“Of course,” she replied, more to surprise him than because she wanted to prolong this uncomfortable meeting.
He fell into step beside her, and she thought it was just as well the evening was balmy, because they were both still very wet from the lake. He wrung the water from his jacket, glancing at her with that raised eyebrow, but she bit her lip and wouldn’t laugh.
Up in the treetops the last birds were settling down for the night, while the stars were peeping at them through the branches. It was, she thought, a night made for love. Eight years ago they would have run, hand in hand, stopping to kiss, and then running again. And now here they were, strangers, walking in this sedate manner.
“Simon told me your husband was dead,” he said. People rarely spoke so bluntly, but then she remembered that was another thing about Ash she had always liked. It was good to know at least one of his old character traits had survived.
“A year ago. He was very ill.” She glanced sideways at him. He was tall, more than a head taller than her, and again she admired those broad shoulders. She wondered how many women had been in his life in the years since they were lovers. A dozen, two? The question caused her to feel uncomfortable, and she pushed it away, to be examined later, when she was alone.
“Are you married?” she asked, although she knew he was not. If the heir to Crevitch had been wed, the news would have spread through the village and the church bells would have been ringing.
“Not yet,” he said easily.
“That seems to suggest you are about to marry.”
He didn’t answer, so she supposed she could make of that what she willed.
They were silent for a time, following the path they had followed all those years ago. She wondered idly if he was tempted to lead her to the summerhouse and take her in his arms. Well, she told herself, if he dared try she would slap his face and call him names. Juliet had learned quite a few names since the old days.
“Simon told me you were volunteering at the cottage hospital,” he said at last.
She turned to look at him but it was now so dark in the woods that she couldn’t see more than a shadow.
“I volunteer when I can. Doctor Knowles is grateful for my help, and it passes the time.” That sounded rather pathetic, she thought, but it was too late to take it back. “I suppose you are too busy in London to need to pass time?” she said sweetly, with a sting.
His shoulders moved in a shrug. “I am busy, yes, but I’m not sure I do anything quite so worthy as volunteer in a hospital.”
That surprised her. Was he flattering her, or genuinely impressed? She thought of asking, but the gate to her garden was just ahead and she did not want him to go through it. Suddenly she very much wanted him to go away.
And yet despite herself she was curious, and her steps slowed.
“You are no longer in the army then?” she asked him, although she knew he was not.
“I left a long time ago.” He hesitated as if he wanted to say more, and then contented himself with, “A soldier’s life wasn’t for me.”
So he had no excuse for not coming back to her! Juliet struggled with a sense of outrage mingled with a wave of sadness. It was too late for these feelings. She needed to say goodbye in a way that left him in no doubt she was no longer interested in pursuing this conversation with him.
She turned and held out her hand. “Goodbye,” she said. “Thank you for the escort.”
He seemed surprised, and then glanced past her into the shadowy garden and the faint lights of the house beyond. “I don’t think it is goodbye,” he said in a perplexed voice. “Not yet.”
She felt his warm, strong fingers close over hers. “What is it then?” she demanded. “Surely polite conversation over tea and cake is not for us? What would we talk about? Neither of us would wish to rake over old times.”
But still he hesitated.
“You would not like what I have to say.” There was a lump in her throat, but she lifted her chin and made her voice a warning.
“Perhaps not,” he said quietly, “and yet I want to hear it.”
And with that he turned and left her, starin
g after him.
Ash was trying to understand his own emotions as he made his way back to the castle. The sight of her in the water, and the feel of her, the weight of her in his arms, had seemed so familiar and yet so new and exciting. The moment had affected him far more than he could ever have imagined. He’d tried to hide his emotion from her, but perhaps not entirely successfully.
He picked up a stick from the path and used it to slap aside overgrown branches and foliage. Juliet’s reactions confused him. One moment she’d seemed pleased to see him, and then she’d been distant and cold. Maybe that was because he had said the wrong thing, or presumed too much? The truth was, he’d forgotten how to read her.
One thing he was determined on. He was going to see her again. He was going to talk about the past and listen to her answers. No matter what she might think, this was not goodbye.