Catherine Archer - Lord Sin

He halted her with a raised hand, shaking his head regretfully. “Mary, I did not mean to insult you. I have misspoken. I simply wanted to talk to you, to make you understand that you have no cause to avoid me. I know how much you must need your friends right now.”

Mary could only stare at him, surprised by the seemingly genuine concern in his voice. The moment stretched on and she felt almost as if she was being pulled down into the dark, mysterious depths of his eyes.

Even as she watched, his expression changed. Those eyes became yet deeper, more sultry. Mary’s pulse quickened in her veins, though she tried to calm it.

She knew this was wrong, knew with utter certainty that it was mad for her to allow Ian Sinclair to matter to her in any way. He was the son of an earl. Mustering every ounce of her will, she looked away. “I…thank you for what you did for me…in the church.”

“What did happen in the church?” he asked, studying her closely. His face was set, making the fact that he refused to be put off quite evident.

She glanced over at him again, forcing herself to remain coolly polite. “I am simply afraid of heights. I had a bad experience in the bell tower as a child. I should not have tried to go up there.”

His gaze was compelling. “Why did you, then?”

She wanted to lie, to make up some story that would salvage her pride, but her upbringing would not allow her to do so. Yet neither was she able to resist his will for her to answer. “I…know this must sound terribly silly, but I wanted to be closer to my parents. Before I was held at the edge and threatened with being tossed over by two illbehaved boys from the village I would often go to the bell tower to speak with my mother. After that I could not go back.”

“That is quite understandable,” he answered with surprising kindness. “All of us live with the fear of something. And as far as thinking you silly for wanting to be closer to your parents, nothing could be further from the truth. I had my own special place to go in the wood at Sinclair Hall to speak with my mother. She died when I was born.”

She nodded, somehow touched by his sharing this with her. “It does seem as if they can hear you better in certain places, does it not?”

He nodded his own head. “I continued to go there until I was seventeen. That was when I went to live with my grandmother in London, after…” Ian stopped as if he had suddenly realized he was saying more than he wished to, his lean jaw working. “Well, enough of that,” he concluded with studied charm. “It was you we were speaking about.” In spite of the change of tone, Mary could see the tension in his stiffly held shoulders and neck. She wondered at the depth of unhappiness in him, as she had that day in the garden when he had spoken about the way unresolved hurts can influence one.

Looking at him from the outside, it seemed impossible that anything could so affect this man. He had wealth, social position and an undeniably handsome form and countenance. But each time she caught a glimpse of the man inside she sensed his hurt, and it drew her to him even more. What could possibly cause him such deep loneliness?

He went on, drawing her attention away from her thoughts, his gaze unwavering on hers. “Why today, Mary, when you are already under such constraint because of the loss of your father? Why would you try to overcome this fear now?”

Again she felt compelled to reply. “Today I just…” She looked down at her hands where they lay twisted together in her lap. “I just wanted to be free of my fear. I’ve never felt so afraid of things in my life as I have of late. I feel so uncertain about what will happen to me, about the decisions I am making.” She unconsciously waved a hand over the London papers, which lay where she had left them.

The silence that greeted her admission made her look at him in surprise. Ian had bent forward and was reading the circled advertisements with a fixed expression. He raised his head to meet her gaze, and his lips thinned. “You are seriously looking for a domestic position.”

Mary was confused at his obvious disapproval. She raised her chin. “I am considering taking a position, yes.”

“But why, when there is no need for you to do anything so extreme?”

She stiffened, refusing to look at him again. Mary would not allow him to influence her with those eyes. “I will do as I think best.”

His reply was cold. “I see. You may of course do as you will. But may I be so bold as to say that if this is really what you want to do, then it is doubly important for you to be with your friends now. For Victoria’s sake as well as your own you should spend some time with her before leaving. I wish you would not stay away from Briarwood simply because I am a guest there.”

Mary could think of no reply to this. She rose to her full height, albeit on trembling legs. “I appreciate your concern for me in the matter of Victoria. It is very kind of you. And now I must ask you to leave. There is no further need for you to stay. You have done more than anyone could have asked of you.”

He bowed. “As you wish, Miss Fulton. Don’t bother to see me out. I am quite capable of finding my way.”

As she heard the front door close behind Ian, Mary unhappily found herself recalling how she had clung to him as he carried her, how she had been more than willing to allow him to find the way for both of them. Mary gave herself a mental shake. She would not think about that. She must stand on her own feet. There was nothing to be gained in relying on this man. Nothing could come of a liaison between them, nothing but ruin for herself.

Yet his words about her last opportunities to be with Victoria kept ringing in her mind. She had not thought about the way her absence would feel to her friend. And it was quite unlike her to ignore the feelings of others. Much of her time was spent ministering to the poor and needy in the village. How could she ever forget to consider her dearest friend?

Should she then not spend what could possibly be her last remaining weeks at Carlisle wisely? To use Ian Sinclair’s previous questionable behavior as reason to avoid going to Briarwood seemed unreasonable. He had not tried to take any untoward advantage of her at this meeting. He had been the soul of propriety. It was her own thoughts of him that had been inappropriate.

Should she allow her unacceptable attraction to this man to keep her from her friends? Mary had failed at conquering her fear of going up into the tower. Was she to fail in overcoming her fear of her own attraction to Ian Sinclair?

Before she could allow herself time to reconsider, Mary penned a note and gave one of the Anderson twins, who lived on the other side of the lane, a coin to take it up to the manor house for her.

She then went up to her room at the back of the house. It was a simple chamber, the only furnishings being the bed, a heavy oaken wardrobe, a night table and a chair. But the walls had been painted her favorite shade of pale pink and the counterpane was patterned with tiny red pansies. As she opened the door, the breeze from the open window brushed the ends of the lace curtains across the hardwood floor.

For a moment she paused in the narrow doorway, knowing she would miss this room very much. She had grown up here, conjured her own girlish fantasies of a happy future, a man to love her, children, a comfortable home with a garden, of course.

With a self-deprecating shake of her head she pushed the thoughts aside. None of that was to be, and she’d best get used to it.

With this thought fixed firmly in her mind, Mary went to the wardrobe and took out the one fashionable dress she owned. The rose pink gown with its full hooped skirts and low scooped neckline had been a completely impractical Christmas gift from Victoria. Though she wore the hooped confection only to Briarwood, she was secretly quite pleased to own it. Even a simple vicar’s daughter felt the occasional need to look fashionable and attractive.