“Now, darling,” Poppy said reproachfully, “be kind. You know very well Daisy detests knitting.”
“ ’Tis true,” Daisy agreed with a plump-cheeked grin. “But I am certain we could scrounge up a lambskin for Ian to use.”
“Cheeky arses the lot of you,” Ian muttered, then grinned. “Would serve Archer right if I did hightail it up there and pounce on his flock.”
Smiling, Mary left her cozy chair and wandered out of the room. A flash of dark coat sleeve had caught her eye. She found him sitting alone in the half-darkened conservatory built at the back of the house. Made almost entirely of glass, the room was cooler than the parlor and bathed in the blue light of the full moon. Potted palms graced the corners, leaving the center of the room open for a grouping of lacy white iron tables and chairs.
She wasn’t surprised that he’d drifted off on his own. All through luncheon she’d watched him from the corner of her eye, noting the way he had deliberately distanced himself from the rest. The others had glanced at him as well, their gazes ranging from worried, such as Ian’s, to penetrating, such as Poppy’s. They all wanted to know what thoughts ran through Talent’s head. As for Mary, although what she might discover terrified her, she too wanted inside that thick head of his.
This time, when she entered the room, he stood. “Care to sit?” his voice was soft as he gestured to one of the chairs.
The chair was cold, the iron pressing into the backs of her thighs. Mary was grateful for the discomfort. It took her mind away from the slow burn within her. Talent resumed his seat, and they sat in silence, letting the sounds of the house party drift over the still air.
“You might as well come out with it, Chase.” Weariness weighted his voice, but there was also wry amusement there. She risked a glance, and the corner of his mouth kicked up. “You think I do not know you well enough by now? That you aren’t squirming over there, trying to find a way to broach the subject?”
“I do not squirm.” That he knew what she was about annoyed her. That he knew precisely what she wanted to discuss made her want to hit him.
Talent merely stared at her, his brows winging up in that way of his that appeared at once expectant yet reproachful.
“Very well,” she snapped. “You asked me how I found you…” Mary licked her dry lips and pressed her palms closer together. “I should like to know how you saw me.” Pray God the heat in her cheeks did not show.
His body was unmoving, his rough-hewn face expressionless. Only his eyes were alive, glittering with dark intent as his gaze roved. The air about them seemed to still and grow heavy, as they both relived those moments. And though her skin scorched now with that heat and her dress became oppressive, she refused to lower her eyes in deference.
The moment swelled, then he moved. A simple adjustment in his seat, but enough to make her heart stutter. “It appears,” he said in a bland tone, “that this connection you forged works both ways.” Again, his unwavering attention bore into her. “You can see my soul, and I can see yours.”
Mary swallowed thickly before nodding once. “It happens at times.” When the connection was deep, or the ties between persons were binding. She had suspected but didn’t want it to be true. Rubbing a finger along the brocade of her overskirt, Mary aimed for a bit of levity. “So then you knew—”
Talent leaned forward then, the movement of his powerful body setting off little frissons throughout hers. The deep glide of his voice crept along her skin, licking over sensitive spots and making her twitch. “The entire time, Chase.”
God. The admission horrified her. And it twisted something dark and aching deep within her. She fidgeted, her hands running along the hidden throwing knives strapped to her thighs.
“If you knew I was there, then why did you…” Her words died on a flush. Bloody Talent.
“Pleasure myself?” he offered helpfully.
She was not amused, but deserved his teasing. “Yes, that.”
Talent’s green eyes grew darker, wicked. “Because I knew you were there.” The pink tip of his tongue peeked out from between his teeth, taunting her. The gesture was perverse, a little flickering come-hither.
Her heart pounded against her throat, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her disquiet. She set her attention on the wall of windows, and the ghostly reflections of them sitting close wavered back at her. “Fine. Don’t answer me.”
“But I just did.” He sounded so reasonable, save for the laughter tickling the edges of his voice.
Mary pressed her lips together, her grip upon her skirts tightening. “You’re being evasive.”