Man Who Loved Pride and Prejudice (29 page)

Her apartment was blindingly silent. Cassie had delayed coming home as long as she could, knowing this would be the hardest part, facing the emptiness that would never change. Only a few weeks ago she would have said she was satisfied with her life. Now all she could feel was what she was missing. She didn't know how she would endure going to bed with only memories for companionship.

   She dropped her briefcase by the door and kicked off her shoes, uncaring of where they landed. Needing to quiet her thoughts and to forget all the years she would have to live without Calder, she went to the computer and entered her rarely-used games folder. Methodically she began to play game after game of solitaire, letting the addictiveness of it take hold of her, until she could no longer think. Finally she closed it down and went to the kitchen. She wasn't hungry, but she knew if she didn't eat anything she would wake up with a pounding headache.

   She never made it to the refrigerator. Calder's book was sitting on the kitchen table, a sheet of paper tucked inside. It was a moment before she could bring herself to pick it up and read the careful handwriting. Whatever he said was going to hurt.

Cassie love,

   Your last words this morning when you left were that you were sorry. Don't be. Neither of us planned to fall in love, but I wouldn't trade the memories of our brief times together for anything. No matter how much it hurts, I can't be sorry for loving you.

   I don't want to do anything that will cause trouble for you, so I will stay away. I wish I understood better what frightens you so much, but it is your business and I respect your privacy. If you are ever willing to reconsider or even to talk it over, I'd be happy to hear from you, whether it is today, tomorrow, or in ten years. Whatever happens, remember that I love you.

   Thank you for last night. It was an unexpected gift.

   There is more I'd like to say, but instead I'm going to leave now, because if I don't I may not be able to.

   All my love,

   Calder

   The words blurred before her and she let it fall to the table next to his book. The picture of the two couples on the cover seemed to mock her. Now she had two love letters from Calder; one in the form of a novel, and this new farewell. She had always hated unhappy endings.

   She picked up the book to return it to the shelves. Just before she tucked it in next to Calder's other novels, she opened it to the dedication as she had so many times in the last two weeks. To her surprise, his handwriting appeared here as well. He had signed his name below it, and added a word so it now read 'To Cassie, who will
always
understand why."

CASSIE TRUDGED HOMEWARD IN the cold, pulling her coat tightly around her. If she was going to make a habit of working late, she ought to start driving to the college. Even an affluent town like Haverford had crime, and she knew better than to walk deserted streets in the dark. Of course, she had told herself the same thing every day for weeks and set out each morning planning to return home at a reasonable hour. But when the time came, staying at work seemed more palatable than facing the emptiness in her apartment, especially on a Friday night with an interminable weekend ahead.

   She couldn't stop thinking about Calder. It was strange that no one seemed able discern the change in her, that part of her had been ripped away. The continual ache was so deep it ought to show in her face, but apparently it didn't, though a few people had commented that she had lost weight. It was easy to skip meals when she was working late.

   Sometimes she wished for someone she could tell about her problems, just to be able to say, "I'm in love with a man and I can't have him." But that would only lead to questions she couldn't answer, so she kept the secret and the pain inside, hoping someday she would no longer feel as if half of her were missing.

   Turning down the driveway to her house, she scuffed the dried leaves underfoot, stirring up the smoky scent of mold. She wished it would snow more often in Haverford. The whiteness of snow would relieve the endless dull brown that was wintertime.

   She stopped abruptly when she noticed a man standing in the shadows by her door. He wore a long dark overcoat, his hands in his pockets. Adrenaline rushed through her as she took a cautious step backwards, almost losing her balance.

   "Cassie, it's me."

   She would have recognized his deep voice anywhere. It had been playing constantly in her dreams for the last three weeks. As if it were still a dream, she rushed up the steps and into his arms. The sheer physical relief of his embrace overwhelmed her.

   He held her tightly, his cheek pressed against her hair. She didn't want him to let go, to break the spell, or do anything that might bring back the reality of their impossible position. She needed this too much.

   But finally she knew something had to be said, and she loosened her grip on him. "How long have you been here? You must be freezing."

   "Not long. I didn't call because I was afraid you'd tell me not to come. But no one knows I'm here, so you don't need to worry."

   "I wasn't worried." She hadn't even thought about it. She was too grateful he was there. "Come upstairs and get warm."

   Calder followed her up the two flights of stairs and waited as she unlocked the door and went in. She had barely closed the door behind them when his arms came around her again. It didn't matter to her why he was there as long as she could keep kissing him, drowning all the emptiness of the last weeks in the passion he could create in her. She didn't want to think of anything but his lips, his hands, and his body.

   Finally he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against hers. "I don't know what it is about you," he said, his breathing uneven. "No other woman makes me lose control this way."

   "It must be the special biologist pheromones. That hindbrain at work again." She caressed the back of his neck with her hand.

   "I thought you might be angry at me for coming."

   She ought to be upset, but instead she felt something perilously close to joy. "I'm not."

   He kissed her hard. She pressed herself against him as she felt him tugging her shirt out of her waistband. But when his hand encountered the flesh of her back, she involuntarily yelped and pulled away.

   "Your hands are freezing." She took one of his hands between hers and chafed it.

   "I'm sorry." His dark eyes were fixed on her.

   She had to slow down, to ignore the tingling in her skin, the desire for his touch. Just because she longed to feel his body against hers didn't mean it was a good idea. She needed to know why he was there before she made herself any more vulnerable. "How about some hot chocolate? I could use a cup, and your hands need some warming up, at least if you're planning to put them on me any time soon."

   The tense look on his face dissolved into a slight smile. "By all means, bring on the hot chocolate."

   He followed her into the small kitchen. She could feel his eyes on her as she poured milk into mugs and placed them in the microwave. "You're making me nervous, watching me like that."

   "I'm sorry. It's good to see you."

   "It's good to see you, too. I've missed you." The words came out before she realized she was saying them. Embarrassed, she hunted for the cocoa mix in the crowded cupboard. When he made no reply, she set the canister down on the counter with unnecessary care. "I'm sorry if that was the wrong thing to say."

   "It wasn't the wrong thing. I just don't have words for it."

   She should have recognized he was in his monosyllabic mode, the one she used to think of as rudeness. If only she understood what it meant. "One of the most eloquent writers of our generation and you don't have words?"

   His expression warmed at her teasing. "You have that effect on me."

   Something inside her relaxed. "That could make for a very one-sided conversation. Would you pass me the cinnamon? It's on the shelf behind you."

   Their hands touched as he gave her the spice bottle, their eyes holding until the microwave pinged. She took out the hot milk and began to stir in the cocoa, grateful for the distraction. She dusted the tops with cinnamon and handed one to him.

   "Thanks."

   Returning to the living room, she sat down on the couch with her feet curled under her. After a moment, Calder settled himself by her side and put his arm over her shoulders.

   Cassie wrapped her hands around her mug, the mingled aroma of chocolate and cinnamon wafting past her. She felt oddly tentative with him. They'd never been together like this. It had always been either talking or sex, nothing in between. There had been no opportunity to develop little rituals. They weren't supposed to be together in the first place.

   "How are you?" she asked, for lack of a better place to start.

   "I've been better." He paused, as if searching for words. "I tried to stay away."

   "Without complete success, I take it." It felt so right to be there with him. She took a quick sip of her hot chocolate. It burnt the back of her mouth.

   He set down his mug abruptly. "Cassie, these three weeks have been hell. I miss you every minute of the day. Don't bother telling me I can't miss what I never had, because I've already told myself a hundred times."

   She laid her head on his shoulder. She shouldn't be so happy to hear he had been struggling as well. "I know. I'm months ahead on my lecture prep because work is the only thing that distracts me."

   He exhaled slowly, as if he were fighting to restrain himself. "I've thought about what you said. Maybe it's not reasonable, but I need to know what the trouble is, what happened that's keeping us apart. It's making me crazy."

   Her pleasure faded into a vague nausea. "That's a lot to ask."

   "I know. It's not fair to ask when you've already told me you don't want me to know. I'll try to understand if you still can't tell me. But I'm having a very hard time with not knowing." He hesitated as he spoke, as if expecting her to stop him.

   Fear was the one thing that could overwhelm her need to touch him. She stood and walked to the fireplace, her breath tight in her throat. Crouching in front of it, she picked up an old newspaper from the pile and began to crumple it sheet by sheet. She took her time arranging the paper under the fireplace grate, then took a piece of wood into her hands, examining it as if the answer could be found somewhere in the splinters of wood and bark.

   "Harboring a fugitive," she said. She placed the log carefully in the fireplace and set two more around it.

   "Is that so serious?"

   Her hand froze on the matches. "Since I don't have a criminal record, I'd probably get the minimum sentence under federal guidelines. Given that the offense was second-degree murder, that would be thirty-three months. You decide how serious almost three years in prison would be."

   He crossed the room to kneel beside her. "I didn't mean to imply it wasn't important, just that it's not the same as… Never mind. I don't know what I'm talking about."

   "That's right. You don't." She struck a match and touched it to the crumpled newspaper. She refused to look at him, her eyes on the small, yellow flame.

   "Have you talked to a lawyer about this?"

   "I don't need to talk to a lawyer. I'm perfectly capable of looking it up on my own." She blew on the flame, watching it shoot up in response.

   "Not everything is in the statute books. Would you be willing to talk to one, or could I talk to one without using your name?"

   She shook her head silently.

   "What about Dave Crowley? He's a good lawyer, and you know him. Could I talk to him?"

   "No!" She might only see the Crowleys once a year, but she didn't want to lose their good opinion.

   Calder put his hand on her arm. "Cassie, how would you feel if I were in trouble and I wouldn't let you help?"

   "There's nothing to help with. I did it, I knew what I was doing, and I need to make sure no one ever finds out."

   "No matter what it costs."

   She sat back on the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I didn't foresee a situation like this at the time. It's too late now."

   "What if it isn't too late? What if there's something we can do about it?"

   She knew it was his concern and love—or what he called love—speaking. If only she could give him what he wanted, what they both wanted. He was so sure of himself, so insistent. She would have to tell him all of it. Perhaps then he would understand why he had to stay away.

   "It goes beyond the legal problems. It's the dirt they could rake up on my family. If they were just poor and uneducated, I could live with it. But drug abuse, crime, gangs, some low-grade prostitution—it's all there. My sister would sell her life story—and her body—to the first person who offered her fifty dollars, and it would be ugly. I couldn't ever stand up in front of a class again."

   "Maybe they'd be impressed with the obstacles you've overcome."

   "Maybe, or maybe they would laugh behind their hands." Cassie stood, dusting off her knees, and returned to the sofa, avoiding Calder's eyes.

   Calder followed her. When he put his arm around her this time, she found no comfort in it. "Cassie, it's you, not your family, that matters. Everyone has some embarrassments in the family somewhere."

   She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his face. "I'm not squeaky clean myself. There's enough about me to give your parents heart failure just knowing you're in the same room with me."