Page 103 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
He had seen, but he hadn’t…allowed himself to know, to consciously recognize the reality for what it was. Because that reality—being needed by her—was a large part of what powered the talons that were still sunk so very deeply in his soul.
His mind had refused to accept, but his heart, it seemed, had known. Not allowing himself to register the truth hadn’t saved him from it—from its effect, from its power.
And it wasn’t only from her that he’d sensed the tug; the lure of being needed—of being wanted—had been so pervasive, coming from so many people and directions in the Vale, that he’d been drunk on its seduction.
Lips thinning, he flexed his shoulders as if he could thus dislodge the memories.
Regardless of all temptation, regardless of all the potential benefits, he couldn’t give in. His jaw clenched; despite the clear assumptions of Lucilla, Marcus, and all in the Vale that, having seen and appreciated the role they believed he was fated to fill, he would surrender and stay, he couldn’t. He couldn’t, in effect, bend to their Lady’s will.
He’d made up his mind long ago that nothing else in his life mattered—could ever matter—more than that he remain in control of it, thathedefined and directed his path without interference from any other source.
When he’d finally understood what had been happening in the Vale—the trap that had been set for him, however well-meaning—he’d felt…in essence, betrayed. He hadn’t seen until his eyes had been opened—and it had almost been too late to wrench back. He’d almost been unwittingly press-ganged into a life quite different from—and far more dangerous than—the one he’d set his mind on.
Hismindon—not his heart on.
The words whispered through his consciousness as he reached the railings of Stirling Square; he didn’t remember turning south, but his feet had carried him along by rote. As he paced along the wrought-iron fence, he reminded himself why following one’s heart wasn’t a wise thing to do. Wasn’t a safe thing to do. Why following the directions laid down by a cool and calculating mind was far better.
As he turned into Stirling Street, he squared his shoulders in preparation for the ordeal ahead.
Ordeal by young lady and matchmaking matron; he really would rather be somewhere else.
A fleeting image of that somewhere else, with Lucilla, flared in his mind. In hindsight, his anger—all the righteous anger he’d felt when he’d realized just what she’d done and why—had been misdirected. And overwrought. A concurrence of Fate and some villain’s machinations had delivered him into Lucilla’s hands, and although she’d manipulated the situation, she had done so purely to show him the possibilities, the prospect that lay before him and her, giving herself and all in the Vale a chance to lay the full gamut of their temptation before him. Yet, at the last, she hadn’t tried to hold him against his will. She’d let him go—she hadn’t wanted to, but she had, as if she’d understood that she could never bind him, not against his will and not counter to his commitment to self-determination, to his own way forward.
He had to give her that, had to credit her—and her Lady—with that much understanding and integrity.
You need to learn to think with your heart as well as your head.
Manachan, again.
Reaching Quentin and Winifred’s open front gate, Thomas shook off the yoke of his memories and climbed the steps to the front door. It was opened by their butler, who smiled in welcome, took his hat and cane, then showed him into the drawing room.
The cacophony of dozens of voices, all striving to be heard through the babel, washed over him. Winifred, standing a few steps from the doorway, saw him; she beamed with genuine delight as he bowed over her hand. Straightening, he leaned in to kiss the cheek she tipped his way. “A very good crowd, dear Aunt. Are you pleased?”
“I’m more pleased to see you here, dear boy.” Winifred waited while he exchanged a nod with Quentin, who was having his ear bent by one of the local politicians. “Now!” Winifred tapped his sleeve with the furled ivory fan she was carrying. “There are several young ladies you should meet.”
He inwardly sighed but didn’t try to resist; when it came to his aunt’s matchmaking aspirations, he’d learned that it was better to surrender gracefully. Now that Humphrey was settled with his Andrea, Winifred had turned the full focus of her attention on settling him respectably—and as her goal was, in this case, aligned with his, he did his best to be grateful.
Winifred introduced him to a Miss Mack, who had recently arrived from Perth to visit with her sister. As soon as he’d exchanged a few words with her, Winifred drew him on to make his bow to Lady Janet Crawley, whom he’d met previously, but who, this evening, had a cousin, Miss Vilbray, in her train.
After several such introductions, he felt a deep ennui descending over him; the faces of the ladies seemed to blur—they were soft, charming, sweet, shy, or coy, yet none seemed able to hold his attention for longer than the few minutes he spent conversing with them before Winifred whisked him on.
This was, in reality, no different to other soirées he’d attended, but for some reason, it felt more oppressive.
More senseless.
Winifred finally released him to his own devices, and he was standing for a second in the middle of the room, with streams of conversations swirling around him, yet, for all that, he was essentially alone…when the truth struck him.
And that sense of having made a cataclysmic mistake rose up and nearly choked him.
To you, I will always bring life.
Every young lady he’d met that evening had lacked precisely that—life. True vibrancy, the sort that welled from the soul and set fire flaring behind clear eyes and added a tangible glow to their presences.
Lucilla embodied the quality, at least to him. And with her life, she broughthimalive. Fully alive in a way that nothing and no one else ever had.
And with his eyes now fully opened to what might be, to what he might have—to what waited for him in the Vale—hecouldno longer pretend that any other, here or anywhere else, would ever hold a candle to her.
Shehadbrought him life, exactly as she’d promised, a deeper, truer appreciation of what life might be—what his life could be.
