Heart's Desire (2 page)

As he’d done countless times before, he forced aside the impossible heat and want she inspired and donned the mask of polite friendship he’d adopted around her years ago.
Made himself draw a slow, calming breath.
Then speak.

“Hello, Callie.”

It wasn’t much as far as greetings went, but it was all he could manage.
At his words
,
she broke into a smile, a lifting of her full lips that dented a pair of shallow dimples in her cheeks.
Her smile had enchanted him from the first time he’d seen it, when she’d been a mere four years
old and he a manly six.
She stepped toward him
,
and as if in a dream, he felt himself move.
In a heartbeat
,
the distance between them was erased.
She reached out, and even as his mind screamed at him not to touch her, their hands met.
Her gloves didn’t stop her warmth from enveloping his palms, infusing him with a heat ridiculously, infuriatingly intense for such a casual touch.
But then, his feelings for her had always been ridiculous.
Infuriating.
Far too intense.

And utterly hopeless.

“It’s so good to see you,” Callie said, squeezing his hands.
“You look well.”
Her gaze dropped, taking in his disheveled appearance, and heat raced up his neck.
Damn it, he was actually
blushing
.
A scowl pulled down his brows, one that deepened when her musical laugh rang out.
“Not only well, but just as I imaged
—
jacketless, with your sleeves rolled up, and sprinkled with dust.”

God kn
ew
she looked well.
And just as he imagined.
Perfectly turned out in a gown he supposed was the latest fashion, trimmed in a combination of ivory and pale blue that accentuated both her porcelain complexion and her amazing eyes.
Glossy chestnut curls peeked out from her bonnet, framing a face that quickened his pulse every time he gazed upon it.
Pert nose, plush lips, and those dimples that danced with her every smile, coaxing him and everyone else who was fortunate enough to find themselves in her company to grin in return.

Her gaze flicked over his shoulder to the archway that led to the back room.
Then she looked at him again
,
and he felt the impact of that clear
,
blue-green gaze right down to the soles of his feet.
“I’m guessing I’ve interrupted you from unearthing another treasure.”

He had to swallow twice to locate his voice, a fact that genuinely irked him.
Normally he wouldn’t consider himself inarticulate, but something about her could, in the blink of an eye, strip him of his finesse.
Turn him into either a slack-jawed mute or, even worse, a babbling fool.
Yet, in spite of that, he’d never enjoyed anyone’s company more than hers.

“I was unpacking a new shipment.”
Then, just to prove that he could do so, he slipped his hands from hers.
And only proved that it took less than a single second for him to miss her touch. “What are you doing here?”

He hadn’t meant for the question to sound quite so abrupt, and his insides squeezed at the flash of what looked like hurt that flickered in her eyes.
Then she smiled, that teasing grin that made her eyes sparkle with mirth, and damned if every thought didn’t drain from his head.

“By
here
do you mean Halstead, or your shop?” she asked.

“Both.”

“I’m traveling with Aunt Olivia to London.
We’re staying at Albright
C
ottage overnight before continuing to Town tomorrow.”

“How are Pamela and Marshall?” he asked, referring to Callie’s older sister and her physician husband who lived with their two children in the sprawling cottage where Callie had spent her early years.
“I haven’t seen them in quite some time.”

Something that looked like sadness ghosted over her features but was gone so quickly he wondered if he’d imagined it.
“I’ve not seen them myself since I last visited Halstead two years ago, although Pamela’s letters report
that
all is well.
They are in London with the children, staying with Hayley and Stephen and their brood.
My brothers are there as well.”

“So you’ll all be together soon.”

“Yes,” she agreed, something that William assumed would have thrilled her given how much she loved her family.
Yet he detected something in her voice
…
something he couldn’t name other than to know it didn’t sound happy.

It suddenly struck him that perhaps some tragedy had befallen her since he’d last seen her.
Whenever he thought of her, which was far more frequently than he cared to admit, he always imagined her happy.
Smiling.
Carefree.
Enchanting those around her.
Yet now he detected unmistakable traces of sadness in her eyes.
Why?
What was troubling her?

“Do I not pass muster, William?”

Her words jerked him from his thoughts and rushed another wave of heat up his neck.
“Of course you do.
You look…
”
Exquisite.
Perfect.
And heartbreakingly sad.
And it’s taking everything in me not to snatch you into my arms and never let you go.
“Lovely.
Forgive me.
I’m just amazed to see you.”

Her dimples flashed.
“Well, I couldn’t very well come to Halstead and not stop by your shop.
Not only to see if I can find a treasure but also to see you.”
She reached out and gently touched his arm.
“My very dear friend.”

William looked down at her gloved fingers resting on his dusty forearm.
Warmth spread through him as if he’d just stepped into a shaft of golden sunlight, the same sensation he experienced whenever she touched him, starting with the very first time, when he’d accompanied his father to Albright
C
ottage to deliver an antique sextant Callie’s sea captain father had purchased.
While his father and Captain Albright had chatted in the drawing room, William had been drawn to the French windows that led to a stone terrace.
And there he’d seen her, a laughing sprite, spinning in circles, bathed in sunlight, her arms wrapped around a doll that was nearly as big as she was.

He’d watched, fascinated
by
her giddy exuberance.
At his home above the antique store, where he lived with his father, there’d been little laughter since his mother’s death two years prior.
He
had
watched the little girl with envy, wanting more than anything to join her on the terrace and laugh.
To have a friend.
Suddenly
,
she
had
stopped spinning and spied him watching her.
She’d smiled, creasing dimples in her flushed cheeks
,
then skipped toward him.

“Hi, I’m Callie, and this is Miss Josephine Chilton-Jones,” she said, thrusting her doll toward him.
“You’re William, Mr. Lawton’s son,” she then announced, as if he didn’t know.
“Papa said you were coming today and that one day soon he’d bring me to your shop because I love treasures.
Me and Miss Josephine are about to have a tea party.
Want to come?”

The manly six-year-old in him had instantly rebelled at the notion of a tea party.
With a girl.
A baby, really.
Why, she couldn’t be more than four.
And her doll.
Ridiculous.
And incomprehensible that he was tempted beyond all measure to accept. Before he could voice his refusal, she smiled and grabbed his hand.
“Come on, William,” she urged, tugging him onto the terrace.
“Our cook
,
Pierre
,
makes the best biscuits ever!”

Warmth and a sense of happiness he hadn’t felt since his mother’s death had surged through him when her small hand had wrapped around his and he’d allowed himself to be pulled into the sunshine that was Callie.
That day he’d found a friend
—on
e he’d treasured and loved like a sister
…
until he was old enough to realize that the love he felt for her had grown into something more.
Something deeper.
Something distinctly unbrotherly.

A love rendered utterly hopeless given their vastly different circumstances.

They’d started out
in
the same
stratum of society
, but when Callie’s oldest sister
,
Hayley
,
had married the Marquess of Glenfield, she’d been elevated into a world so far above
William’s
that
he might as well have fallen into an abyss.
And the gulf had only grown wider several years later when
,
upon the death of Hayley’s father-in-law
,
her husband became the Duke of Moreland.
The idea of a lowly shopkeeper being good
enough
for the sister of a duchess was laughable.
Yet the mere thought of her being with anyone else ate at Will
ia
m like acid.
Torturing him.
Making him wish for impossible things.
Such as a title.
Or the sort of wealth that would allow him to court her.
The woman he’d loved
for
nearly his entire life.
Would love until his last breath.

A woman who
,
because of what and who she was, and what and who he wasn’t, would never
—
could
never—b
e his.

The sound of her voice yanked him from his brown study.
His gaze shot upward, away from the far
-
too
-
disturbing sight of her hand touching him, and met her beautiful eyes
,
which were filled with unmistakable expectation.
Bloody hell, clearly she’d said something that required a response.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said Aunt Olivia wished to be remembered to you.
Our travels today tired her or she would have accompanied me here.” Concern filled her eyes.
“Are you all right, William?
You look…
flushed.”

“I’m fine.”
He stepped back and fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her.
“It’s merely warm in here.”

She looked uncertain, no dou
bt because it wasn’t the least
bit warm in the shop
—
indeed, it had been unseasonably cool all week.
Then her expression cleared.
“Aunt Olivia and I were hoping you could join us for dinner this evening.
Are you free?”

His common sense insisted he pretend a previous engagement.
Spare himself the agony of being close enough to touch her yet unable to do so.

But his heart…
damn it, his heart wanted nothing more than to be with her.
Share a meal with her.
Talk to her.
Listen to her.
Just
…
be near her.

When he hesitated, she rushed on, “Please say you’ll come.
We’re only in Halstead for this one night and I
…
”
Once again
,
something flickered in her eyes, something he couldn’t put his finger on other than to know he wasn’t accustomed to seeing it there.
And it worried him.
“
…
I’ve missed you
,
William.”

His heart stilled at the words.
And at the quiet way she said them.
As if she might have missed him in the same gut-wrenching way he’d missed her.
Which was, of course, ridiculous.
Her life was a whirlwind of parties and travel and Society events.
The opera and fancy balls and tours of the Continent.
Why would she miss the tiny village of Halstead?
Clearly she didn’t, as she hadn’t visited in so long.

He briefly pressed his lips together to keep them from spilling out the fact that missing her was a pain he lived with daily.
Then, determined not to appear like a tongue-tied nincompoop, he forced a light laugh
.
“And I’ve missed you, too, Dimples.”

His use of the childhood nickname he’d bestowed upon her kindled mischief in her eyes.
“I’m delighted to hear it
…
Dusty.”