for the brush and offered it to her. “If I may?”
She wasn’t sure what he meant to do, but she accepted the brush. He positioned himself behind her, right arm aligned with hers, then cupped her wrist.
“Any exaggerated movement up or down or right or left will be tricky for a while. Make your movements small for now, like this.” He swept her brush back and forth. Her muscles tightened, but no pain pierced her.
“Better?” he asked against her ear.
Suddenly quite good. “Yes,” she managed.
“Excellent.” He lowered her arm, but he did not release her, and for a moment, she stood in his embrace, his chest against her back, his hand holding hers.
“I’ve never painted in front of anyone,” she murmured. “It’s not something easily shared.”
“Then I am all the more honored,” he said.
His hand trailed up her arm, rested softly on her wound. “Give it time, Abigail. It will heal.”
She didn’t want him to leave. “And you, Linus? Will you heal as well?”
“I wasn’t aware I had been injured.”
She turned in his arms, made herself face him. Those grey eyes were curious, his brow lined as he gazed down at her.
“You lost your wife,” she said, “the mother of your child. That must leave a mark.”
His throat constricted as he swallowed. “Even more than I would have imagined.”
She wanted to know this other woman who had held his heart. “Tell me about her, Ethan’s mother.”
He sighed, then nodded as if making up his mind.
“Catriona was bright and beautiful and possessed of boundless enthusiasm. But she also had moments of deepest despair. I think that’s what drove her to be forever mobile. She was trying to outrun the darkness.”
Sadness slipped over her, like twilight had come to the village. “That must have been a difficult way to live.”
“It was. I was naïve enough to think love and marriage and then motherhood would change her. They didn’t. She grew ever more frantic. Her father suggested someplace more stimulating than my quiet practice outside Edinburgh. He arranged for me to take over from a physician in London. But moving there only made things worse. I tried modifying our diet, removing all liquors from the house. She did not appreciate my intentions. On one occasion, she threw her perfume bottles at me.”
Abigail might have reacted as poorly if someone claiming to love her had reordered her life. She reached up and traced the mark on his cheek. “Your scar. Is that how you gained it?”
He shuddered, as if her touch had gone deeper, to the hurt inside. “A minor injury. My greater mistake was in pressuring her to show more of an interest in our son. She rebelled against the confines of motherhood, so much so that she took up racing her curricle, as if the scandal meant nothing. She overturned it one day taking a turn too fast. She was thrown out and died on impact.”
Pain and loss echoed in his voice. She’d been right. He hadn’t healed. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “How difficult it must have been for you—to be father to a grieving son while you hurt as well.”
His shoulders sagged, as if he felt the hurt even now. “I did what I could, but I still doubt it was enough. Surely he should be more lively, more confident, yet what if liveliness is merely the beginnings of his mother’s erratic behavior?”
“You fear it inherited?” One look at his face confirmed as much. “You forget, sir. Ethan is as much his father as his mother. His quiet nature may be a reflection of you.”
“And yet I would not wish that for him either. I feel as if I’ve been wrapped in a bandage for months, unable to move, to breathe.”
She couldn’t stop herself. She gathered him close, held him gently. “You are safe here. Grace-by-the-Sea welcomes everyone.”
“Even flawed Newcomers?”
She heard the hope in his voice. “Especially flawed Newcomers. And we do all we can to help them become beloved Regulars.”
“Beloved,” he murmured. “I like the sound of that.”
“So do I,” Abigail whispered. She raised her chin, and he lowered his head to meet her. His lips brushed hers, trailed across her cheek to return to her mouth. She trembled with his touch, but she did not step away. This was too perfect, too true.
At length, he drew back, face so sad she almost reached for him again. “Be patient with me, Abigail. I’m trying.”
“I am your patient, sir,” she said with a smile. “And I would like to be