Land Rover but she really didn’t mind because it was lovely. ‘We’re all tired and emotional,’ Arthur said, against her hair. ‘Don’t think about it for now.’
Lizzie tilted her face up to look at him. She could smell the scent of his skin and feel the warmth of him. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. ‘I sometimes wonder what it would be like if we…’ She stopped.
‘I wonder about that too,’ Arthur said. His gaze held hers.
Lizzie took his face in her hands and kissed him before she could change her mind. For a second he didn’t respond and terrifyingly, she could read nothing of his emotions, and then everything changed. He slid a hand behind her head and the kiss became hotter and more urgent, and Lizzie felt the emotion explode, fusing his feelings with her own, and leaving her in freefall.
‘I have a sense,’ Arthur said, as they finally broke apart, ‘that we’ve just made everything a whole lot more complicated.’
‘Well, at least now we know,’ Lizzie said. ‘We’d better avoid doing that again. It could ruin the experience with anyone else.’
She saw Arthur smile. ‘Tell me again that you’ve never had this sort of connection with anyone before.’
Lizzie couldn’t begin to deal with how she was feeling. ‘It happens to me with everyone I kiss,’ she said shakily. ‘It’s very commonplace. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ Arthur put his arms around her and kissed her again. She could feel him smiling against her mouth. This time there was no hesitancy, simply a rush of physical sensation that almost swept her away.
‘Lizzie Kingdom,’ Arthur said, his lips an inch away from hers. ‘Who would have thought?’ Then: ‘I should go. I really should.’
Lizzie hesitated for a split second. She was aware of the conflict inside her, the old fear of intimacy, the need for emotional safety versus an excitement so vivid it lit her up. She’d never felt like this before. She had had no idea. All the times she had thought that there was something wrong with her because she didn’t want a relationship, she just wasn’t that into someone…
‘Stay with me,’ she said, ‘Arthur. Stay with me. Please.’
Chapter 22
Amy: Cumnor Place, Oxfordshire, April 1560
It had been a day of sharp little gusts of wind that raised the tapestries from the wall at Cumnor Place and squally showers that shattered on the diamond window panes. By four of the clock evening was already drawing in and