He remembered so clearly writing those words. No, that was not true. He remembered thinking them. He‘d thought out the entire opening before writing it down. He‘d gone over it so many times, editing in his head until he‘d got it just the way he wanted it.
That had been his moment. His very own point of division. He wondered if everyone‘s lives had a dividing point. A moment which sat clearly between before and after . That had been his. That night in his room. It hadn‘t been any different than the night before, or the one before that. He couldn‘t sleep. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that.
Except for some reason—some inexplicable, miraculous reason, he‘d started thinking about books.
And then he‘d picked up a pen.
Now he got to be in his after . He looked at Annabel.
He looked away. He didn‘t want to think about her after .
―Shall I read it to you?" he asked, his voice sounding a little loud. But he had to do something to change the direction of his thoughts. Besides, it might cheer her up.
―All right," she said, her lips forming a hesitant smile. ―Lady Olivia said you‘re a wonderful reader."
There was no way Olivia had said that . ―She did, did she?"
―Well, not exactly. But she did say that you made the housemaids cry."
―In a good way," he assured her.
She actually giggled. He felt absurdly pleased.
―Here we are," he said. ―Chapter One." He cleared his throat and went on. ―The slanted light of dawn was rippling through the windowpane, and Miss Anne Sainsbury huddled beneath her threadbare blanket, wondering as she often did, how she would find money for her next meal."
―I can picture that exactly," Annabel said.
He looked up in surprise. And pleasure. ―You can?"
She nodded. ―I used to be an early riser. Before I arrived in London. The light is different in the morning. It‘s flatter, I suppose. And more golden. I‘ve always thought—" She cut herself off, cocking her head to the side. Her brows knit together and she frowned. It was the most adorable expression. Sebastian almost thought that if he looked hard enough, he could actually see her thinking.
―You know exactly what I mean," she said.
―I do?"
―Yes." She straightened, and her eyes flashed with memory. ―You said so. When I met you at the Trowbridge party."
―The heath," he said with a sigh. It seemed such a delightful, far-off memory now.
―Yes. You said something about the morning light. You said you—" She stopped, blushing furiously. ―Never mind."
―I must say, now I really want to know what I said."
―Oh…" She shook her head quickly. ―No."
―Anna-bel," he prodded, liking the way her name took on a musical lilt.
―You said you‘d like to take a bath in it," she said, the words coming out in a single, mortified rush.
―I did?" Strange. He didn‘t remember saying that. Sometimes he got lost in his own thoughts.
But it did sound like something he‘d say.
She nodded.
―Hmmm. Well. I suppose I would." He tilted his head in her direction, the way he frequently did when about to deliver a bon mot . ―I should want some privacy, though."
―Of course."
―Or maybe not too much privacy," he murmured.
―Stop." But she didn‘t sound offended. Not quite.
He glanced at her when she thought he wasn‘t looking. She was smiling to herself, just a little bit. Enough for him to see her courage, her strength. Her ability to hold herself straight in the midst of adversity.
He stopped. What the hell was he thinking? All she had done was hold her own against his risqué comment. That was hardly akin to adversity.
He needed to be careful, else he‘d build her up into something she wasn‘t. It was what he did almost every night, holed up in his room with pen and paper. He created characters. If he allowed his imagination to get the best of him, he‘d turn her into the perfect woman.
Which wasn‘t fair to either of them.
He cleared his throat and motioned to the book. ―Shall I continue?"
―Please."
―She looked down at her faithful collie—"
―I have a dog," she blurted out.
He looked up in surprise. Not that she had a dog. She seemed the sort who would. But he hadn‘t expected another interruption so quickly on the heels of the last. ―You do?"
―A greyhound."
―Does he race?"
She shook her head. ―His name is Mouse."
―You are a cruel woman, Annabel Winslow."
―It‘s a fitting name, I‘m afraid."
―I don‘t suppose he was the winner in the Winslow Most Likely to Outrun a Turkey contest."
She chuckled. ―No."
―You did say you‘d come in third," he reminded her.
―We usually limit candidates to those of the human variety." Then she added, ―Two of my brothers are quite fleet of foot."
He held up the book again. ―Do you want me to continue?"
―I miss my dog," she said with a sigh.
Apparently not. ―Er, your grandparents don‘t have one?" he asked.
―No. There is only Louisa‘s ridiculous hound."
He recalled the fat little sausage on legs he‘d seen at the park. ―He was quite stout."
She let out a little snort. ―Who names a dog Frederick?"
―Eh?" She was jumping from topic to topic like a chickadee.
She sat up a little straighter. ―Louisa named that dog Frederick. Don‘t you find that ridiculous?"
―Not really," he admitted.