How nice it would be to feel you sought me for the pleasure of my company and not because Kristian sent you… But he didn't. I was brought up not to show my feelings. A bird began to sing in the hedgerow; he was aware of its bright eyes through the stiff mesh of twigs. His hands—one on her waist, the other cradling her head—felt like trails of fire.
It's been such a peculiar evening; we had a would-be burglar or someone in the garden and everyone's jumping out of their skins. But I just can't. You can't! She stared at him, trying to draw some response to her distress; trying to see some hidden sign that he did not mean what he was saying. Perhaps you realise now that Madeleine was ill because Pierre had attacked her.
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