Page 147 of A Shore Thing

“To extend an invitation.”

“An invitation,” she echoed, brows drawing together. “To dinner?”

“I do have something in mind for this evening, yes. I rented a sociable, and I thought we’d ride to Hyde Park.”

Her stomach folded over and cramped. A jaunt in the park. An evening’s entertainment. Then he’d be off. What had she thought? That he’d come to London just for her?

“Thank you, but I am already engaged,” she said hoarsely, the lie heating her cheeks.

His smile faded. Her heart beat painfully fast, and she longed to retract her words. It was cruel, though, his sudden appearance, after she had acclimated to a reality in which his kisses played no part. It felt like a test. How many goodbyes could she withstand without breaking completely?

“I should get back to my writing.” Her knees had begun to tremble.

“Your lecture?” he asked, his interest plain, and she stopped breathing, overwhelmed by a vision. The two of them lounging in each other’s arms in the park, on the soft meadow grass, surrounded by corn marigolds, talking until the sun went down.

“Is it going well?”

She only nodded. She’d learned something from him, with him, about love, about how she loved, and she knew that she couldn’t dip in and out of it. Love for her had too strong a current.

“I’d like to hear it,” he said. “Which means I should let you finish it.”

Hear it. Not read it, months from now, enclosed in a letter. A slip of the tongue. Easily made because he didn’t register the difference. To him, the difference didn’t matter. The distance didn’t matter.

She felt the worst pinch yet.

She drew back, and as she did so, she saw the sociable. It was parked behind him, wide and unwieldy. The tall wheels framed two seats and sets of pedals.

The question burst out. “How on earth did you ride that alone?”

“Awkwardly.” He was still looking up at her. “Overconfidently. I didn’t expect I’d ride alone for long.”

He was mocking himself, and she supposed he deserved it, but she felt even shakier as she pictured him riding away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.” He shook his head.

“I just…can’t.” Now she was shaking like a leaf, and he noticed, his eyes darkening.

“It’s my fault,” he said. “A wiser, humbler man would have arrived on foot.” He paused, studying her intently. “You told me once I was insufferably arrogant.”

“Once?” She let out her breath and managed a smile.

“You also told me I could create whatever kind of home I wanted.”

For a moment, she couldn’t think. She couldn’t speak. She stared, unable to swallow around the lump in her throat.

“I believe that,” she croaked.

He took a breath. “I want to create a home with you.”

The lump in her throat tripled in size. Her pulse drummed so loudly in her ears that she didn’t trust she’d heard him correctly. Hadn’t her ears been playing tricks on her?

But no, the doorbell had rung. He’d rung it. And the next chime had been the bicycle bell. There was nothing wrong with her ears.

“Penny,” he said, “I invite you into my life. That’s why I’m here. A holiday isn’t enough. A summer isn’t enough. I want us to pedal this ridiculously large tricycle to Hyde Park, and then to New York, and then to the moon, or Jupiter, or both. I want miles and miles, and hours and hours, at your side. I want to sit in the front row of your lecture—not to admire my own paintings, however superlative—to admire you. Your intellect and courage. You don’t need me there, I know. But if you’d feel even remotely emboldened by my presence, I swear nothing can keep me away. I want to join your battles, whether it’s to help negotiate a truce or to head up a charge. I want to bring you comfort, like a heath plant. Heath plants are perennials, or at least I think they’re perennials. Are they perennials? Never mind. In any case, I want to love you perennially. I’m an awful flirt. I’ve been known to make eyes at Augustinian nuns, and friends’ grandmothers, and when I was presented at court, I made eyes at the queen. I fed on sighs and glances and furtive touch. I’ve never asked for anyone’s whole heart. Until now. Penny, I am here to ask for yours. I am here to offer you mine. It’s not rotten kelp, but it’s not without flaws either. I don’t have to tell you. You see them. You see all of me. I was afraid you wouldn’t, and then I was doubly afraid when I realized you did. Accepting your love means accepting myself. In the past, I’ve loved as an escape. This is new. Loving you is terrifying and exhilarating and all I most desire. So, please. Say something. Anything. I can survive rejection. What I couldn’t have survived was your leaving London in any doubt about how I feel.”

She clung to the window frame. His expression grew increasingly uncertain as her silence stretched.