The door opened again, and in Brynne walked, interrupting my reminiscent ramblings.
Understatement. Of. The. Year.
She stood over me with sexy eyes that looked rather green at the moment, and slowly reached for the hem of her shirt.
I felt the breath empty out of my lungs.
She lifted her shirt up and over her head, and dropped it on the floor. Then she shimmied out of her soft leggings and flung them over her shoulder. Left in nothing but some skimpy pink knickers and a bra, she looked nearly the same as she did before she’d become pregnant, with the exception of her scar and a magnificent set of tits that were even more spectacular now.
I put my hands behind my head and grinned up at her, unable to come up with anything particularly clever or witty to say, but mostly because my mouth went dry when she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra.
My beautiful girl let me know, and showed me, yet again, what a rarity I possessed in her love, as she had from the very first.
Rare.
Brynne’s love was something rare—a gift.
A precious gift I’d been given, by some divine twist of fate that had brought her into my world…and changed everything about me. About how I saw things, about what I dreamed for the future, about my capacity to move beyond the shadows of my past.
Brynne’s love changed absolutely everything.
Part Four
SPRING
Take me down, take me down by the water, water,
Pull me in until I see the light,
Let me drown, let me drown, in you honey, honey,
In your love I wanna be baptized.
Daughtry ~Baptized
CHAPTER 20
26th April
Somerset
IT was a simple wedding held in the garden, overlooking the sea. The bride and the groom looked very happy, as they should. I winked at Brynne, admiring how delicious she was in her periwinkle lace. The same dress she’d worn the night of the Mallerton Gala, and now getting double-duty as a bridesmaid. She shot me a wink back, along with one of her sexy half-smiles.
Hannah’s dress was rose coloured, and looking at her reminded me of photographs of my mother. I often wondered what that was like for my father to see in his daughter, the spitting image of his wife, as she would have looked when he lost her. He’d kept his thoughts on the matter private over the years, so I imagined whatever they were, would stay that way.
Today was for celebrating something new, and for that, I was so grateful, because after finding Brynne, and learning what it meant to love someone so deeply, I finally understood the depths of what he’d lost, and why it had taken him three decades to move on to a new love.
Today was that day for my father, and he was able to finally make the move forward…with his lovely Marie.
ONE of my biggest surprises was the dramatic change in someone I had absolutely no hope would ever come around. But, stranger things have happened, I suppose. Didn’t matter on my part, of course, but for Brynne it was critical, and if I was being completely honest, good for my daughter as well.
Watching my mother-in-law holding Laurel captivated on her designer-clad lap, was proof that her heart did indeed beat, and wasn’t made of stone as I would have sworn it was. She looked…like a real grandmother.
She actually sought me out during the reception, which shocked the hell out of me when I least expected it.
“Ethan?”
I turned to meet her inquiry with as neutral a stance as I could manage.
“Laurel is getting fussy and Brynne told me to bring her to you. She also said that Laurel is her daddy’s girl.” She handed my fitful daughter over.
“Right,” I said, adjusting Laurel facing outward against my chest how she liked, and rocking her tiny body gently from side to side. “Thank you, Claire.”
“She’s absolutely beautiful, just like Brynne,” she said softly.
I nodded in agreement but didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept quiet.
“Thank you, Ethan.”
“For what, exactly?”
“For keeping my daughter safe, and for loving her so much, and for making her so very happy.”
I felt my eyes grow wide, not believing what I’d just heard.
“Oh, and for this little miracle right here.” Claire took one of Laurel’s hands and kissed it, before turning to go back to sit beside her husband. I couldn’t envision myself ever getting on with Claire very well, nor forming much of a relationship with her. I didn’t want to be unforgiving, as much as…remembering the many times she’d hurt my beautiful girl so badly, and not ready to let all that go just yet. But for Brynne, and now for Laurel, I would have to try.
THE two of us went to our special place. I’d figured out early on, when Laurel was cranky and tired, she was soothed by gentle words and the stimulation of simply looking out at objects of beauty. So while the wedding partying was still raging, I slipped away with my little princess and took her into the house. Along the way, we stopped to look at things of interest like paintings on the wall, or flowers in a vase, or the view of the sea shining out from one of the windows.
When we went through the door to my study, she kicked her feet and made a cooing sound as if telling me to hurry my arse up and get there already.
She made me laugh at her baby antics, and she was only three months old. How would things be once she started talking? Oh God…or walking?
I inhaled and couldn’t find the scent of my clove cigarettes anymore. This was very good. I was determined to make it off them this time. I hadn’t had a smoke since Switzerland, and no longer craved the scent of the spice. I liked to think my therapy was helping me to disassociate the smokes with being alive. I had real reasons now.
“There it is, little one. Your favourite.” Laurel kicked her legs out and cooed at the portrait of Brynne in my office. “You know that’s Mummy, don’t you?”
She gurgled happily and gummed two of her fingers.
“Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw her at the art gallery?”
Two little kicks hit my abdomen in quick succession.
“She walked into the room and headed straight over to this very portrait hanging on the wall, and stared up at it. Mummy didn’t know it at the time, but I’d already bought the portrait for myself.” I laughed softly. “Crafty Daddy, I know, but I simply couldn’t help it. It was the way she looked at me from across the room that caught my attention. And she was so beautiful. So beautiful…”
3rd May
Somerset
“NOW that it’s my turn behind the camera, I think I can see your attraction to photography, baby,” Ethan told me, as he used my camera to snap multitudes of photographs I couldn’t wait to see. My naked back faced the lens, but Laurel faced Ethan over my shoulder. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold out posing for him, though. There was only so much I could do with a squirming three-month-old in my arms.
Ethan laughed softly through the shutter clicks. “I see you, Princess,” he said to Laurel.
“What is she doing, besides trying to leap out of my arms?” I asked.
“Oh my God, she’s smiling so much. It’s like she’s posing for the camera.”
“Well, I’m sure she knows exactly what you’re doing with that camera. She’s seen it pointed at her constantly since she was born.”
“I know, but she just looks so happy right now,” he said.
He snapped some more pictures of us. The photos were his idea. He asked me if he could do them and I agreed, of course. There weren’t many things I could deny him, and this was something he’d asked for specifically, just for him. He’d asked me shortly after I told him I was finished with modeling. I know my announcement pleased him. Ethan had accepted the nude modeling before, because he’d had no input in my choice for doing it. Now, he’d been given the opportunity to respect my decision to give it up. He was still the same, deliciously possessive, handsome, dominant, and sometimes irra
tional man I’d met exactly one year ago, and the idea that no more male photographers would see me naked, was a clear-cut positive for him.
Why did I give up my modeling?
Quite simply, I had no need for it anymore. The things that defined me were so much more than physical, and I’d changed and grown throughout the past year while discovering that knowledge about myself. And I’d learned to love.
But most importantly, I’d allowed myself to be loved.
I don’t think any of the good that happened to me in the past year would have occurred if not for Ethan. I believed that with all of my heart. Nobody could have done for me what he did. Only Ethan’s love could have found its way into my desolate heart. Only Ethan’s love gave me the security I needed to trust again, and to love myself again.
Only him.
“Of course she’s happy. She’s looking at her precious Daddy.”
EPILOGUE
28th May, 1838
I have written of the weight of my guilt many times upon these pages. Moments when I was consumed so greatly, I could not see a future of any kind ever becoming a possibility. A heavy burden, carried for years until one person helped me to cast it away. I know there will be times I feel guilt still cloaking me, but for the first time, I have some clarity of forethought to understand how my burdens did nothing to help any of those who have been lost to me.
Darius saved me from myself. Of this, I am very aware. Without his love, I am certain I would not breathe to this day, nor would my heart beat within my breast.
There is great beauty in the simplicity of giving oneself to another in trust, and allowing them to hold you up. My Darius taught me this lesson. From the beginning, he could really see me. I believe he is the only person to ever see inside my soul. A rare gift, which has served to give back to me—my life.
He gave me our precious Jonathan, and also the gift of serenity in letting my J. go. I now know J. is at a peaceful place, where what transpires in this earthly realm, is but a speck floating along in the oceans of time. In the hours of the darkest kind, Darius has ever been my light. My lover who saw inside my battered soul and freed me.
M R
I set down the journal and looked over at the mermaid angel statue facing out to sea. Brynne loved it from the first time she saw it. The unusualness of the design was compelling, but now that we knew the story behind its creation, it was much more than an appealing piece of carved stone decorating the garden wall.
I’d read this particular passage many times. I probably had it close to memorized by now. The private thoughts written by a woman who lived in this house nearly two hundred years ago. Found by Brynne in a secret drawer of an old desk. When she showed me the journals, I read them, of course. They were a novelty, a glimpse back in time of daily life in the same house we now lived. This one particular entry stuck with me though. It was relevant.
I’d figured out from the very first time I read it, the name Darius could be exchanged for Brynne, and it became my truth.
In the hours of the darkest kind, Brynne has ever been my light. My lover who saw inside my battered soul and freed me.
THE END
FROM THE AUTHOR
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a spoiler-free review on Amazon. You have my grateful thanks and appreciation for your time.
REVIEW LINK for Rare and Precious Things
It wasn’t easy to write THE END on the previous page. In fact, I can’t even say that this is absolutely and finally the end for Ethan Blackstone and his American girl, because I never know the answer to that question, and I try very hard not to become a liar. I always say if I have more story for them, I will write it. But, for now, they should be left to their hard-earned HEA. They certainly deserve it after all they’ve been through. There will be more stories coming for some of the other characters you’ve met here, though. *winks* I bet you can guess. If you are interested, I have a discussion group on Facebook for people who have finished reading.
DISCUSS Rare and Precious Things
For those of you who are curious about the journals of Marianne in this story, you can turn the page, and read an excerpt from The Passion of Darius to see if my historical romance is to your liking. Darius and Marianne’s story was my first published book, and very special to me for many reasons. Tying their love story into Rare and Precious Things was a joy.
I’ve also added a taste of Neil and Elaina from Cherry Girl, here for you to sample. Theirs is the beautiful story of two people who desperately needed a second chance to fight their way back to each other. I hope you will read and enjoy.
I have endless thanks to my readers, who inspire me daily with good wishes and encouragement, or just to drop me a line and say how much they enjoyed a particular portion of a book. Your enthusiastic support inspires me with new stories to keep us all busy for a very long, time. I am indebted to you. Raine has the BEST fans on the planet. Truth!
To my dear hearts at NS and SC, I couldn’t do this without your friendship, love, and daily commiseration. Truly, I would be a blubbering, hot mess 24/7. Love you so much.
I wish for all of you, a wealth of good stories, well told.
xxoo Raine
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A word about PTSD and Combat Stress…
In my Blackstone Affair series, you’ve read about Ethan and his struggles with flashbacks and night terrors resulting from PTSD, coming from his wartime trauma. These experiences can have a devastating effect on daily life and relationships, as they did for Ethan in my books. For many soldiers, their fight goes on, long after their military service ends, some, for the rest of their lives. Statistics show as high as twenty percent of enlisted personnel may suffer from PTSD. There is help.
USA
http://www.ptsd.va.gov/
http://ptsdhotline.com/
UK
http://www.combatstress.org.uk/
The Passion of Darius ~ excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The Declaration
Somerset Coast, 1837
DARIUS chose his seat strategically every Sunday. Close enough to catch her scent just from sitting behind her in church. He waited for it, knowing what would come, for he was well familiar with her choice of perfume. The soft essence of violets floated to him, its delicate sweetness stirring and calming both at once. Savoring the instant when he could draw even the tiniest part of her into himself, Darius indulged in the simple pleasure of breathing her.
Her neck was his favorite. He loved to look at the place where her coffee-colored hair swept up with just a few strands escaping. Indulging in wild dreams about her, he imagined how she’d look with all those glorious waves spilling down over her pale, naked flesh. Of how he would brush it aside and put his lips to that spot he so desired to know. He thought of the triumph of possessing her totally. Of her soft, pliant body beneath his hard, commanding one, accepting him inside when he took her.
Wanting her so badly was nothing new. He’d known the feeling for a long time. Marianne was perfection in Darius’s opinion.
Marianne might be perfect, but her father was an idiot. Mr. George was a weak man. He had turned to drink after the death of his wife, bringing them to the brink of ruin with his drinking and gambling. At the pace he was going, Darius figured her father’s descent would sit well with his own plans regardless. Being a patient man, Darius didn’t think he would have to wait much longer. Her father would see to that for him.
THE hair on the back of her neck tingled and she knew. His eyes were on her. Again. Marianne looked around as soon as the service ended. Yes, indeed. He stood there staring—his dark eyes calling her to meet his gaze.
Her father nodded politely at him. “Mr. Rourke, good day.”
“Mr. George. Miss
Marianne, you look well today.” Mr. Rourke greeted both of them warmly, but his eyes rested only on her.
“Yes, sir, my Marianne is very fine. She takes after her mother, God rest her soul.” He crossed himself. “I daresay there’s not any more beautiful to be found in all of Somerset,” he boasted.
Marianne wanted to crawl under a pew in mortification. Why did Papa say such things? His thinly disguised attempt to throw her into the path of a wealthy gentleman such as Darius Rourke was grossly inappropriate. She felt her neck flush with heat.
“Papa, please!” She pulled at her father’s arm to lead him away. Offering a sympathetic look to Mr. Rourke, she mouthed a silent, “I am sorry,” for her father’s boorishness before turning to leave.
“What? Can a father not want the best for his child? He admires you! It would serve you well to encourage him, lass!” He practically shouted his opinions at Marianne as she led him out to the churchyard. Mr. Rourke would have to be deaf not to have heard.
“Shhh, Papa!” She vowed silently to skip church next Sunday for she didn’t know how she could face Mr. Rourke after this horrifying display.
Something compelled her to turn around. And Marianne knew exactly what would be waiting when she did.
Still standing in the same spot, tracking her, Mr. Rourke smiled, his perception all-knowing, as if he’d been assured she’d turn back to him.
Oh, dear God! I must be in hell.
At least a decade older than her, Mr. Rourke was a quiet man, possessing an air of mystery that hinted at the level of intensity to his character, but remained properly veiled under the gentlemanly comportment of his station. He conveyed a subtle influence in most of his dealings with others, not entirely discernible in anything he said or did, but recognizable nonetheless. Marianne thought him handsome. With his noble features, he attracted the notice of many women. Tall and broad shouldered, he filled out his fine European suits brilliantly. His skin held a darker cast than was typical for an Englishman, a golden hue that complemented the dark hair and eyes perfectly. He was simply beautiful.