Page 43 of A Second Chance for Carys
For a moment he was tempted to answer that they should do exactly like the couple in the solar and make use of the table behind her to slake their own needs. Did she have any idea what it was doing to him to have her body so close to his?
“Get the hell out of here before it’s too late,” he whispered back. “I have no intention of hearing Richard make salacious jests about cream shooting out of him and I fear we are headed that way.”
To his delight, Carys let out a tinkling laugh, far too loud for the purpose of staying discreet. When the couple in the other room became silent, he understood she’d done it on purpose to warn them they were not alone, just like he had done all these months ago with Matthew and Branwen by coughing. The grunts and moans were replaced by whimpers of dismay and grumbles of frustration. A moment later the door opened again, and silence settled back into the room.
“It seems that once again we were in the wrong place at the wrong moment,” Carys murmured.
James could not quite agree. The wrong moment, yes, perhaps, but not the wrong place, since she was with him, and he was holding her.
“Yes,” he said nonetheless. “Last time I couldn’t even tell you what was going on. I felt really bad about that.”
She giggled, a sound he had missed more than anything else. “There was no need for any explanation, I understood easily enough. And to tell you the truth, I’m glad I didn’t understand what Matthew told my daughter.”
Yes. It was probably for the best she had not heard what had been said.
He cleared his throat, guessing they would not kiss now. Somehow, because of the interruption, the moment had passed, and some sanity had come back to him. He now felt desperate to do what he’d wanted to do weeks ago. Kissing could wait, this confession could not. And perhaps with luck, it would lead to kissing—and more.
“Listen, Carys, the day Margaret arrived I had made up my mind to talk to you,” he started, letting go of her soft, all too distracting body. If they touched, he might not be able to say what he had to say. “But after she’d claimed to be with child, I could not. I thought I would have to marry her and it did not feel right to open up in those circumstances.”
Carys’ face softened. “I understand. But you could do it now.”
Yes. It was the obvious solution, but he was oddly intimidated. Where could he start? At the moment the revelation had struck him, maybe. It would have the added advantage of giving him the opportunity to apologize for his behavior.
“That day, when I saw Richard kissing you in the hall and offering you a future with him, I went mad.”
“Yes. So I saw.” The words could have sounded like a condemnation but the look in her eyes betrayed the fact that she had liked his reaction. Relief swept through him. He’d feared she would take him for a crazed, possessive madman laying his claim over a woman he had no right to. Apparently, she had not.
“I did not go mad because I thought you belonged to me,” he specified nonetheless. “But seeing him kiss you and talk to you about the future made me see that I should have been the one to do it. Only…I didn’t think I could.”
“Why didn’t you?” Carys’ tone was encouraging. In that moment he knew she wouldn’t judge. After what he had confided in her the day they had kissed, she would understand.
“Because I was scared. I still am.” There it was. The truth he had shied away from and thought he would have difficultyexplaining, slipping out of his lips as naturally as if it had always meant to be uttered in front of her. “I’m scared of being with someone, of going through what I went through with Joanne, of losing more children. That is why in all the years since her death I never looked for anyone to be with. That is why I didn’t dare examine what I have come to feel for you. I had resolved to end up my life alone and I didn’t know how to question this decision, or even if I wanted to risk it.” He shook his head. “Forgive me, I did not find the courage to accept what I wanted.”
“There is nothing to forget. I understand.”
Carys’ chest constricted and expanded at the same time. Constricted because she was sorry for the pain James had been through, expanded because, despite his fears, all was not lost. It so happened that she might be the one person he could allow himself to be with.
It was time to make a confession of her own, a confession she had wanted to make for some time. She hoped it would give him the strength to act on his budding feelings for her.
“Perhaps with me you don’t need to worry.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, hiding her face against his chest. Not looking at him would help her to voice what she needed to say. She spoke with her mouth at his pectoral, willing him to give her a chance. “Because I will never give you children. There is nothing to fear. Whatever we do together, there will never be any issue. You will never father a child on me, I can?—”
“You never know. You’re younger than me, and my aunt was well past her fortieth year when she gave birth to her last son. My own mother had me late in life, as I told you.”
He sounded almost offended that she should consider herself too old to be a mother, even though anyone in their right mind would concede that a woman her age was past her child-bearing years. But that was not what she meant.
It was obvious she would have to be clearer. She should have started with that part but she had hoped not to reawaken her own demons. “No. You don’t understand. It’s not just my age. I…I’m barren.”
After saying the terrible word out loud, she nestled herself closer into his embrace and waited. There it was, the tragedy of her life. What would James do with the revelation? An arm, warm and comforting, wrapped around her shoulders.
“You are?”
She nodded, tears stinging her eyes. “The greatest regret of my life is never having known the joy of carrying my own children. I raised Branwen and Eirwen, and I love them dearly, as you know, but…it’s not quite the same. It’s not quite the same.”
“No.”
There was a silence. Then James asked, his voice low and soothing.
“How do you know you’re the barren one? Forgive me for saying as much, but if your marriage never produced any children, it could have been due to your husband’s inability, not yours. People are quick to put the blame on the woman in such instances, but as I see it, there are two people in a couple. Dewi could have been?—”
