It had been a long night. He was aware that once she knew that touch, that contact between himself and a living human being was possible; it would change everything between them.
He toyed with wiping the knowledge from her mind, but he could not take away something that he longed for with such passion, such fury. If fate had conspired to open the pathway, he needed to thoughtfully, carefully make sure the way was clear and as safe as he could make it for her. Obviously starting with his true feelings, his deepest emotions were the place to begin. Indeed, there were risks ahead. Crossing the line, making the connection for personal reasons was quite frowned upon by the spectral fraternity, but it had happened before, and the world continued to spin. All Daniel Gregg could hope is that once he had opened his heart, the lady would respond in kind.
He noticed Scruffy's ears perking up at his sigh, and decided to take the dog into his confidence. Saying the words aloud, words he had worked so intently to avoid saying for so long would take practice, and he knew that he could confide everything safely to the small canine who watched him so seriously from the rug near the doorway.
"So my furry friend, your lady, and if I may so fortunate to call her that, my lady as well, has finally become aware that we are not as 'separated' as I had earlier claimed." Pacing across the attic, Captain Gregg knew he had reached a moment of crisis, or was is perhaps opportunity? Smiling to himself, he recalled her shock and then hopeful smile as she saw him take Claymore's hand yesterday, but she seemed unaware that he had observed her there in the entryway to the parlor. "In truth," he continued in his soliloquy to the small, attentive dog, "I have struggled not knowing if I ever could, ever should share all of this with her. While it was not my intention, and despite the lack of intent, it may well work to our mutual benefit."
Sitting at the desk, he took up a quill, and pensively dipped it into the inkwell there. "Yes, seeing is a step forward, but it also requires I, at last, speak of what is in my heart as well." Bending over the parchment-like paper, he easily found the words to communicate what he wanted, needed Carolyn Muir to hear.
Murmuring to himself, he paused, struck out a few words and added others to the poem. Finally content, he waved Scruffy up onto the chair, knowing he would need an audience, a chance to rehearse to make the presentation flow. "In truth Scruffy," he began, "I've no clue exactly what may come of this, but I know absolutely that the time has come to speak." Clearing his throat, he took his paper in hand and stood before the small dog who watched him with unblinking eyes. "Madam I do not pretend this bit of poetry is worthy of you . . ."