Page 60 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
Retreat took more effort, more strength than he’d expected—until that moment, he hadn’t comprehended just how definitely he would have to wrestle with himself as well as her.
But this was one battle he wasn’t about to lose. He was still holding the lamp in one hand, an added disadvantage. Blindly reaching, he set the lamp down beside him. Finally,finally, he lifted his head and forced his hands to do what they had to and set her back, apart from him. Then he dragged in a huge breath.
And looked down, into her emerald gaze.
She blinked up at him, swirling passion still sparking in the jewel depths of her eyes. Her gaze roamed his face, then returned to his eyes. She moistened her lips and simply asked, “Why?”
When he didn’t immediately respond, she elaborated, “Why are you resisting this?” She waved between them. “What’s between us.”
A direct question, one he didn’t want to answer, but as he looked into her face and saw both her stubbornness and her honesty clearly writ in her fine features, it occurred to him that answering in the same vein, holding to the same standard of personal clarity, might, in this instance, be the fastest route to ending this. More, to bringing an end to this in the right way, with understanding and honor.
She didn’t press him but waited, a tactic only those with supreme self-confidence tended to use.
But he knew his own self-worth, had his own self-confidence. “I have a very clear idea of what my future life will be. I’ve planned it for years—ever since my parents died and I spent a year here. From that time on, I’ve been planning my path.”
He had her complete attention; with her gaze fixed on his face, she nodded for him to go on.
Drawing breath, he eased back to rest his shoulders against the wall. Briefly, but clearly, he described his life in Glasgow, how he was the principal of Carrick Enterprises, what that entailed and the sort of work he did, all of which flowed into and informed his decisions about the sort of life, and the style of wife, he wanted.
He employed no obfuscation but continued to speak directly, as if to a close friend rather than a would-be lover.
And to his surprise, she listened without any strong reaction that he could see. She heard and drank in everything he said; her attention was of the same quality he’d seen her giving to mixing Manachan’s tonic—complete and absolute. And because of that, he didn’t need to specifically point out that she—wedded to the Vale as she was, and in several other ways so very muchnotwhat he was looking for in a wife—didn’t fit his bill. Rather than stating that she was far too strong a character, with the potential to be far too demanding, to require too much of him, of his attention, of his time, all he had to do was describe his wife—the lady he needed by his side. A lady with the right social connections in Glasgow, who would keep his house, bear his children, manage his household, and appear on his arm whenever he required her presence.
Lucilla listened to his considered, rational, and no doubt carefully constructed vision, and was mildly surprised to discover that, far from feeling as if her heart was being rent in two, far from experiencing his words as nails crucifying her soul, all she felt was a burgeoning impatience that he was still so far from seeing the truth.
Her confidence in that truth—in the Lady’s view—had never wavered, and despite his words, it didn’t waver now. And that wasn’t simply due to her lifelong belief in the Lady, nor yet her own stubbornness and a general unwillingness to let his direction trump hers.
Her certainty came from something even deeper. From an absolute conviction that, for him and her, there was no alternative, no matter what he thought or said.
He could argue until the cows came home, resist until he turned blue in the face, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t change the simple fact that he was hers and she was his.
She’d known for years that them being husband and wife was the Lady’s wish, Her plan, but until now, until this minute when she sensed that deep, abiding certainty in the bedrock of her soul, she hadn’t truly understood the simple fundamental truth.
This wasn’t simply a matter of the Lady’s decree. This was much more a matter of who they were—he and she.
They were lock and key.
Neither would ever be who they could be, not without the other by their side.
He reached the end of his recitation. His amber gaze sober, steady on her eyes, he softly concluded, “So I hope you now see why…” He paused, then mimicked her earlier gesture, waving between them. “Why this, what’s between us, can never come to be.”
She understood why he believed so, but she wasn’t sure where to go from there. She waited, but no obvious answer came; slowly, still holding his gaze, she inclined her head. “I understand and accept that that’s your decision.”
At this moment. At this time.
Her lungs felt tight, but even now, she didn’t feel cast down. Instead, she understood and accepted that the obstacle blocking their correct way forward was rather larger, and more deeply entrenched in his mind than she’d realized.
She could see in his eyes that her stance—her lack of the sort of fiery response he’d expected from her—was puzzling him. Confusion was already dawning in his eyes.
If he asked, she couldn’t explain her position—not now, not yet. She raised her head; pressing her palms together before her, she nodded more definitely. “Thank you for telling me.” She tipped her head, her eyes on his. “And now I believe I should bid you good night.”
She infused just enough wryness into her expression and tone to ease his mind—to avoid his confusion turning into suspicion, as it would if left unaddressed, undistracted. Subtle relief eased through his body and he pushed upright, away from the wall.
A gentle, reassuring expression on her face, she reached for the doorknob, opened the door, then with a last dip of her head, slipped into her room.
She closed the door and leaned back against it.
Several moments passed before, beyond the panels, she heard him shift, then she heard the soft click as he opened the door to his room, followed by another click when he closed it.
