Catherine Archer - Lord Sin

If some mystical fairy godmother had previously appeared and told her this would be happening, that this devastating man would so gently take her earth-stained hand in his, Mary would not have believed it possible. As it was, the event occurring without any hint of warning, her sense of unreality was numbing. She felt as if she was submerged in some thick fluid that hindered thought and speech.

She could only feel.

His hand was large and warm on hers, sparking a tingling current in her icy fingers. His dark eyes studied her with obvious concern as she looked up at him, not able to breathe properly around the tightness that gripped her throat as their glances grazed.

Mary looked down and found herself no more able to control her reactions to the rest of him. The dark brown fabric of his coat was molded perfectly over his wide shoulders and her fingers itched to trace them, to see if they were as hard as they appeared. Her gaze dipped lower, running over a paisley print vest that lay smoothly over a starched white shirt. His dark brown trousers were without even the slightest unwanted crease on his long legs. Again she realized that Ian Sinclair was indeed the embodiment of her every girlhood fantasy.

And that was what brought Mary to her senses. She was not a girl, but a grown woman of twenty-three, long past the age when most young women married. She was far too mature to allow a man’s physical presence to so overcome her own natural reticence.

She suddenly became infinitely conscious of her own disheveled state, her faded dress, her tousled hair beneath the old straw bonnet. A man like Ian Sinclair could not be serious in his intentions toward her. She was the daughter of a country vicar, he the son of a peer of the realm. Though she could not fathom the reason for his interest, she must not take his obvious concern to heart. It was only her own vulnerability over her father’s death that was confusing her. Pride made her fight the tears that threatened to spill at this thought.

Ian stood looking down at Mary Fulton and was surprised at the depth of compassion he felt as he saw the tears glistening in her golden eyes. He’d not been able to get her out of his mind since seeing her yesterday, and he’d convinced himself it was because of his having frightened her. He had decided that the preoccupation would go away if he came and apologized, offered his condolences on the loss of her father.

But as he studied her delicately lovely face now, Ian had the strange feeling that there was something different about Mary Fulton. That there was an unnamable force drawing him to her. His gaze lingered on the pale curve of her cheek as he watched her fight for control. For some reason her battle for dignity moved him more than he dared admit to himself.

He spoke gently. “Is there something I can do?”

She looked at him then, her expression bleak. “No. There is nothing anyone can do. I must simply learn to bear it.”

“But you needn’t do so alone,” he reminded her. “Why do you not go up to Briarwood now? Victoria has told me that she has invited you to come and live with them. They would welcome you at any time.”

She was shaking her head even before he finished. “I cannot do that. It would not be right.”

Ian raised his hands in surprise. “But what do you mean? Victoria has made her affection for you clear to me. She is eager for your companionship.”

Mary glanced up at him, then away, her eyes unseeing as she stared across the yard. “I could not do anything so thoughtless to Victoria and Jedidiah. They have only been married for less than a year and have already helped me more than anyone could hope for. They have a right to spend this time, with the baby coming, together without my problems to concern them.” Her gaze flicked to his again and she raised her chin. “I shall seek a position as a governess, or…I don’t know. I shall just have to find some suitable employment.”

“But they are expecting—"

She halted him there. “Please. I have made up my mind. Victoria is not responsible for me. I wish to find my own way, to feel that I have not taken charity.”

He watched her with growing admiration. What courage and pride it must have taken for Mary Fulton to make this decision. Few young women would reject such an overture as Victoria had made to her friend. The offer she had made had clearly come out of love alone, with no expectation of return.

He tried once more to convince Mary. “There is no need for you to be so self-reliant. There is no harm in allowing someone who loves you to care for and provide for you.”

Still she did not look at him as she answered in a quiet but steady voice. “We, my father and I, have lived in Carlisle since I was a very small girl. In that time we have been dependent on the Thorn family’s generosity, though it was not given out of charity in the main. When my father was the minister he earned his keep. But do you realize that over the past year he had been able to perform none of his duties? Victoria has been so kind in allowing us to stay here. I love her more than I can say, but I cannot allow her to keep giving so much to me. It would not be right.”

He could hear the iron determination in her tone. Something told him that Mary Fulton would do exactly as she had decided, no matter what anyone else thought best. Her stubborn independence was a characteristic he could admire even while he felt a sense of frustration toward her.

Telling himself he had no right to question this young woman’s decisions, Ian still found himself shaking his head as he admitted, “I admire your will even though I cannot agree that you have chosen in your own best interest. You are very brave.”

When she looked up at him, her golden eyes were glistening like wet topaz and Ian was hard-pressed to remember he had no part in her affairs, that he had told Victoria he had no designs on her friend. Almost as if it were against her will, Mary whispered, “I do not feel very brave. I simply must make a life of my own somewhere. Staying here would be too difficult with Father gone.” Her voice broke as he watched her fight to control her emotions. “I cannot think of what life will be like without him.”

One large tear fell from her eyes to glide across the pearly surface of her cheek. His heart contracted painfully in his chest. Ian could no more stop himself from reaching out to her than he could stop the moon from turning around the earth.

There beneath the sheltering limbs of the weeping willow, Mary’s composure broke and she allowed Ian Sinclair to draw her close to him. His chest was firm and strong under her cheek. All her life she had longed for someone to care for her this way. Her father had loved her, but he had not been one to hold and comfort her. He would likely have spoken to her philosophically of the troubles she was experiencing, told her that the Lord sent the trials of life to strengthen his flock. But she had loved him.

The tears began to flow in earnest when she felt a large handkerchief pressed into her hand. Now there was no stopping the tide as she held the square of soft cotton to her face. It was as if she could no longer hold back the pain that she’d bottled up inside her since her father’s death.

Only when her sobs quieted did Ian Sinclair say anything more. Gently he patted her back, murmuring, “There, it’s all right. Sometimes a grief is just too big to keep inside. You walk around feeling like you have it all under control but it’s there, someplace inside that aches just enough to keep you from ever forgetting.”

His voice was deep and comforting next to her ear, but at the same time she could hear a strange current of pain in his words. This man had suffered hurts of his own. Realizing this left her feeling unsettled and, much as she wished to deny it, she sensed a change beginning to take place inside her—a change she did not quite understand.