Page 20 of B is for Beast of Dean

Alice

Three days had passed since I fled Heath's cottage, and I had not slept properly since. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. His eyes warm and liquid as he so gently confessed his love. And the hope dying in his eyes as I fled.

I love you, Alice. Desperately.

I threw off my blanket and sat up in the narrow bed, my heart pounding. The other girls slept peacefully around me, their steady breathing a stark contrast to my restlessness. How could they sleep when my entire world had been turned upside down?

I had tried to return to my normal routine. Rise at dawn, breakfast with the others, and work. But everything felt hollow, mechanical. The work that had once given me purpose now seemed pointless. The conversations with Margaret and the others felt like meaningless chatter. Even the landscape itself looked duller as if someone had drained the color from the world.

Every glance toward the forest reminded me of Heath. His comforting presence that I knew would never return. Because I had ruined everything.

I rose quietly and padded to the small window, looking out at the dark line of trees in the distance. Somewhere in those woods, Heath was alone in his cottage, convinced that his feelings were unwelcome, unwanted. The thought made my chest ache with a pain that grew worse each day rather than better.

Why did I run?

I knew the answer, of course. His confession had terrified me—not because I did not care for him, but because I cared too much. At that moment, with his hand cupping my cheek and his eyes full of love, I had wanted nothing more than to close the distance between us. To kiss him. The desire nearly swallowed me whole.

I had never felt such things before. Never understood the secret smiles that passed between husbands and wives. But in Heath's cottage, with his large hand gentle against my face, I had begun to understand. My body had responded to his nearness in ways that shocked me.

Even now, alone in the darkness, the memory made my heart pound and heat pool low in my belly. I wanted him. Not just his companionship or his gentle conversation, but him. His hands on my skin, his lips against mine, the solid weight of his body over me.

I should have been ashamed. Proper young ladies were not supposed to want such things. But I found I did not care about propriety anymore. I cared about Heath, alone and wounded by my rejection. I cared about the hollow ache in my chest that grew worse with each day of his absence.

I cared about the fact that I loved him back.

I loved Heath. Not despite the things he was not but because of everything he was. Gentle, intelligent, and kind. Protective and strong and utterly devoted. He had saved my life, cared for me, shared his books and his thoughts, and his solitary world.

And I had run from him like a coward.

"I love him," I whispered to the empty room, testing the words aloud. They felt right, felt true in away that cut through all my confusion and fear. "I love him, and I left him thinking I didn’t."

The knowledge galvanized me into action. I moved quietly around the small room, gathering my few belongings and stuffing them into my valise. If Heath would have me, then I wanted to be with him. Not just for stolen visits and careful conversations, but truly together. A life with Heath, however unconventional, was better than a life without him.

I pulled on a work shirt and pants, shoving my feet into my boots. The other girls stirred as I dressed, but did not wake. I quietly slipped out into the pre-dawn darkness. The yard was empty, not even the chickens awake yet. I ran across the wet grass toward the trees.

As I stepped into the hush of the forest, my palms began to sweat despite the cool morning air. What if I was too late? What if Heath had reconsidered? The familiar scent of oak and damp earth surrounded me, but it brought no comfort now. I wrapped my arms around myself as I walked faster, my footsteps muffled by the carpet of fallen leaves. He was well within his rights to turn me away.

Heath's cottage appeared ahead, smoke rising from the chimney. I paused at the edge of the clearing, my heart hammering so loudly I was sure he could hearit. How did one confess love? How could I undo three days of silence?

Before I could lose my nerve entirely, I crossed the clearing and knocked on his door. Heavy footsteps approached, and then the door opened to reveal Heath's familiar form. He looked tired.

"Alice?" His voice was carefully neutral. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to tell you something," I said, my courage nearly failing as I looked up into his shuttered expression. "I came to tell you that I love you too."

The words tumbled out in a rush, graceless and desperate.

Heath's eyes widened. "Alice," he began, but I held up a hand to stop him.

"Please, let me finish. I ran the other day because I was frightened. Not of you, but of how much I felt for you. I've never known anything like what you make me feel, and it terrified me. But these past three days without you have been awful. I can't eat, can't sleep. I can't think of anything but you and how badly I hurt you.”

Heath stepped aside wordlessly, and I ducked past him into the cottage. He closed the door and turned to face me, his expression unreadable.

"I love you," I said again, more quietly this time. "I do. I love your gentleness and your intelligence and the way you see beauty in poetry and flowers. I love how you've never made me feel like a burden or an obligation. I love that you saved my life and asked nothing in return." I took a shaky breath. "And I love you in ways that proper ladies aren't supposed to speak of. I want to be with you, Heath. If you'll have me."

Heath's answering smile was like a sunrise. "Of course, I will," he said.

And then he was leaning down to me, his lips finding mine despite their different shape. His mouth was broader than a human man's and I could feel the smooth curve of his tusks against my cheeks. But the gentleness, the careful tenderness of it, made my heart race. This was Heath, all of him, and I wanted every part.