Part 6 (1/2)
”I . . . I'm not sure. I'll think about it.” With visible effort, Simon focused on his guest. ”At least when you're no longer brooding about my house with a broken heart, the London weather may improve from this gray and gloomy dampness.”
A knock sounded at the front door a few feet away. Not waiting for his butler, Simon swung it open. A neatly dressed groom offered a sealed letter. ”A message for Lord Ballister, sir.”
Duncan moved forward to take the letter and give the messenger a coin. ”Is a reply expected?”
”No, sir.” The groom bowed and returned to his waiting mount.
After closing the door, Duncan broke the wax seal curiously. Few people even knew he was in London. His face stiffened as he read the polite words of the message.
Catching his expression, Simon asked, ”What's wrong?”
”Lady Brecon requests the honor of my company at my earliest convenience.” Duncan grimaced. ”A pity I didn't leave five minutes earlier.”
The other man's brows arched. ”I would have thought you would be happy to hear from her.”
”Considering her fury when she bolted from our last meeting, I suspect she wants to spell out in greater detail how utterly ungentlemanly I am.” Duncan paused, distracted by the memory of their one kiss. . . . ”I'll call on her on my way north.”
”If you'd rather not, I can send a message saying that you've already left town.”
”She has the right to castigate me. I shall confess my sins, apologize profusely, and leave.” It would be worth harsh words to see her one last time.
What a thrice-d.a.m.ned fool he was.
By the time Duncan reached Richmond, he had his emotions well in hand. The finality of their last meeting made the situation easier, for he no longer had to worry about wooing Gwynne. This would be a chance to say good-bye and wish her well for the future, no matter how angry she was.
Since he needed a wife, a good ending might make it easier to look elsewhere when the worst pain of loss wore off. The Macleods of Skye had a quiverful of attractive daughters, all of them magically talented. Perhaps one would catch his fancy. Wedding a fellow Scot would be altogether better than a reluctant Englishwoman.
Lady Bethany's butler recognized him. ”If you will wait in the small salon, my lord, I shall inform Lady Brecon that you are here.”
Duncan stepped into the salon and was. .h.i.t by a blast of psychic energy that would have curled his whiskers if he were a cat. What had Lady Bethany been up to?
Since Gwynne would probably keep him waiting, he decided to use the time to sharpen his a.n.a.lytical skills. He paced around the room and tried to sort out the different energy signatures. Interesting-there were clear traces of several council members. They must have used this room for a session, and recently.
He tried to determine what subjects they had discussed. There was a heaviness in the atmosphere that suggested concern about impending war, but there had been other topics as well. He had a distinct sense that his name must have come up. . . .
”My lord Ballister.”
He was so involved in his a.n.a.lysis that Gwynne's voice startled him. He spun about to see her poised in the doorway, as if ready to take flight. Her powdered hair was pulled back severely and she wore a simple green-striped cotton morning gown. The very chasteness of her appearance was almost unbearably provocative.
He took refuge in a deep bow. ”Your messenger caught me just before my departure to Scotland. I am grateful for this opportunity to take my leave, and to offer you my deepest apologies. It was wrong of me to deceive you at New Spring Gardens. My only defense is-” He hesitated, realizing it was hard to defend the indefensible. ”-it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
His honesty won a slight smile from her. ”That thought is surely at the root of most human folly. Pray take a seat.”
He settled in a chair warily, thinking this would be easier to understand if she were more obviously angry. Instead, her mood was conflicted and . . . determined?
She stayed on her feet, moving about the room with a restlessness that belied the serenity of her face. ”Our relations.h.i.+p has been as fraught as a summer storm, my lord.”
He thought of the squall that had blown up on the day they met because he had failed to control his reaction to her. ”You are a woman who inspires storms of pa.s.sion, not tepid breezes of mild affection.”
”You are the only man who has thought so.”
Her pacing temporarily halted while she gazed out the window. The silhouetted curves of her lush figure made him swallow hard. ”If you haven't been besieged by suitors, it's only because they didn't know to seek you in your library.”
She turned to face him, her expression somber. ”Why are you so interested in me? Is it something about my appearance? That's a shallow reason for deciding that you must have me. Or do you just enjoy conquest and my resistance is a challenge?”
He could fall into those golden eyes and never come out. . . . He forced his attention back to her words. ”Acquit me of such shallowness. Yes, I am a man and enjoy feminine beauty, but I am also a Guardian. When we met I saw not only your beauty but your intelligence, your integrity, and your warmth. I knew as surely as I know the shape of the wind that if you honored me with your hand, I would be entranced and in love for as long as we both live.”
She blushed and looked away. This time it was the pure line of her throat and profile that caused his heart to beat faster. He would think she was deliberately teasing him with her beautiful self to torment him, except that such behavior was not part of Gwynne's nature. But there were strange undercurrents swirling through the room, and their conversation certainly wasn't following the course he had expected.
Visibly steeling herself, she faced him again. ”Are you still sure that you want me, and only me, as your wife?”
He didn't understand this, but his pulse began quickening. ”I am sure.”
”Then if you wish it . . . I will marry you.”
Her words dizzied him. He must be dreaming. It was the only explanation.
But the world was too sharply real for a dream. He could feel the breeze rippling through Lady Bethany's trees and count the swift pulses beating in Gwynne's slender throat. ”If you are serious . . . yes! A thousand times yes.” He drew a shaky breath. ”And I hope to G.o.d that you are not saying that to torment me.”
She smiled a little. ”If I'm the paragon you think, I would never behave so badly.”
There was a moment of uncertain silence. Pulling himself together, he used his inner senses to read her. Unless she could control her emotions like a master mage, she was completely sincere-and as frightened as a kitten menaced by a wolf.
”Gwynne.” He closed the distance between them and enfolded her in his arms, forcing himself to be tender rather than giving in to crazy exhilaration and frightening her even more. ”My matchless, indomitable lady. Please don't fear me. I'll never hurt you. I would strike off my right arm first.”
For a moment she was stiff as a statue. Then she gave a little sigh and softened against him, hiding her face against his shoulder. He wanted to talk, kiss, laugh, make love to her-preferably all at once. ” You won't regret accepting me, Gwynne. I swear it on my honor as a Guardian.”
”I hope you're right.”
She raised her head, and he was shocked to see tears glinting in her eyes. Not tears of joy, either, unless he had become deaf to emotion. ”What's wrong? Are you already regretting the thought of marriage?” The question that should have occurred to him immediately struck. ”The last time you saw me, you wanted my guts for garters. Why did you change your mind?”
She blinked back her tears. ”Lady Bethany said that I should marry you. After considering the matter, I agreed.”
”You'll marry me against your will because she ordered you to?” Anger surged. ”Sweet Jesus, Gwynne, what kind of marriage would that be? We are not children to tamely agree to arrangements made by our elders. I will not take an unwilling wife.”
He started to pull away. She caught his wrist. ”I did not accept you against my will,” she said tautly. ” Bethany said that . . . that I would balance you. That I should surrender to the part of me that catches fire whenever we meet.”
He wanted to be persuaded. Dear Lord, how he wanted to be persuaded. But he wasn't quite witless. Trying to read into her soul, he said quietly, ”Is that true, Gwynne? For we must have truth between us, or we are better off apart.”
”The bald truth is that from the beginning I have found you equally attractive and intimidating. Cowardice was winning until Bethany decided to take a hand.” Gwynne's smile was tremulous. ”I'm still afraid-of leaving my home and friends, of going to a strange land. Most of all, I fear marrying a man who has such great power when I have none, even though you have given me no reason to fear you.”
He caught her hands and raised them for a tender kiss. ”You underestimate your own power, Gwynne. Eve's magic is even more ancient than that of the Guardians.”
”I hope you're right.” She smiled with wry surrender. ”I do know beyond doubt that with you I can reach heights I have never before imagined. That is worth facing my fears.”
This was the strangest proposal and acceptance he'd ever heard of, but honesty was a good beginning. Perhaps she had felt guilt about marrying again, and permission from her late husband's sister freed her to risk her heart once more.