Elizabeth was standing at the edge of the grassy plateau, a few yards beyond where they'd held their shooting match. Wind ruffled through the trees, blowing her magnificent hair about her shoulders like a shimmering veil. He stopped a few steps away from her, looking at her, but seeing her as she had looked long ago-a young goddess in royal blue, descending a staircase, aloof, untouchable; an angry angel defying a roomful of men in a card room; a beguiling temptress in a woodcutter's cottage, lifting her wet hair in front of the fire-and at the end, a frightened girl thrusting flowerpots into his hands to keep him from kissing her. He drew in a deep breath and shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her.
"It's a magnificent view," she commented, glancing at him.
Instead of replying to her remark, Ian drew a long, harsh breath and said curtly, "I'd like you to tell me again what happened that last night. Why were you in the greenhouse?"
Elizabeth suppressed her frustration. "You why I was there. You sent me a note. I thought it was from Valerie-Charise's sister-and I went to the greenhouse."
"Elizabeth, I did send you a note, but I did receive one."
Sighing with irritation, Elizabeth leaned her shoulders against the tree behind her. "I don't see why we have to go through this again. You won't believe me, and I can't believe you." She expected an angry outburst; instead he said, "I do believe you. I saw the letter you left on the table in the cottage. You have a lovely handwriting."
Caught completely off balance by his solemn tone and his quiet compliment, she stared at him. "Thank you," she said uncertainly.
"The note you received," he continued. "What was the handwriting like?"
"Awful," she replied, and she added with raised brows, "You misspelled 'greenhouse.'"
His lips quirked with a mirthless smile. "I assure you I can spell it, and while my handwriting may not be as attractive as yours, it's hardly an illegible scrawl. If you doubt me, I'll be happy to prove it inside.
"It's a magnificent view," she commented, glancing at him.
Instead of replying to her remark, Ian drew a long, harsh breath and said curtly, "I'd like you to tell me again what happened that last night. Why were you in the greenhouse?"
Elizabeth suppressed her frustration. "You why I was there. You sent me a note. I thought it was from Valerie-Charise's sister-and I went to the greenhouse."
"Elizabeth, I did send you a note, but I did receive one."
Sighing with irritation, Elizabeth leaned her shoulders against the tree behind her. "I don't see why we have to go through this again. You won't believe me, and I can't believe you." She expected an angry outburst; instead he said, "I do believe you. I saw the letter you left on the table in the cottage. You have a lovely handwriting."
Caught completely off balance by his solemn tone and his quiet compliment, she stared at him. "Thank you," she said uncertainly.
"The note you received," he continued. "What was the handwriting like?"
"Awful," she replied, and she added with raised brows, "You misspelled 'greenhouse.'"
His lips quirked with a mirthless smile. "I assure you I can spell it, and while my handwriting may not be as attractive as yours, it's hardly an illegible scrawl. If you doubt me, I'll be happy to prove it inside.
( Judith McNaught )
[ Almost Heaven ]
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