Jorgen turned and reached out to her. Tears spilled from her eyes and she stepped into his open arms, pressing her cheek against his chest.
“My brave girl,” he whispered against her hair as he swept it away from her face. “Do not cry.”
How could she cry now? She made an effort to stop, taking deep breaths, but oh, how good it felt to be held in his warm, strong arms, to press her face against his broad chest. Concentrating on the warmth of his body made the tears dry up.
She had no right to let him hold her like this. She didn’t want to hurt him, and she could not marry him, so she should step away from him right now.
But she didn’t have the strength to push him away. She would stay like this for a bit longer. “Thank you.” She closed her eyes, memorizing how warm, how safe, how exhilarating it felt to be embraced by him. She breathed him in as guilt assailed her. “Thank you for saving us today. I do not know how we would have escaped had you not helped us.”
“I am pleased I was there, where Anna could find me. And grateful you were not hurt. You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“Not at all.” It was time to break away. She must. She took a deep breath, trying to make sure she remembered his smell—like evergreen trees, fresh air, and something else, something enticing—and let it out slowly.
With reluctance, she loosened her arms from around his waist and took a step back. But Jorgen did not let go. His hand stayed on her back, while the other came up and pressed against her cheek as he looked into her eyes.
The moment seemed frozen as they gazed at each other. When his eyes focused on her mouth, her heart started to pound and her breath left her chest. Would he kiss her? Did she dare kiss him? It would be easy to rise on her tiptoes and pull his head down to hers. She did not think he would resist.
A door slammed, causing Odette to jump. Cook’s voice came from the back of the house and called for Heinke to come and help her. “Make haste! The milk will sour before you get here.”
Odette let out a nervous half giggle, and Jorgen mumbled, “I should not,” as if to himself. He was still staring down at her, but his expression had lost its intensity.
He pulled away, stroking her cheek so quickly she wondered if it was accidental. “I must go. Take care of Kathryn.”
“I will.”
Did he want to kiss her? Was he thinking about it? Or had she imagined it?
19
THE NIGHT OF the margrave’s masquerade ball had arrived.
Two weeks had gone by in which Odette saw Jorgen only a few times when she gave her lessons to the children. And Mathis had visited her twice, to bring her flowers and to tell her about his costume for the masquerade ball.
“What are you wearing to the ball?” Mathis had asked her.
“I cannot tell you, or else, what is the fun of having a masquerade ball? You shall have to guess which maiden is me.” Perhaps it was not a good idea to tease Mathis, but she hoped he would not recognize her for a while and she could dance with Jorgen for the first few dances.
Rutger told her that many titled ladies and men would be attending the ball, as well as the most distinguished residents of Thornbeck. Odette and her uncle were invited, but she was sad that Anna and Peter were not. At least Jorgen would be there. Although she should not indulge her attraction to him so much, being able to talk with him would soothe the nervous flutterings in her stomach at being around so many highborn people.
Meanwhile, she couldn’t help being excited about her swan costume. Rutger had spared no expense with Odette’s mask. It was made of white swan feathers, and the eyeholes were outlined in black, but the rest of the mask was snow white. Her matching headdress framed her hair with white feathers.
Her gown was also white, with silver stitching on the bodice. The belt was decorated entirely with silver thread, and white feathers were attached to the shoulders of the gown. Her blond hair had been arranged high on her head but fell down her back in loose curls, with white and silver ribbons woven throughout.
Rutger was employing his carriage for the occasion, and Odette was grateful not to be walking or even riding a horse, which might have ruined her costume. She hoped the other ladies at the ball were dressed as elaborately as she was.
Sitting on the cushioned carriage seat, she reached up and touched her mask. It felt strange having something on her face. Would anyone guess she was hiding as many secrets as the mask might suggest?
Rutger was not wearing a mask, but he wore a turban in the style of the Saracens, as well as an elaborate matching robe, also in the style of the people who lived in the Holy Land. He said the men would not be expected to wear masks, and some of them might not even wear a costume.