Page 43 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
“I need to speak with Ferguson. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hesitated for a moment, his gaze on her, then he inclined his head. “Good night.”
She seized one last moment to scrutinize his features, to try to fathom what he was thinking, but failed. Left with little option, she inclined her head in return. “Good night.”
The last glimpse she had of his face as she turned and, raising her skirts, started up the stairs suggested concealed relief.
Why?
What on earth was going on between them? Instead of being the simple, straightforward, obvious path defined by the alignment of similar goals and desires that she’d always envisioned their way forward would be, their path to the altar was increasingly resembling a tangled maze—at least with respect to his intentions. His goals and desires.
Very rarely did she feel uncertain, but now she felt bemused, unsure—and onthis, of all issues, the single issue most critical to determining her future. More,boththeir futures—his as well as hers.
She’d walked blindly up the stairs, through the gallery, and along the corridor. Sufficient light fell from the skylight over the stairwell for her to see her way, not that she’d been looking. Reaching the door of the room she’d been given, she opened it, walked through, and shut the door—all still in a daze.
While she undressed and donned her nightgown, she let her mind range as it would—over all the previous moments she’d shared with Thomas. Revisiting those moments, each separate interaction, critically reanalyzing every word, every look.
She had thought he’d known, that he’d understood, as she had, that he and she were fated to be consorts. Lovers. Spouses. Husband and wife. Ever since she’d trulyknownbeyond question, during that Christmas Eve he and she and several of her relatives had spent in a crofter’s cottage ten years ago, she’d interpreted his reactions toward her on the assumption that he knew and understood, too.
He was Lady-touched, as she was. He’d lived under the Lady’s rule, or so she’d thought. She’d assumed he’d known…
But if he hadn’t either known or understood, why had he behaved as he had?
She climbed into the large tester bed, lay back, and pulled the covers to her chin. Staring, unseeing, upward, she searched for an answer.
Her memory of each of their meetings was acute; reviewing all that had occurred, reliving each moment yet again…
No. She hadn’t imagined anything. The intensity of the attraction that had flared every time they’d met, and that had escalated with the years, had been and still was impossible to mistake.
It had consistently been there, in his eyes, in the way his jaw set, in his touch.
Remembering the last time they’d waltzed, at the Hunt Ball two years ago, still made her tremble.
There was no possibility of denying such an attraction—and to give him his due, she didn’t think he’d tried.
Instead, as he had that evening, he’d simply turned and walked away from it.
Walked away from her.
Which, she had to admit, confused her no end.
She knew intensely passionate men—every man in her family was built that way. She was far better acquainted with their foibles than she would ever have chosen to be.
But that meant that she should understand him. That his actions should make sense to her, in one way or another.
Yet at the moment, she didn’t know what was going on—what issues, what considerations, were making him back away from an attraction that should have seen him fighting to keep her in his arms.
Instead, he’d let her go and walked off.
She didn’t know whether she was insulted, or angry, or just plain confused.
With her thoughts gradually slowing, she closed her eyes and reached for the Lady—sensed her comforting presence, an elemental heartbeat softly rolling beneath the blanket of the night.
Gradually, the confused tangle of her thoughts sank deeper, leaving revealed the rocks to which she could—should—cling.
He wanted her—every bit as much as she now wanted him. Desire between them ran strongly, a rope connecting them no matter what either might wish or will. The Lady had ordained that, and neither she nor he had the power to overcome, eradicate, or dismiss that.
The Lady had ordained that he and she would wed, that he—Lady-touched and therefore a guardian of his people, whether he understood that or not—would be her consort. Neither he nor she could step away from that destiny without suffering drastic consequences; their lives would never run smoothly or well, but would, instead, be shrouded in miseries.
But no matter what the Lady decreed, people, even those Lady-touched, still had free will.
