Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time) (13 page)

Elinor stopped several feet back, hands jammed into her jeans pockets. She gave him her best, stone-faced stare, feigning umbrage. Basil's "forgiveness" didn’t offend her, not really. However, she didn't want the haughty devil to think the audacity of his comment went unnoticed. Her pretended indignation failed.

Basil impatiently motioned for her to catch up. "Don't get your feathers ruffled and come here while I'm talking to you."

“Devil,” Elinor huffed and joined him.

"I wondered if you've ever been in love."

Although they stood side-by-side, Basil's face was shielded from her view when he posed the question. A shrub with small, spiky pink flowers appeared to hold his interest. The delicate petals lifted when he reached to touch them.

"No." Elinor shifted position so she could see his face. Why was he interested? She studied him, trying to guess his purpose. Did he feel as muddled about her as she did about him?

Basil glanced up. "Is something amiss?" She shook her head and he returned his attention to the bush. "Out of curiosity, if you were to fall in love, how do you picture your ideal man?"

Maybe she read his expression wrong, but Elinor thought he seemed relieved when she'd said she hadn't been in love. She wasn't sure what to make of his response and her mind wandered as Basil rolled the pink buds between his fingers in a slow caress. Elinor gave herself a mental shake and asked for clarification. "Are you asking how I picture him physically or what character traits are important to me?"

Basil waved his hand in the air as though it didn't matter "Start with the physical. How do you envision him?"

Two different answers came to mind and she paused to consider the choices. Keep the description generic or tell him the truth? The truth won out.

At first, she thought it better to gaze into the distance, be less obvious, more contemplative. But then, with a rare burst of bravado, she thought, hell, if I’m going to tell the truth, I may as well look straight into my vision's eyes.

"He should be tall. I like tall men. I'd like him well built, broad shouldered and strong. His face should be nice and this is important--” Elinor leaned toward Basil, thinking, hoping he’d be able to read between the lines. “He should look very masculine. Maybe, he'd even bear a less than perfect aquiline nose. Men who have soft features make me uncomfortable. I always suspect they'd be more attractive in a dress than me. I like dark hair, especially when it's long." She tapped her lips with a forefinger. Smiling, she said, "Oh, a nice bum would be a bonus."

Basil's soft laugh sounded almost shy and more than a little self-conscious as he touched a finger to his nose. He started to reply and hesitated, then said, "Ah...should we start to wend our way back?"

They turned away from the stream, leaving the wood to walk on the grassy field. Basil clasped his hands behind his back again but didn't say a word.

"What were you going to say?"

"Nothing."

"Not fair! I answered your question. Did my description upset you?" She hated having to ask.

"No, not at all. I'm a bit confused." Basil didn't elaborate and continued walking. When they were within sight of the house he stopped and faced her. "Does Sean Connery look like this man you described?"

"What--what?" The strange question came out of nowhere. "Yes. How do you know about Sean Connery?"

"I heard some women speak of him." Arching a brow, he narrowed his eyes at Elinor, "Some of the things they said were quite shameless."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Well, you said your description fits this Connery fellow."

If only she could shake him until his teeth rattled. Then, when she had his attention, she'd tell him. Idiot, it fits your description too. Since that wasn't an option, she went with a noncommittal response. "It describes a lot of people."

"This Connery is a Scotsman. Do you prefer your ideal man a Scot?" he asked, eyes fixed on her.

Elinor caught on to the purpose of his question. "No. An Englishman would be more than fine with me.”

Neither moved. More than anything she wanted to touch him, touch his hair, his face, his mouth. Her gaze fell upon the scar over his neck. Dull white at the edge, the rest had acquired a slight pinkish sheen as some scars are wont to do.

She traced the length of it with her finger. It started at the base of his ear, curved down and ended at the hollow of his throat. How forceful the killing blow must have been to cut through his mail. Above, another scar perhaps three inches long ran straight across his throat. Did the same French blade make both or was there another? Did it matter?

Basil stepped within inches of her and ran his fingers down her cheek near her ear, tickling the baby fine hairs. His hand continued slow and light as he moved his thumb over her lower lip. Elinor edged closer wanting more. His large hands cupped the air near her face as he bent and whispered, "Elinor."

She closed her eyes in anticipation.

"Nora!" Someone in the distance called. Elinor jerked, and opened her eyes, turning towards the house. Lucy stood at the end of the pasture fence waving.

"I forgot Lucy was stopping by on her way to Nottingham this afternoon," Elinor mumbled with a long sigh of disappointment. When she twisted around Basil had gone. "Basil?" No one answered. She plastered a smile on her face and headed for the house.

"Sorry, Luce, I didn't realize the time."

Lucy tilted her head and stared hard at the area Elinor came from, before she turned around. “Who were you talking to out there?”

"No one," she said, without missing a beat.

"I could have sworn I saw you talking to a man dressed like a highwayman."

"It must've been a shadow. Trust me, if I'd been talking to some gorgeous, tall, dark-haired fox, you'd know about it."

Lucy blocked Elinor's path. "Hold on just a second," she said and wagged a finger. "It's funny you should say he was tall with dark hair, because I don't recall saying that. You're supposed to tell me, your best friend, when someone tall, dark and looks great in boots crosses your path."

"You're right. You didn't say tall. Knowing you as I do, I simply filled in the blanks." Elinor stepped past Lucy and forced a laugh. "Don't worry. If someone fitting your description drops from the sky into my drawing room, you'll be the first to know. Now, let's go inside before you start seeing ghosts again."

Inside, Lucy went straight to the refrigerator. "How did the date with Jeremy go? More importantly, is he going to ask you out again?" She took a soda and sat across from Elinor at the table.

"The date went okay." The evening with Jeremy was the furthest thing from Elinor's mind. "He called me early this morning." One shoulder lifted in a lazy half shrug as she told Lucy about the short conversation. "He sounded strange. He talked really fast and was so muffled, I had a hard time understanding him. If I didn't know better, I'd say he had his hand around the receiver. The call couldn't have been more than a minute long."

"What did he say?"

It wasn’t one of those male-female conversations a woman commits to memory. "He asked me out to dinner Thursday."

"You don't seem very excited. Are you going?"

"I guess so, but I told him it would have to be an early night. I have school in the morning." Deep down, she was relieved the date would be short. "He has to get up early too, but Thursday was the only night he had available. On Saturday, he leaves with his mother for Yorkshire."

The corners of Lucy's mouth curved down, "He's not a momma's boy is he?"

"No, it's not what you think. She asked him to drive her around while she shops for retirement property."

"All right, that’s acceptable." Lucy put her bottle down. "You're oddly unenthusiastic about a handsome and charming man. Let's get to the interesting stuff. Is he a good kisser and did you sleep with him?"

"You know I don't sleep with men on the first date, and he's not a good kisser." Elinor got up and busied herself with kitchen chores. Even if he was a good kisser, Jeremy's couldn't compare to Basil's. No amount of busy work could put that thought from her mind.

Lucy walked over and took Elinor by the arm. "You know you're being silly. Nobody. I mean nobody waits anymore. It's stupid. Men don't put up with women who play hard to get. They don't have to. The sooner you realize it, the better off you'll be. No one will think you're a slut, believe me. You need to get with the times. Besides, it’s not like you’re a virgin.”

Elinor rolled her eyes and went back to wiping down a counter. “News flash, there’s a good chance I’ll never sleep with him.”

"How bad was this kiss?"

"Like kissing a plunger, is that bad enough for you?"

Lucy wrinkled her nose at the comparison. "Kissing badly doesn't mean he's bad in all areas."

Elinor patted Lucy's hand and walked away. "I agreed to go out with him again, a date, that's all. I am what I am. I'm not turning myself inside out for anyone, and I won't be badgered into having sex. Okay?"

"Whatever you say, my Victorian friend. Just out of curiosity, your reticence doesn't have anything to do with that dark Zorro look-alike I hallucinated does it?" Lucy cackled and grabbed her purse, "No need to give me your Medusa stare, I'm on my way out, t.t.f.n."

"Oh, ta-ta for now yourself," Elinor grumbled at Lucy's departing back, "and I'm not in the least Victorian."

Elinor heard the car drive away as she stood at the archway to the drawing room. Guy, ever fascinated by the record player hovered around the machine for hours on end, today being no different. He’d recently taken to listening to his favorite songs, over and over. She debated her options. Should she risk sitting in the drawing room with a good book? Could she bear hearing
Born to Be Wild
, for an hour straight? Or should she try to find Basil? Common sense dictated when he wanted to return he would.

She ventured into the drawing room. As expected, she found Guy picking through rock albums.

“Have you listened to some of the classical records I have? I think you might like Mozart or Beethoven,” Elinor suggested, curling up at the end of the sofa.

“I have heard them. Their music is just that, only music. I like the songs with words. I like to listen to the story.” Guy turned to her. “Can I play one or two for you?”

“Certainly.”

“Pay attention to the lyrics. You’ll see what I mean.”

“Yes, sir, I will, sir.” Elinor snapped a hand to her brow in mock salute. Guy’s eyes narrowed and the tiniest of frowns came and went before he fixed his attention on the stereo.

The rich bass voice of Bill Medley came on with the first lines of
You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling
. Elinor stretched a leg out and rested her head on her arm. The song was one of her favorites.

Guy sat on the floor next to the sofa. “Listen, can you not feel the heartbreak in his voice?”

“Every woman I know loves this song. It’s great to dance to, even though it’s about a breakup.”

Guy tipped his head and looked up at her. “One day we will have to dance to this.” It ended and he got up to put another record on, “Now this one is most perfect for a man to woo a lady by.”

Her eyes widened with curiosity. A statement like that, coming from Guy, would have a saint holding her breath in lusty curiosity. Exile’s
Kiss You All Over
, came on, and Elinor couldn’t resist laughing. If ever a song suited a man, this one fit Guy to a “T.”

He lay down on the floor with his arms folded behind his head. A slow smile crept across his face as he closed his eyes and tapped his foot to the music. A low, primal growl preceded one stanza, “I love this part about being her fantasy,” he said, with another soft growl.