"What do I do?" Ian asked. He was swimming, uncertain, trying to find the current.
"Tell Beth you're not upset at her for breaking the bowl. Simple as that."
"But I told her."
"Tell her again. And again. As many times as it takes for her to believe you. Explain why you are not upset. In great detail--you are good at details."
The dining room door was beckoning to him, because behind it lay Beth. All the bowls in the world could crumble to dust, and it wouldn't matter, because he could lean down and kiss Beth's cheek, smoother than any porcelain.
Talking to Beth was an excellent idea. Talking to her alone, an even better one.
He turned away from Mac, who let out another long sigh, and opened the door.
Beth looked up from the circle of family who were trying to comfort her. Ian went to her, ignoring all in his way, swept up the wooden box with the bowl in it, took Beth's hand, and tugged her back toward the door. Hart started to follow.
"No," Ian said. "Only Beth."
Hart, the man who'd helped Ian through his worst moments, gave him a hard look. Mac stepped in front of Hart, blocking his way. "Let him go."
Ian never broke stride. He took Beth down the hall, around the corner to their private wing, and up the stairs to the Ming room. Ruby, who'd been napping on the sunny landing, climbed noisily to her feet and followed them inside. All the dogs knew they were allowed only a foot or so inside the Ming room, so Ruby lay down again, blocking Ian's ability to close the door.
No matter. The entire wing was theirs, and he and Beth were alone.
Ian moved to a cabinet in the middle of the room, in which another bowl reposed, and set the box on top of it. "We'll put the new bowl here. This one will move to that space, and that one there." He pointed.
"How do you decide where to put them?" Beth asked. She still had tears on her face, but she spoke unwaveringly.
"Size, color, year." Ian touched the box. "This one belongs here."
"Ian." Beth stood close enough to him that he could breathe in her fragrance, but she didn't touch him. "If you don't want the bowl, I will have Hart return it to the earl."
Ian didn't answer. He let his gaze travel over the bowls in their cases, each perfect, exquisite, their presence like a ripple of cool water.
"Remember when I told you why I started collecting the bowls?"
Beth nodded. "You saw the first one in Paris, and it enchanted you.""The world was a confusing place. Is a confusing place. I look at the bowls, and the confusion goes away. It gives me . . . silence."
"That's why I feel so awful, Ian. I took that away from you."
Ian traced a pattern on the box. "Focusing on the bowls helped blot out the darkness. I could sit here, I could look at them, and the darkness went away. For a little while." He looked up at Beth. "And then I met you."
She gave him a watery smile. "Do not tell me the darkness went away the moment you saw me. Flattering, but I know that is not true."
"It flowed away like an avalanche." Ian focused on her eyes, the blue he'd seen the night he'd met her. He'd known instantly that he needed this woman in his life, that she'd come to him like a gift from God. "And it's never returned. Not like before."
Beth's voice went soft. "I hope I have helped you. I love you. I want to help you."
She still wasn't understanding. "I don't need the bowls to give me peace anymore," Ian said. "I have you. And Jamie, and Belle. If all the Ming bowls in the world were smashed, I'd still have you." He took her hand, the one with the gold ring and band of sapphires he'd bought to replace the simple gold ring he'd slipped onto her finger when he'd married her in the Parisian pension. She still wore the simple gold with the more expensive one, and Ian kissed them both. "You broke the bowl, and it is gone. But you are here, and whole. Nothing else matters."
"Oh."
Ian once more let himself get lost in the blue of her eyes, the shape of her red lips, the way the moisture behind her lower lip made him want to lick her there. He'd kissed her many times since that first night at the opera, and he never grew tired of it.
He leaned down to kiss her now, but Beth put her fingers over his lips.
"Are you telling me that you don't care that I broke your bowl?" she asked.
Ian had thought they were finished with the discussion. "Yes," he said.
"But . . . it took so long for you to find it and cost so very much money."
Ian slid his hands to the curve of her waist. "I wanted to have it, because it reminded me of you," he said. "But I'd rather have you."
The uncertainty in Beth's eyes cleared, though they again swam with tears. She twined her arms around his neck. "Ian, I love you so much."
This was better. Much better. The darkness that had started to grip Ian, the one that told him he'd never learn how to make her happy, flowed away to nothing.
"My Beth." Ian looked straight into her eyes, letting himself be lost, not fighting it.
Beth kissed him, her lips shaking but warm, tasting of honey and her spice.
Ian opened her mouth with his, ready to taste her further, but she said, "I need to tell you something. I've meant to, but it never seemed the right time."
Ian waited, not asking. Beth would tell him, or she would not. Sometimes, she took a while to say what she needed to.