Dare to Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

Lady Andover knew all about me, and by this evening Brence Stephens would, too. Some of the old resentment returned, but I banished it immediately.
    The horse followed a curve in the road. In the distance I could see the towering oak trees and the large graystone house surrounded by shabby gardens wild with a riot of flowers. Directly behind the house the moors began, ground covered with grayish-brown grass faintly touched with green, gradually rising in a series of small hills. The terrain was ancient, windswept, savagely beautiful. Beyond those barren hills there were more moors leading to the grove where the gypsies used to camp.
    For a moment, thinking about the camp, I forgot the man beside me. I could see the little girl with pigtails rushing across the moors. I could see the painted caravans, the campfires that blossomed among the trees as twilight fell, and I could see those dark, exotic men and women who were fierce and volatile but so very kind to me, taking me in, making me a part of that intimate, tempestuous family. But that was all in the past. I was grown now. Never again would I be a part of that vibrant world.
    â€œYou love this land, don’t you?” Brence Stephens said.
    â€œIt’s part of me,” I replied.
    â€œYou must teach me to love it. My cousin tells me I must see Land’s End. It’s not far from here, I understand.”
    â€œA mile or so,” I said.
    He tugged on the reins, stopping the horse in front of the gate set in the low gray wall that surrounded the property. The gardens were ablaze with color, and the towering oak trees cast long, heavy shadows over the road; the house was only partially visible behind the low hanging limbs. Brence Stephens climbed out of the carriage with indolent grace and reached up to help me alight, his hands encircling my waist. His fingers tightened, lifting me, drawing me toward him. When he set me on my feet, he maintained his hold for several seconds, peering into my eyes. His own dark eyes were inscrutable.
    â€œI’d like to see you again,” he said.
    â€œI—I don’t think that would be wise.”
    â€œNo?”
    He let go of my waist. I felt relief and disappointment at the same time. He continued to look into my eyes, and again I had a desire to reach up and touch those full, finely carved lips. The premonition I had felt earlier returned, even stronger this time. Every instinct told me that this man was a threat to me, and somehow that made him all the more alluring.
    â€œYou’re afraid,” he said. “It’s there in your eyes.”
    â€œYou’re imagining things, Mr. Stephens.”
    â€œThere’s loneliness, too, and sadness.”
    â€œI must go inside.”
    â€œDon’t be afraid, Mary Ellen.”
    His voice was gentle and persuasive, husky, like music. It was beautiful, and he was beautiful, too, aglow with rugged vitality. Disturbing new emotions blossomed inside me, unfolding like petals, and I tried to hold them back. I didn’t want to feel them. I didn’t want to step over that invisible threshold that beckoned. I drew back, wishing he would leave, wishing I had never gone to the village. His eyes held mine, compelling me to accept those things I tried desperately to deny.
    â€œI’ll call on you tomorrow,” he said.
    â€œYou mustn’t come here.”
    â€œThen I’ll meet you. Tomorrow afternoon, at two o’clock. I’ll be at Land’s End. You’ll come.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou’ll come,” he promised.
    He left then, climbing into the carriage without another word, without so much as a backward glance. I stood by the gate, watching him drive away. I stood there long after the carriage had disappeared from sight. Something had happened to me, something irrevocable. I thought of my mother and her Ramon, and for the first time I fully understood what had happened to her so many years ago and why she had been