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He had promised to conduct himself as a gentleman, and losing his senses halfway up a tree was hardly the best way to honor that vow.
“Reach for the next limb,” he murmured near her ear. “I have you.”
She caught the branch, and he lifted her, but her bare foot slipped briefly against the bark. His arms tightened around her until she recovered her footing.
Cordelia turned her face toward his, and he found her mouth so close to his that he could feel the warmth of her breath.
“You are holding me rather tightly,” she whispered, though the light in her eyes suggested she was in no hurry to escape him.
“I am aware of it, and I confess I have very little wish to release you.”
“Then we shall never reach the top.”
“A persuasive argument,” he conceded, reluctantly easing his hold. “Though I am beginning to question whether bringing you here was altogether wise.”
“Oh, I think it was a splendid idea.”
She continued climbing, leaving him to follow with a smile. They ascended several more branches, and George discovered that she needed far less assistance than he had anticipated. She accommodated the weakness in her leg with care and ingenuity, accepting his help only when a branch proved too distant. Watching her reclaim a pleasure she had believed lost moved him almost as deeply as the temptation of her closeness.
At last, she paused upon a broad limb and looked down through the leaves, her face alight with joy. “Oh, George, look how high we are! I had forgotten how wonderful this feels.”
He remembered her childhood accident, the years of pain that followed, and the way others regarded her limp as though it diminished everything else about her. Yet here she was, high among the branches, possessed of the same adventurous spirit that had once sent her chasing a wayward kite.
He had never seen her look more beautiful.
A fierce tenderness swept through him. He wanted her to know that her injury need not determine every joy she might seek, and perhaps most selfishly, he wanted to be the man beside her whenever she discovered another.
“Shall we continue?”
Her eager agreement came without hesitation.
The final ascent required them to cross a thick branch curving toward the tree house. George went ahead and reached down to assist her, but the last step proved just beyond her reach.
“George, I cannot quite manage it.”
“Then we must make use of my superior height, for which you have shown a most regrettable lack of admiration.”
He caught her around the waist and lifted her toward him. Her hands settled upon his shoulders, and for one intoxicating instant, her breasts pressed against his chest. The contact sent a fierce rush of heat through him, and he imagined how those soft, full breasts would feel against his bare skin, how her nipples might tighten beneath his mouth as he kissed his way down her body.
“George?”
He met her gaze, summoning what remained of his discipline. “Yes, my sweet?”
The endearment had escaped him naturally, and the tenderness that entered her eyes made his heart give an unexpected thud.
Teeth sank into a plump bottom lip, and for a moment, she seemed uncertain. “I believe I can reach the floor now,” she whispered.
He lifted her the remaining distance, and she scrambled onto the boards before rising with a breathless laugh.
“Oh, George! It is magnificent!”
He followed her into the tree house, taking pleasure in her astonishment. The interior was surprisingly spacious, with the great oak rising through its polished timber floor and disappearing into the arched roof. Open panels framed the woodland, while a lattice of slender branches and climbing greenery cast delicate shadows across the boards. The air carried the scents of warm oak and honeysuckle winding along the southern railing.
Beneath the sheltering canopy stood two broad reclining benches, fashioned from oak with gently curved backs and generous arms. The joiner had fashioned them rather in the manner of chaises longues, though the proportions were generous enough for two people to sit together if they wished. Thick cushions, covered in a soft cream fabric embroidered with faded green leaves, lay along their seats and sloping backs, while smaller bolsters could be tucked beneath an elbow or a weary head. A narrow ledge ran beside the outer railing, made for a book, a glass, or whatever small pleasure George had brought to enjoy while he watched the sky.
Cordelia wandered about, tracing the carved arm of one bench before examining the intricate joinery. “You thought of everything,” she said with evident delight. “Even the cushions are arranged so that one might sit here for hours. George, you have built a room among the leaves.”
She turned toward the western opening, and the expression that crossed her face made him forget his intended reply. Beyond the woodland, the valley stretched beneath a magnificent evening sky. The setting sun hovered above the distant hills, its golden light turning the clouds to copper, coral, and rose. Across the fields, hedgerows and treetops glowed in the fading warmth, while the lake reflected the heavens in long ribbons of crimson and gold. A distant church spire rose through the evening haze, and swallows wheeled beneath the clouds before darting toward the woods.
