For a long moment, she looked into his caramel-brown eyes and wondered if, given what they’d already shared and the intensity—the power—of what had flared to life between them, she would ever be content with retreating to being just friends.
I simply can’t see it.
But marriage?
He’s asked for an understanding, not a cast-iron commitment.
She had so much to think about. To think through.
My choice—but I don’t have to decide this instant. Or even today.
As if reading her mind, he said, “Think about it. Carefully. As I said, the decision is yours.”
He shut his lips on the rest, but she grasped the implication regardless—once you make that decision, there’ll be no going back.
She nodded—as much to herself as to him—just as the clanging of a bell shattered the bucolic peace.
They both sat up and looked around. The sound had come from the inn.
“It must be dinnertime.” He got to his feet and held out his hand to her.
She gripped his fingers and rose, then released his hand, swiftly redid the buttons of her bodice, and shook out her skirts.
She raised her head, and he reached out and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear.
Their gazes held for an instant, then they turned and, side by side, made their way back to the inn.
CHAPTER9
Their company rode out of Carlton Scroop at first light.
Accustomed to being up before dawn to watch his horses training on Newmarket Heath, Nicholas had no trouble with the early hour. Nor, apparently, did Adriana. From the instant she’d come downstairs that morning, she’d been focused on one thing—finding The Barbarian.
Dickie, however, was not an early riser. He’d dropped back to ride with Rory and Young Gillies, where he wouldn’t be expected to converse beyond grunts, leaving Nicholas to lead their small troop with Adriana beside him.
He’d spent a restless night, plagued by dreams interwoven with and inspired by recent memories. To say his rest had been “disturbed” would be an understatement.
He glanced sideways at the female who had featured so prominently in those disturbing dreams; she was riding alongside with her gaze fixed unwaveringly ahead. After considering the sight for several seconds, he faced forward and wondered—not for the first time—what it was about her that so captivated him.
Yes, she was beautiful, but many ladies were. Her personality, on the other hand, was certainly unique.
The previous afternoon, when she’d come to find him in the stable, he hadn’t had any idea matters would progress to the point where, with full knowledge of what he was saying and doing, he would make the declaration he had, much less issue such a stipulation.
Regardless, he’d meant every word. And still did.
What was making him decidedly uneasy was that he’d reached that point—the point of making deliberate and definite statements regarding him, her, and a joint future—without engaging in any notable degree of rational, logical thought.
He was known as a cautious man, yet she, reckless, impulsive, and impatient, effortlessly drew forth his streak of Cynster wildness.
He’d always been aware the hedonistic propensity to throw himself into a situation was there, deep inside him. All the Cynsters had to it to some degree. In his immediate family, Prudence had indulged that side of herself for most of her life, while in Toby, the same inclination showed in his addiction to the excitement of the missions he undertook for Drake Varisey. The streak was weakest, if it was there at all, in their younger sister, Meg, but in virtually all his cousins, male or female, that susceptibility to the thrill of danger—in whatever shape danger manifested—was very much a character trait.
From an early age, he’d learned to hold against the temptation of that side of his nature, to rein in his natural impulsiveness and think before acting.
Yet when it came to Adriana, the conditioning of years had comprehensively failed.
He hadn’t thought—not at all. He’d simply known.
Known to his bones that she was the lady he wanted as his wife—more, whom heneededas his wife.
