Star's Crossing

40: A More Dangerous Path

Mare welcomed the press of Geoffrey's lips.

He was surer than Teddy; perhaps too certain, too practiced. Mare hardly minded. She'd spent the past week dreaming of a man who did not want her and whom she was not sure she wanted. Dreaming of his voice, velvet in tenor; his hands, cool against her face, his tongue between her lips.

All pleasure in the act of kissing Theodore Bridge was poisoned by his indifference. He'd never had any intention of courting her, and Mare supposed she ought to have been pleased by this. It was an impossibility. It had been since long before they crossed paths in the wood, and spoke of cowards and Shakespeare, and kissed beneath the clandestine bur.

Now Geoffrey slipped his hand behind Mare's head, threading his fingers through her hair. Here she was, kissing a boy she'd held dear so long, and her mind could not free her of another.

Well. She would show Theodore Bridge exactly what he was missing.

Mare did not think, but lay back in the grass and pulled Geoffrey toward her. It was the act of a Jezebel woman, but her mind was fevered, and she'd be lying if she claimed she was not angry, and a bit embarrassed. And perhaps just a little bewitched by the heat of Geoffrey's body.

Geoffrey did not hesitate to level himself above her, hands in the grass beside her shoulders. He kissed slow as honey, deliberate, with a skilled tongue that made my Mare's head dangerously light. His hand trailed to her neck, up to her chin; he drew her bottom lip lower with his thumb.

His desire felt palpable, and yet nothing like Teddy's, which had tasted of fire and desperation and longing. But Geoffrey did not push. His hands remained at her face, and his kiss, though it deepened, did not ask or press for more. Mare was internally horrified when she realized she wanted him to.

"Geoffrey," she whispered, pliantly, when a breath granted space between their lips. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were in love with me, too."

A smile stirred his lips, and he bent them to hers again. "Perhaps I always have been."

It'd been a joke when she'd spoken it, an askance. Now her stomach dropped and her cheeks brightened. Mare had scarcely considered Geoffrey. When they were younger Mare had thought only of him as a friend, and it was in his absence she began to wonder how else he might fit into her life. And then, when courting season came, it was already too late.

"Don't play with my heart," Mare whispered, touching her fingers to his lips to stall them. The setting sun shone in his eyes. He was beautiful. A fine and wild thing. He held her fingers against his lips and kissed them, and then her palm, and the vulnerable curve of her wrist.

"So long as you do not play with mine." He leaned back over her and Mare closed her eyes in the grass, allowing him to press his mouth to hers again.

"Lord!"

Mare and Geoffrey leapt apart. Geoffrey paled, and Mare was only up on her side in time to see the flash of a blue dress as its wearer fled the cliff. Chestnut hair, a fine lace hat, held aloft by sable-gloved fingers.

Mare's stomach plummeted. "Alison."

She leapt to her feet, gathering her skirts and bolting down the hill.

"Mare!" Geoffrey protested. "Mare, wait!"

But how could she? She owed Alison a thousand explanations, a thousand apologies. She barely managed to catch her friend's quick stride on the path. Even so, Alison plunged valiantly forward, her steps brisk and sure.

"Alison, please," Mare said quickly, "I can explain!"

"I don't want your explanation, Mare."

"Please! I'm just..." But Mare had no words to justify her actions. Angry. Bitter. Confused. In love with all of the wrong people.

"Just what?" Alison had continued down the path though Mare had stopped. Now she whipped on her heels, eyes wide. "You cannot have all that you desire. You cannot take at the expense of others!"

"Then tell me what I am to do, Alison!" Tears sprang to Mare's eyes, and she held her hands in fists away from her body. "Tell me, please, I beg of you. For I do not know where I belong or what I deserve or who to be."

"Are you in love with him?" Alison's eyes went over the hill, where Geoffrey presumably still lay, lest he'd hazarded escape.

Mare closed her eyes. "I don't know."

"You cannot simply go around kissing everyone you might love," snapped Alison. Her lovely complexion was ruddy, her eyes bright. "You are damaging lives. Futures."

"It was only a kiss," Mare whispered pleadingly. "We've been along this road together, haven't we? The letters? The paper?"

Alison looked away, toward the water, where the sun had dipped from view, leaving nothing but a fading halo round the horizon. "You built your tower on the sand, Mare. Did you expect it not to fall?"

"Do I not deserve happiness? Because I have attempted a more dangerous path, do I deserve less than those who do not venture at all, but live in mask, a lie?" Mare's voice shook. She didn't concoct the words before they fell from her lips, and she found she meant them all the more for their raw truth.

A tear slipped from Alison's eye, and she swiped it away with a gloved hand. Mare's anger faded fast. Something else was at work here. But what? Was this because of what Alison's father had said in the parlor that day, of wishing for sons and resenting daughters?

"Alison," Mare said cautiously, "you are my oldest friend. I love and respect you, though I've...I have made a fool of myself, and I have made foolish choices. I blame no one but myself, and my own heart. But...I cannot help it. And I don't wish to." As she said it, Mare realized it was true. "I don't want to ignore my wishes, my desires, just because others deem them improper."

Alison pressed her hand to her lips, squeezed her eyes shut. Something ate at her from within; she was a creature of silent despair and Mare knew not how to help her. So she gathered her skirts and went up the path and wrapped her arms around her friend.

"I never wanted to hurt anyone," Mare whispered into Alison's hair. She smelled of sea salt and English perfume; like her mother, like their childhood. "I love you, Alison. I love Lilith, too. And..."

"And the boys," Alison said, her voice weepy. With a sigh, she brought her arms around Mare's shoulders and held her tight. "You love them too."

"I'm less sure of that," Mare answered with a laugh. "Oh, Alison. Please don't weep. Forgive me."

Alison sighed, placing her hands on Mare's shoulders. "I'm afraid it is not you who needs forgiveness, Mare. I have news. I've been trying to reach you. I sent a card and came to call, twice, but-"

"My mother," said Mare by way of explanation. "She found Camden's letters, and..." Mare's stomach still felt pitted when she thought of it. "She destroyed them. All of them."

"At the end of a hot poker, no less?" Alison sighed. "Oh, Mare. I'm so sorry. I know how much they meant to you."

"I'm trying not to think of it too much. I've got the writer now himself, so perhaps he will be able to rebuild my stock over time." But it would never be what it was, and Camden would never fit the words on the page. "You said you had news?"

Alison's eyes rose over Mare's shoulders, then fell back to hers. "I do. I'm...I'm afraid I'm not sure how to tell you."

Mare furrowed her brow. "Well, quickly, I hope. The suspense will kill me."

"I spoke to my mother about printing your letters in the Gazette."

"And?"

"It was not she who posted them at all. Like me, she was merely a middle man." Alison bit her lip, paling slightly.

"Well? Do not hold me in suspense, Alison," Mare searched her friend's eyes. "Who had them published?"

Alison took Mare's hands and gazed down at them. "It was Geoffrey, Mare. Geoffrey has your letters."