Rachel Carrington (16 page)

Sinclair’s foul temper increased. “It is apparent that in these six weeks, you have not yet learned to hold your tongue.”

“And when are you going to learn that I never will! That’s not who I am! I will not bow down to a man simply because he’s a man and I’m a woman! If you want obedience, get a dog because you’re looking at the wrong woman. Maybe Sara gave that to you, but I can’t.”

His breath caught. “Why do you bring up Sara’s name?”

“I didn’t bring her up. You did.”

He scanned his memory, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when he’d mentioned his wife’s name.

“No, I did not. You are mistaken.”

She walked back to the settee and sat down on the edge. “No, I’m not. It was the first night that I was with you in town. Your fever was very high and you were coughing. That’s when you called out to Sara.

You still love her and I understand that. I guess that’s what made me see that I didn’t belong here.”

Sinclair pushed aside her understanding words with a wave of his hand. “My past with my wife has nothing to do with the here and now. I have decided to leave it in the past.”

“How can you when you haven’t even forgiven yourself? You think you’ve wronged her even though the situation was out of your hands. You talk about happiness and my belonging here, but you don’t even know what you want.”

“I know that I want you.”

Carla recoiled visibly. “You don’t mean that the way it sounds.”

“What does it sound like to you, Carla? If it sounds like I want you next to me when I go to sleep at night and next to me when I wake up in the morning, then that is exactly what I mean.” He walked toward her, reached for her, his hands closing around her upper arms. He pulled her to her feet, crushed her against him. “You cannot be surprised to know that I want to be with you. I crave your touch. When you are away from me, I think about you.” He pressed her palm against his heart. “And this is what you do to my heart. Can you not see how I feel about you?”

Carla wrenched out of his grasp and backed away. “You don’t know what you’re saying! I have only known you six weeks, Sinclair. Relationships take time to build, to grow, nurture. You don’t just meet someone, point to them and say I want you. It doesn’t work that way. And sharing a couple of intimate moments does not build a lasting relationship.”

He approached her once more, daring her to hold her ground. He smiled slightly when Carla’s defensive stance appeared. “You are frightened of what you feel for me.” His eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile. “That is why you are so determined to return to your world. You do not like not being in control.”

“Stop analyzing me!” Carla remained still though Sinclair saw the desire to run deep with the depths of her eyes. “Please don’t touch me.”

“If I could stop myself, I would, Carla, but I need to touch you.” His fingertips brushed her hair, sifting the silky strands across his knuckles. “And with every touch, I want more.”

Sinclair’s head dipped and he knew the exact moment when Carla’s emotions took a stranglehold on logic, putting it efficiently to sleep. Her hands moved and tangled in his hair. The thin strap of leather, which held the thick strands confined, snapped with a simple flick of her wrist.

He pulled her closer, a groan on his lips. His breath mingled with hers, his heart pressed against hers.

Body to body, soul to soul, she moved deeper into his life, his world, his heart. His tongue traced the corners of her mouth, teasing, touching, tasting and it was her turn to groan.

“Tell me,” he murmured thickly against her lips. “Tell me that I am not the only one of us feeling this way, Carla.”

“You are not the only one, Sinclair.”

“You want me.”

“I want you.” The confession sealed his desire and the pressure exploded within him. He had to have her…now. His hands ran the length of her spine, bringing her into full contact with his heavy erection.

“But we can’t do this.” The protest barely sank through to his muddled brain. “You want to revive the memory of your wife and that’s why you want to keep me here.” The words threw a bucket of icy water on the heat surrounding them. In an instant, he released her and strode across the room.

He looked down at the floor, struggling to regain his breath, his composure. When his gaze lifted, he met hers across the distance. “Sara has nothing to do with this. She is not a part of us.”

“How could she not be?” Carla touched a finger to her lips.

“She is not a part of us, Carla. I do not know what it will take to make you understand that, but my wife has been dead for three years. I choose to let her memory die as well.”

“But you still carry the guilt. Even when you kiss me, you still feel the guilt.”

“It was not guilt I was feeling just then. I wanted to take you to my bed.”

A hot flash crept up Carla’s cheeks. She licked her lips and closed her eyes. “I know that and for a minute, I wanted that as much as you did. But as I said, it isn’t right. I have to find my way home.”

“Even after this, you want to go home?”

“I at least have to find the way. I have to find out who I’m supposed to be mourning.”

“Have you asked Letta if there is a way you could see without returning home?”

“She said that she couldn’t interfere.”

“A look would not be interfering,” Sinclair pressed the point.

“I have to see for myself. I don’t want to rely on her eyes. In spite of my relationship with my parents, I would never wish anything ill on them. I want to know if my father is dead. I hope you can understand that.”

“I understand that you are running away from the thing you want the most in this life.” Legs splayed, hands on hips, Sinclair tilted his head to one side, desire and irritation blazing together. “You want me and yet, you want to fight me as much. I do not understand this.”

“You think our sexual encounters signify a bond between us. Ask yourself how long you courted your wife and that should tell you something. Did you manage to get her into your bed before you married her or was that not allowed? I suppose not. She was a lady, right? And ladies do not engage in that kind of activity prior to the bonds of matrimony. Isn’t that how it works with the women of your world, Sinclair?

Isn’t that why you’re so eager to get me into your bed? That is, after all, the only thing I’m good for. You want to sleep with me. It’s been a while since you’ve had a woman because of your guilt and you have a thirst for what you’ve been missing.”

Carla straightened the bodice of the gown that had been moved aside by Sinclair’s questing fingers.

“Well, I’m sorry. In spite of my age, I want more than just a one-night stand. I don’t just want a man who I can sleep with. I can get that back in my world…if I could get there. What you’re not ready for, I am. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going to the library and try to piece some more of these clues together.” She lifted her skirts and walked across the thick, expensive rug toward the door.

In two strides, Sinclair blocked her path. “I do not want you to go.”

She drew in a deep breath and looked down at her feet. “You’ve said that already, many times. It changes nothing.”

With two fingers under her chin, he tipped her face to his. “Look at me when you say that. Tell me you do not want to stay. You do not want to return home. You are home.”

Carla’s eyes shifted. “What I want and what I have to do are two different things. For both of our sakes, I have to walk away while I still can.”

“You have given me several reasons why you want to return home. Your job, your sister, to find out if your father is alive, but what you have not given me is the real reason why you are scared to stay.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I am through talking about this. You will never understand why I have to go home.”

He thumbed the moisture away from her face. “Try explaining it to me.”

“I can’t!” The words exploded from her and Carla tried to move away from him, but Sinclair wouldn’t allow even the slightest separation. His hands captured her upper arms with a gentle pressure.

“Why?”

“Because you have your own problems to think about.”

“My problems are not as big as you think they are.”

She whipped her gaze back to his face. “What do you mean?”

He slid his hands down her arms and simply held out one hand. “This is not something that I can tell you.

I must show you. It is time. Come with me and I will explain it to you.”

Carla slipped her hand in his and allowed him to lead the way. He saw the surprise on her face when he stopped outside the library. “You want to show me a book?”

“Not just any book…the book.” Sinclair motioned her toward the settee that she’d fallen asleep on so many weeks before. “Please sit down.” He walked to the shelves lining the walls and removed the thick volume of poetry. “It is the book you were reading when you fell asleep in your world.”

“The same book that stirred up a big wind when I tried to take it out of here.”

“Exactly.” He sat down beside her. “As I told you, it was my wife’s favorite book. She had most of the poems memorized before she died.” He thumbed through the pages until he came to one particular poem.

The page was dog-eared and wrinkled. He attempted to smooth the sheet with the palm of his hand.

“‘Oh that you would love me as I have loved you. Oh that our worlds would combine both in hearts as well as presence. My love for you is eternal. But your heart is not mine. I have laid claim to a man who will never be truly mine. Oh that you would love me as I have loved you.’” His voice dipped a notch and he stared down at the page, unable to continue. “This was Sara’s favorite poem.”

Carla leaned over his shoulder to see the words. “It’s depressing. Why would your wife like a poem such as that when she had this life with you? You gave her the world.”

Sinclair closed the book, keeping his eyes level with his hands. “Yes, but I never gave her my heart.”

Carla placed one hand on the book. “What are you talking about?”

He did raise his head then and he couldn’t keep the despair from his voice. He heard the words as they filled the library and bounced off the bookshelves and the pain lanced deep. “My wife did love me. She loved me with an unconditional love which is why she agreed to marry me. She married me knowing that I did not love her. I cared her for her very deeply, but I did not love her, at least not the way that a man loves a woman. I loved her as I did my sister and that was what she was to me. I did not love her when I married her and I did not love her when she died.” He lowered his head once more. “You wanted to know why I still carry the guilt of Sara’s death around with me. Now, you know. She never had my heart and in the end, she did not even have me at all.” He got to his feet slowly. Without looking back, he left her, his steps heavy upon the imported carpet.

Carla didn’t know how long she sat there thumbing through the thick poetry book, letting Sinclair’s words sink in and sympathizing with Sara. What must it have been like to live with the Duke of Heath, to bear his name and know that he did not love her? She must have ached inside, loving him, and wanting to be loved in return.

As the pages turned beneath her fingers, the familiar words leaped out at her, off the page, into her heart.

“‘Were I to have one chance at love, I would cross the lines of sea and time to make you mine.’” The same poem she’d begun several weeks ago when she was still actively looking for clues. Now, she felt hope dwindling. She still shouted the words to Sinclair, told him that she would have to find her way home. The choice had to be hers. But what if something or someone had already made the choice for her? What if this really was her fate and she didn’t have any options? Could she be happy living here with a man who was so wrapped up in his guilt that he would never open his heart to her?

Carla shivered and dropped her gaze back to the page. “’My heart would call out to yours and draw you into my world. My heart would make you mine.’” She stopped, lifting her eyes to scan the shelves lined with books. “‘My heart would make you mine.’” She shook her head. “This isn’t talking about her.

It’s talking about him.” She slapped the book closed. “He drew me here!” She leaped to her feet and with the book tucked under one arm, she headed for the exit. She took one stop when her memory recalled the last time she’d tried to make off with the volume. She paused and directed her eyes toward the cathedral ceiling.

“Okay, Sara, it would appear that you and I need to have a talk. I know that you loved Sinclair and I’m really, truly sorry that he didn’t love you. But honestly, you have to let him go.” A light wind began to stir, but Carla forged on. “If you really loved him, you can’t let him continue to be miserable. Because as long as he’s miserable, the longer he’s going to keep me here. He doesn’t love me, either, but he doesn’t want to be alone.” Tears burned the backs of her eyelids. “I just want to go home and this book is going to help me. This book and Sinclair. I know he says he doesn’t want me to go, but that’s only because he’s hoping that my being here will drown out your memory. I’m sorry that you got such a bad lot in life, but please don’t take it out on me. I didn’t want to come here, remember?” The wind increased and Carla frowned. “Are you even listening to me? You can’t still be in a bad temper over all of this, are you? It’s been three years! Honestly, does every person in this time period walk around with grudges and guilt like they were loaves of bread? Let it go!”

A long row of books toppled off the top shelf and thumped against the carpet, drawing Carla’s attention only briefly before she continued her conversation. “I can’t figure out if you’re angry because Sinclair didn’t love you or because I’m here.” The settee scooted back a notch from the force of the wind, but Carla refused to be swayed. “You’re not scaring me, Sara. I know you were hurt, but dammit, I don’t want to be hurt! That’s why I can’t stay here! How do I know that Sinclair would ever love me? I don’t.

I don’t even know that he could open his heart to another woman. So I’m running away! There, I finally said it. I’m running away, just as Sinclair said! I don’t want to face what might or might not happen.”