Page 107 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
The butler beamed at him. “Mr. Carrick, sir! Welcome back. The master will be so pleased to see you.”
Thomas blinked. Master? Stepping over the threshold, he asked, “Marcus?”
“Oh, no, sir. I meant Lord Richard. He and the mistress returned two days ago.” Polby looked out at Phantom, standing placidly in the forecourt. “I’ll get one of the lads to take care of your horse and have your bags taken up to your room.” Polby shut the door and faced Thomas; his smile knew no bounds. “The mistress said you would return shortly. One learns that she’s rarely mistaken.”
Mistress… If “master” meant Richard Cynster, then by “mistress,” Polby meant Catriona, the current Lady of the Vale.
Thomas was already wishing he’d never been so foolish as to leave in the first place.
Hands clasped at his waist, Polby was regarding him with a mildly hopeful air. “I expect you wish to see Lord Richard, sir.”
Thomas debated that. If he had to face any of Lucilla’s male relatives, he would prefer to face Marcus, but…he supposed he should start as he meant to go on. He assented with a dip of his head.
And delighted Polby all over again. “If you’ll come this way, sir. The master is in the library.”
Thomas followed Polby along the wide corridor and waited outside the library door while Polby announced his arrival and his request for an audience, and inquired whether his lordship was willing to see him.
His lordship was; the deep growl of Richard’s voice carried a menacing quality.
Polby opened the library door wider and waved Thomas through.
He walked into the room feeling very much as if he was stepping into a cage with a potentially dangerous beast. The sound of the door quietly clicking shut only added to the atmosphere.
Richard was standing by a small table covered with fishing flies and the apparatus to create them; he’d clearly just risen from the chair at the table’s end.
He was middle-aged, now, with silver streaks at his temples, the strands very white against his black hair. Other than that, age had treated him kindly; his carriage remained military-upright, his long legs and arms well-muscled, and his shoulders still filled the width of his coat. He cut a fashionable figure in buckskin breeches and top boots, with a hacking jacket over a plain waistcoat and a simply tied cravat.
His face still resembled chiseled granite, and his expression couldn’t have been less forgiving. The dark blue gaze that rested on Thomas as he walked forward was razor sharp.
When Thomas halted, Richard growled, “Carrick.”
There was absolutely no welcome in the word.
Thomas inclined his head. “My lord.” He held Richard’s gaze. “I wish to ask for your permission to pay my addresses to your daughter Lucilla.”
Richard’s expression remained impassive. After a long moment, he arched his black brows. “Is that so?”
Maintaining his own blandly uninformative mien, Thomas merely responded, “It is.”
“I heard you were here. Staying here.”
In the room below Lucilla’s. Thomas had not a doubt Richard knew that—and understood rather more. But he wasn’t going to cross swords with Lucilla’s father, not if he could help it. Remaining silent seemed his wisest course.
“I should perhaps mention,” Richard went on, the aggression in his tone unmasked, “that although I don’t know the details of what passed between you and Lucilla, I have seen the effects.” Richard’s gaze, fixed on Thomas’s face, darkened. “I would really like to do some physical damage, and I’ve no doubt Marcus would, too. However, while such actions might allow us to vent some of our aggravated feelings, those actions would, sadly, be frowned upon by the ladies in our lives, so that won’t improve our situation.”
Thomas said nothing, just steadily returned Richard’s hard gaze.
After several long moments of studying him, Richard humphed. “At least you came back—I suppose that’s a start.” His stance eased fractionally, and he turned away, but then he glanced back to ask, “You do realize that, regardless of what I say, permission granted or not, it’s what she says that will count?”
“Of course.” Thomas hadn’t imagined anything else.
“Well, at least you’ve got that much clear.” With that muttered comment, Richard abandoned his prickly, disapproving father pose and headed toward the large desk. Waving Thomas to the chair before it, Richard rounded the desk and sat. Hands flat on the desk’s surface, he arched a brow at Thomas. “So—reassure me.” Leaning back in the chair, Richard gestured. “We both know her assets. If you succeed in gaining her consent, what will you bring to this marriage?”
Thomas had anticipated the question and had rehearsed his reply while riding down. Somewhat to his surprise, Richard had a keen grasp of business and asked several shrewd questions, but in the end, his putative father-in-law seemed satisfied, pleased—or, at the very least, appeased—by his answers.
In turn, he asked how Richard saw the Vale being run, and was relieved to detect no hint of reservation in Richard’s assertion that he, Richard, would teach him all he would need to know. He resisted asking about Marcus; Lucilla had mentioned that her twin’s place lay elsewhere.
When the questions and answers from both sides had been exhausted, Richard studied him again. Then he briskly nodded. “All right. Permission granted, for whatever good that will do you.”
