Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,57

independent one. You would hate it in an asylum.”

He went still and his body became rigid. “I won’t be going to any asylum,” he said, voice low.

“Of course not,” she agreed. “We’ll make sure everything is perfect for your father’s visit. When is he to arrive?”

“I’ve no idea. I doubt he’ll send word, and it won’t matter anyway. I won’t go to the asylum. I’ll die first.” His hand strayed to his coat pocket, and she could see him handling the pistol inside.

“Mr. Pope, no.”

“I probably should have done it a long time ago,” he said quietly, sinking to the place on the log beside her. “What do I have to live for anyway?”

“What do you have to live for? Everything! Why, you have cool autumn days to live for and the sun on your face in the morning, the chirping of insects in the cool of the evening, and the feel of rain wetting your hair. You have plum puddings and apple tarts and mulled wine at Christmas. You have music and poetry and, one day I am sure, a wife and children.”

Though he didn’t look right at her, his expression was one of disbelief. “None of that seems to matter when I can’t see the colors of the leaves or the first rays of dawn.”

“Now you are merely feeling sorry for yourself.” She gave him a light punch.

“I think I am allowed to feel sorry for myself,” he said.

“Yes, you were. I would have allowed you probably two weeks to feel sorry for yourself after your injury.”

“Two weeks!”

“Perhaps three,” she admitted. “But this injury is two years old at least. It’s well past time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself and appreciated what you do have. No, you do not have your sight, but look at everything else you do have. The rest of you seems in fine working order, and you have a country house and an informal garden and a peacock.” She grasped his arm tightly.

“Not the peacock again,” he muttered.

“Be very quiet and still,” she whispered, still clutching his arm. “I see him.”

“Who?”

“The peacock.”

“Where?”

“He is at the bottom of the ravine, near the brook. He’s probably getting some water or perhaps looking for insects to eat. Shall I describe him to you?”

“If you like.”

“I can see now that he is an old fellow. The bright blue of his face and neck is turning white. His feathers are not as grand as they once were. Some of his feathers are broken and drooping. Even laying across his back, I can see they are not as fine as they once were. He’s lost some of his former grandeur but none of his pride. He still moves as delicately and haughtily as he probably did in his youth.”

“I can relate,” Mr. Pope said under his breath.

Pru released his arm. “No, you can’t. You are still in the prime of your life, and if you don’t mind me saying so, your feathers are not broken or drooping.”

He laughed, the sound quiet but unmistakable. “Is feathers supposed to symbolize a part of male anatomy?”

“No. That was not at all what I meant.” Pru could feel her face heating. How did she manage to find herself in these situations? “I only meant you are still a handsome man. But I told you that last night.” She cleared her throat. “Speaking of which, we should begin where we left off, don’t you think?”

“I do,” he said.

“Good. Then we were discussing the third line of Monsieur Barbier’s chart, were we not?”

“Actually,” he said, turning toward her. “We were doing this.” He reached for her, his hand finding her waist, and pulled her close.

Twelve

He thought she might hesitate or argue when he touched her, but she went willingly, almost—if he was not mistaken—eagerly into his embrace. He’d been wanting to do this since the moment they’d been parted the night before. She felt so good pressed against him. Her body might be reed slim, but it held an unmistakable strength. She would not buckle or bend easily. She could withstand storms.

The flare of her hip, just below her waist, where his hand strayed was not generous. There was no question she was a woman, with a woman’s curves, but her charms were not easily apparent. She was like a treasure to be explored and discovered.

He’d begun that journey with a kiss the night before, and the lure of her now was too much to resist. He wanted to taste her again, feel the way