Richard was attractive and kind and intelligent and good-natured. But at times he could be remarkably obtuse.
“The minute your parents told me you’d regained your speech, there was no question I was coming down. I never really believed you meant to end our engagement, Bree. You weren’t yourself. Here, darling…”
Richard forked a sliver of prime rib onto her place, smiling at her. Moments before, he’d stolen a chunk of the veal cutlet she hadn’t touched so far. It was an old habit between them, tasting each other’s dinners when they were out. The kind of habit that defines the intimacy between two people.
Once upon a time, she’d thought those little habits could sustain the relationship. She picked at her food; there was very little point in eating it, since each bite made her ill. She hadn’t felt she had any choice but to accept Richard’s invitation to dinner; he’d meant too much to her, once upon a time, and like Marie, he’d come a very long distance to see her.
And Hart’s cutting sarcasm had hurt. Richard wasn’t “nice” as in boring; he was “nice” as in a very good man. As the waitress cleared the table and poured coffee, he smiled at her across the table. The smile was an affectionate, don’t-worry, everything’s-going-to-be-fine smile. Richard was not only a good man; he was soothing to be around and always had been. Totally unlike Hart.
“Your vacation’s done you good, Bree,” Richard said quietly. “You’re brown, and you don’t look nearly so tired.”
“Thank you.” Bree carefully stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee and then stared down at it. She never took sugar. Taking a breath, she faced Richard’s soft brown eyes. “I wish you had told me ahead of time that you were coming-”
“I could have called,” he agreed. “But I was eager to see you. I don’t want to push you into anything, Bree, but I came to return something to you.” He took a small, square box from his pocket and set it gently on the table.
Bree recognized the ring box and remembered well the night he’d given it to her. He’d been so terribly nervous; Richard abhorred emotional scenes, and she’d tried to make it easier for him. He’d set it up with champagne and soft lights, and she’d felt like saying no such fuss was necessary. They’d both known where the relationship was going; both had cautiously tested the way for months. They’d discussed their favorite foods, their common interests, how many children they wanted, what kind of house they wanted to live in.
She remembered that strange instant of panic when she’d first opened the box to that diamond solitaire, all alone in its fourteen-karat-gold setting. She’d felt the crazy sensation that she was pinning herself down to a lifetime of being alone in a misleadingly safe and beautiful setting, but she’d pushed the sensation aside and kissed him.
But that was how she’d looked at things then. Safety had seemed so important. One didn’t make major decisions about one’s life based on crazy, wild, romantic, combustible feelings…
Dammit. What was Hart doing now?
“Darling?” Richard’s voice was coaxing, very gentle.
Bree felt like brushing back that shock of dark hair from his forehead as she would for a child. “I can’t take the ring back,” she said softly. “It’s not because I don’t care for you. I always did and I always will, and I wish you the absolute best. But it wouldn’t work, Richard, not the right way. I really can’t be the wife you truly want-”
“Of course you can.” Richard leaned forward, his dark eyes as soft as a spaniel’s. “Please, Bree. Listen to me. We have absolutely everything in common. I tried to understand your wanting a period of time alone down here-and I’ll still try to understand, if you want more time to yourself. I waited to come because I didn’t want to upset or push you, but if you want me to wait a little longer…”
No, Bree thought wretchedly.
Richard would have let her go on not talking; Richard would have agreed to a vacation in the Arctic if she’d asked; Richard would have let her hibernate for a year if she’d wanted to. Richard didn’t like arguments and had always had the endearing quality of wanting to please. So unlike Hart. Hart took hearts and shredded them up in his free time. And if she’d tried an itty-bitty hibernating nap with Hart, he’d have kicked her out of bed…well, maybe not
And she was in a terrible hurry to get back to him.
Bree gently pushed the ring box toward Richard, hating the hurt in his eyes, hating herself for being the cause of it. “Time won’t change things,” she said gently. “Please accept that. I can’t take it back, Richard, and I’m terribly sorry I’ve hurt you-”
“Now, Bree. Let’s talk about this,” he insisted.
One of Richard’s few faults was that he had
She tried to listen, feeling she owed him that much. She tried to smile, and her mind tried frantically to stop thinking about Hart. It didn’t work. The only thing in her head was how he’d walked off in such a final way. Maybe he was packing to leave now. It was like him, to sever a relationship as quickly as he’d established it. He wasn’t a patient man. He was an irrational man, with a thousand really maddening qualities. He expected people to change overnight. He had no tolerance at all for people who didn’t shout about what they wanted from life, who didn’t go after it, who didn’t run full speed after what made them happy…
“…I can understand your not wanting to work with Marie. I always thought she gave you the short end of the stick, Bree. There’s an opening in the company I work for. I know I could get you in, and-”
“Richard?” Bree interrupted quietly. She looked him square in the eye, stopped trying to smile and took a deep breath. Being nice was so much…nicer. It was just a pity that being nice didn’t always work.
Silence echoed across the table for a good sixty seconds. Bree finally broke it by reaching down to pick up her purse.
Chapter Thirteen
As soon as Richard’s car left the driveway, Bree flew into the cabin and up the loft stairs, stripping off the yellow cotton frock she’d worn for dinner. She tossed on the bed, in rapid succession, her dress, stockings, slip and underpants. Stripped down to bare skin, she raced back downstairs, leaped gingerly onto the dry sink and started pumping in water. There was no time to take a bath in the pond. She was in too much of a hurry.
Maybe he was already gone. Or maybe he was just out. Or maybe he was picking up another woman somewhere. Or maybe…
Lowering her dripping feet to the floor, she rubbed her skin dry with a towel and flew back up the stairs again. Tugging open the wardrobe, she thumbed through the hangers impatiently, finding absolutely nothing with any seductive potential. She’d packed for solitary cottage living, not come-hither nonsense.
She did feel guilty, actually. She’d shared a great deal with Richard, and she cared for him and she was miserably sorry he’d traveled so far for nothing. But continuing to sit and listen to him wasn’t going to lessen his hurt and it wasn’t going to change her feelings. Besides, whether he knew it or not, she would have made him terribly unhappy. A good man deserved a good woman.
She just wasn’t that eternally good Bree anymore. She was a most imperfect Bree, a lady willing to throw away all common sense for the love of a most imperfect man. A man who made her feel terribly alive every second she was with him. A man who was a fibber and a fraud and a little bit of a bully and who regularly insulted her and who was far too attractive to other women…
Really, that she knew all his faults and didn’t care had to be either a sign of mental degeneration or an extreme case of a love worth shouting for.
Reaching for a mint-green camisole, she held it up to the mirror and decided Hart would like it…especially if she wore it braless. The straps were little more than satin ribbons, the bodice skimmed the tops of her breasts, and
