Page 55
Tristan sat across from her, watching her and waiting, apparently, for her to continue.
“In my time, he would be called a male chauvinist.”
Seeing his confused expression, she attempted to explain. “A man who believes females are inferior.”
Tristan appeared to consider her words. “He does believe as much,” he finally said. “Though I do not.”
“I know.” If he had thought so, Hannah would have never, not even briefly, allowed herself to imagine what a life at Saxford would be like.
Not that he’d asked her to stay. Or that she could ever, ever consider such a thing, not knowing if her sisters were safe.
“But there are many men like Kenton.”
“In my day as well. Women have more rights in the future, but still . . .” She shrugged. “My mother warned me before college that it was still a man’s world in many ways, as if I needed the warning.”
“You have spent your life trying to prove the opposite.”
Hannah froze.
She had to think about what Tristan had just said. She replayed the words in her mind. Some part of her wanted to deny it, but she took a sip of wine instead.
“The biggest fight I ever had with my sister, the middle one—”
“Allie?”
Hannah smiled, pleased he had remembered.
“Allison, but yes, we call her Allie. Mostly because I wasn’t able to say her full name when she was born. Anyway, when Mom and Dad died, we assumed Caroline would take over their shop. When she didn’t, Allie suggested I move back home. She wanted me to sell my own business and take it on myself. ‘I would do it,’ she said, ‘but what does a nurse know about running a business?’ And she would have. Putting that ‘for sale’ sign up was difficult for her. For all of us.” She paused for a moment, remembering the conversation. She’d been so angry with Allie for implying she should give up her career as if it were nothing. That she should just give up and go home after all the endless hours she’d poured into it.
“She accused me of much the same,” she finally said. “She knew I loved my business but wished I could bring it to Maine, where my clients would be much less demanding. But also less . . .” Hannah stopped. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You told Kenton your father had always wanted to travel.”
He knew she wanted to change the topic. God bless him, the man was astute.
“There was truth to what you said to him,” he observed.
Hannah prayed for strength. She was going to need it.
“His family was originally from Scotland. He’d dreamed of a vacation to his ‘homeland’ for his entire life. But their business made it difficult for them to get away, and there was just never a good time.” She took a deep breath. “So when they were killed in a car accident, we decided to come here for them.”
Hannah stared at her hand, which now had a white-knuckled grip on the goblet. “We took some of the money from the sale of the shop and agreed to come here on the one-year anniversary of the accident. We all needed it, but Caroline did the most. We worried about her . . .”
Hannah trailed off.
She sensed him before she saw him. The great hulk of an English knight lifted her chin ever so gently, until their eyes met.
“I am sorry about your parents.”
Not as sorry as I am.
“We will find your sisters, Hannah. I promise you. We will not stop looking.”
When he leaned forward, Hannah welcomed his touch. She wanted it . . . nay, needed it. The soft brush of his lips was meant to soothe. To comfort, not caress. But that small taste of him was not enough.
She leaned forward and invited another, which he happily accommodated. This time, his kiss was more insistent. When she opened for him, Tristan’s tongue swept inside as if it belonged there.
Perhaps it did.
