The Last Summer
By Frances Tate
Part Two
Richard tapped on the windowpane and waited .
It was earlier than his visit the previous evening when he ’ d made the acquaintance of the second most interesting creature in his long life … And left her unconscious on her bedchamber floor . He rolled apology across his finger with his thumb . The single rose he ’ d scoured the private gardens of London for , thorns carefully snapped from their guard posts , pirouetted across scrubbed skin .
This evening he had fed without drama and now presented himself , immaculate , for her approval . Or dismissal . He looked up to find Mercy appraising him . Eye to eye , or as close as her lesser height permitted across the level floor of bedroom and balcony .
“ May I enter , My Lady ?” He offered the rose . One deep red flower in full bloom , the heady fragrance beating against his reason . One bud in waiting . “ Your reputation will be assassinated if I am seen on your balcony , bearing flowers , no less .”
“ And because of that notoriety , my reputation may well out-live me .” She made no move . Showed no decision .
He held his ground and his pose , awaiting her verdict .
Unsure what he would do if it ruled against him . Irritation . Patience .
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