"What do you mean?" He had never heard this before. His parents had teased recently about becoming exasperated with each other over the years, but he had assumed—wrongly, it appears—they had fallen in love and gotten married and that was it.
"Desmond, it took me a while to admit I could not force the one I love to feel the same. I pleaded my case, let her know my love would never fade, and then asked her to tell me what she desired. When she was ready to do so."
"That was quite a gamble."
"Indeed it was. After I delivered that speech, I left, trying to keep my knees from buckling, desperate to give off an air of confidence I was not yet feeling."
"How long did you wait?"
"An eternity." He grinned. "It was only a matter of weeks. I was tempted to woo her, with a posey or daily poem. But I refrained, wanting her to make up her own mind. And she did. Never has a man been more grateful that a gamble paid off."
Desmond watched Lorelei from across the room. A chance meeting—one that should not even have occurred—and he was in danger of losing his heart forever.
"What would you have done if she had not changed her mind?"
His father's expression was sympathetic. "I would have loved her forever, sad that she did not wish to unite her future with mine, yet buoyed by the belief I had done what was best for her. That is the essence of love—caring for the other's wellbeing, even if it is at your own expense."
"Yet I have grown up believing love is to be shared, not experienced from afar." Desmond hesitated. "I have also spent my years believing a love such as yours was beyond my reach. I am dismayed to discover it truly is, only I did not learn it until after losing my heart."
"Love is filled with many surprises. It may surprise you again, just when all seems lost."
Desmond was unable to reply, because Caroline and Henry were racing his direction, eager to tell him something important. Lorelei followed closely behind. He could scarce tear his eyes away from her, even though the children were clamoring for his attention.
He heard a deep chuckle from his father. "Children, have you heard of a game called Snapdragon?"
They shook their heads in unison, while Henry asked, "Is there a real dragon in this game?"
"Not quite," his father answered, leading them to the other side of the room. "Although there is fire involved."
"Your family is wonderful," Lorelei said when they were alone again.
"I am realizing just how wonderful they are," Desmond admitted. He had learned a great deal about his family's history, and how it affected his own future. "They are quite enamored of your family."
"They may change their mind when they discover the boundless supply of energy my niece and nephew possess."
He grinned. "I have no doubt they shall recommence their lament about not having grandchildren, and prodding me to give them the opportunity while they are still able to chase after them."
"Until you are able to do so," she said, her eyes twinkling, "please assure them these imps are available to visit at any time."
Chapter Eight
Lorelei took her time donning her clothes. She had tried to pretend this day would never arrive, and yet it had, and she was not even the slightest bit prepared. The past week in Desmond's arms had been a test of her resistance, for he had done his best to prolong her eventual leave-taking.
One night he made love to her with a fierceness that left her craving him even more than before, followed by an evening of lovemaking so tender it caused an ache knowing it would soon be at an end. Yet throughout he was playful, and teasing, doing everything possible to elicit her laughter, and happiness.
She would miss that as much as anything else.
Once she was dressed, she turned to give Desmond's bedchamber one last glance. He stood there, a lone mistletoe berry in his palm.
"The last one," he commented.
"Yes."
"No more kisses after this berry has completed its service." He gave her a hopeful look. "We could save it for the New Year."
She shook her head, trying to keep a lighthearted mien, but it was a challenge. "What about quarreling?"
"I am not in favor of it generally, but if it pleases you—"
She laughed. "No, if we do not rid ourselves of the berries before the New Year, we are bound to quarrel, remember?"
"We are quarreling now," he reminded her with a grin, "about whether to save the berry for a later time." His grin faded. "And whether to continue our affair."
"We are not quarreling about that. I have made up my mind. It is best, for both of us."
"I do not agree that it is best." His lips twisted wryly. "Still, I have given a similar speech many times in the past, so I am well aware of how this will proceed. You never did mislead me as to your intentions. It was my own vain hope that led me to believe I could change your mind."
"The reason I am intent on leaving now is to ensure all of the memories remain good ones."
She could not bear the thought of weeks or months into the future when Desmond had tired of their affair, knowing she could have prevented that moment, but hadn't, succumbing to her unceasing desire for him right now.
"I can provide every assurance possible, Lorelei, that good memories are still available to us in the future. I sincerely believe that is true. Yet in the end, you will have to assure yourself."
Lorelei shook her head once more, and then plucked the berry from his hand. Desmond's expression was morose as he gazed at her. He lowered his head towards hers.
She expected this last kiss to be a passionate one, a last attempt to change her denial to an acceptance. Instead, it was a tender, gentle kiss, as if he wanted to remember this aspect of their affair, and to remind her of the possibilities they could share.
Before she was ready, Desmond stepped back, though she could see he did so with reluctance. "Goodbye, Lorelei the temptress." He lifted her hand to his lips. "The mistletoe berries may be gone, but I shall have the imaginary kisses, which will be a balm to my heart."
He turned and headed for the doorway. Lorelei's heart grew heavy with every step he took, putting distance between them. She had not counted on experiencing these emotions. In truth, this was usually the moment when she felt relief, along with a sense of freedom as she contemplated her next plans.
Why did she feel as though she had just done something horribly wrong?
Lorelei dug deeper into the covers. Why did she not feel better? It was two days since she had sent Desmond on his way. She had made the only choice that made sense, the one that confirmed what she already knew: best to leave before the situation deteriorated, and then became intolerable.
Except it felt intolerable now.
She tried to bury a groan in the pillow.
"Are you not feeling well?" Beatrice asked, standing at the doorway.
Lorelei turned slightly so she could look at her over her shoulder. "I think I may be catching a cold." She added a sniffle or two that sounded rather convincing.
"It came on so suddenly." Beatrice approached the bed, her eyes widened with concern. "Do you have a cough? I could check your temperature to ensure you do not have a fever."