Marrying Winterborne (The Ravenels #2) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,16

me of being a romantic,” he said ruefully.

“If you were, how would you propose?”

He thought for a moment. “I would begin by teaching you a Welsh word. Hiraeth. There’s no equivalent in English.”

“Hiraeth,” she repeated, trying to pronounce it with a tapped R, as he had.

“Aye. It’s a longing for something that was lost, or never existed. You feel it for a person or a place, or a time in your life . . . it’s a sadness of the soul. Hiraeth calls to a Welshman even when he’s closest to happiness, reminding him that he’s incomplete.”

Her brow knit with concern. “Do you feel that way?”

“Since the day I was born.” He looked down into her small, lovely face. “But not when I’m with you. That’s why I want to marry you.”

Helen smiled. She reached up to curl her hand around the back of his neck, her caress as light as silk gauze being pulled across his skin. Standing on her toes, she drew his head down and kissed him. Her lips were smoother than petals, all clinging silk and tender dampness. He had the curious sensation of surrendering, some terrible soft sweetness invading him and rearranging his insides.

Breaking the kiss, Helen lowered back to her heels. “Your proposals are improving,” she told him, and extended her hand as he fumbled to slide the ring onto her finger.

Chapter 5

RHYS KEPT HELEN’S HAND in his as he led her along an enclosed passageway, a kind of gallery with windows that went from a door in his office to one of the upper floors of his house.

Not for the first time that day, a feeling of unreality crept through her. She was more than a little amazed by what she was doing. Step by step, she was departing her old life with no possibility of return. This was nothing like the madcap exploits of the twins, it was a serious decision with unalterable consequences.

Rhys’s shoulders seemed to take up the entire breadth of the passageway as he led her to an enclosed stairwell. They proceeded to a small landing with a handsome door painted glossy black. After he unlocked the door, they entered a vast, quiet house, five floors arranged around a central hall and principal staircase. There wasn’t a servant in sight. The house was very clean and smelled of newness—fresh paint, varnish, wood polish—but it was bare and sparsely furnished. A place of hard surfaces.

Helen couldn’t help contrasting it with Eversby Priory’s comfortable shabbiness, the profusion of fresh flowers and artwork, the floors covered with worn patterned carpeting. At home the tables were piled with books, the sideboards were heavy with crystal and porcelain and silver, and a pair of black spaniels named Napoleon and Josephine roamed freely in rooms lit by lamps with fringed shades. There was always afternoon teatime, with hot breads and pots of jam and honey. In the evenings, there was music and games, and sweets and mulled wine, and long conversations in deep cozy chairs. She had never lived any place other than Hampshire, a landscape of sun and rivers and meadows.

It would be very different living in the center of London. Glancing at her sterile, silent surroundings, Helen tried to imagine the house as a blank canvas waiting to be filled with color. Her gaze followed a row of tall sparkling windows up to the high ceiling.

“It’s lovely,” she said.

“It needs softening,” Rhys replied frankly. “But I spend most of my time at the store.”

He led her along a long hallway until they reached a suite of rooms. They passed through an unfurnished antechamber into a large, square bedroom with lofty ceilings and cream-painted walls. Helen’s pulse raced until she began to feel slightly dizzy.

Here at least was a room that seemed lived-in, the air spiced faintly with candle wax and cedar and firewood ash. One wall was occupied by a long, low dressing-bureau topped with a carved wooden box and a tray containing various objects: a pocket watch, a flat brush and a comb. The floor was covered with a Turkish rug woven in shades of yellow and red. A massive mahogany bed with carved posts had been centered against the far wall.

Helen wandered to the fireplace, investigating the objects on the mantel: a clock, a pair of candlesticks, and a green glass vase of wood spills, used to light candles from the fire. The hearth had been lit. Had Rhys sent advance notice to his servants? Certainly the household was aware of