During this speech, she could only stand there, feet seemingly glued to the floor. Damn it, he shouldn’t be saying things like that. He should be protesting that it was no big deal, and that she was blowing everything out of proportion. She expected that sort of argument from him because it was the sort of thing Clay would have said.
But, as Lucas had already told her with some vehemence, he wasn’t Clay McAllister.
“I — ” Her throat felt parched, and she took a swallow of tea. “You expect me to believe that?”
His brows drew together, and she realized that had been exactly the wrong thing to say. Because he always seemed so easygoing, so unruffled, for some reason she’d thought he couldn’t really get angry. Not that much, anyway. But in that moment, she realized he was very angry indeed. She wanted to take a step backward, but she wouldn’t. This was her house, and she’d stand her ground.
“Yes, I do expect you to believe that, since I haven’t lied to you about anything. I’d say that’s a better track record than yours.”
“What?” A flush of indignation swept over her, and she leaned down so she could put her tea on the coaster next to where Lucas’ coffee sat. “I haven’t lied to you about anything.”
“Maybe not to me, but you’ve sure done a pretty good job of lying to yourself.”
Oh, that was going too far. “I have not.”
One eyebrow went up. “Really? So you haven’t spent the past few days finding every excuse in the world why this thing between us couldn’t possibly work, even when the truth of it was staring you right in the face?”
Her mouth opened to protest that remark, and then she shut it again. She was many things, but she hoped blindly obstinate wasn’t one of them. And although she really didn’t want to admit it, not to him, not to herself…he was right. Even when she’d been forced to acknowledge what her feelings for him meant, she hadn’t wanted to accept them, had continued to tell herself it didn’t matter what she felt for Lucas Wilcox, that she was an elder in her clan, and that meant she couldn’t have any kind of life with him.
“No,” she said at last. “You’re right. I have been doing that. But only because I know it’s the truth.”
“I refuse to accept that.” His hands knotted at his sides, and she could almost see the struggle in him, how he wanted to reach out to her but wouldn’t do so unless he knew that such an overture would be accepted.
She let out a breath, drew another one in. “I can’t change who I am, Lucas, no matter what I might feel for you. I knew I was accepting a lifelong responsibility when I became an elder. It’s a responsibility that has to come before everything else.”
Without blinking, he said, “Even love.”
Oh, Goddess, why did it always have to hurt in the same spot, right there like a knife in her breast? Since she didn’t trust herself to speak, Margot only nodded.
“You mean to say that not once in the entire history of your clan has anyone ever stepped down for any reason other than dying in harness?”
The words were said harshly, and she knew he’d done so on purpose, to try to shock her out of what he no doubt saw as blind acceptance. “Not that I know of, no,” she replied.
“Well, that’s bullshit. I mean, even the King of England once gave up his throne for the woman he loved, so I have a hard time believing that an elder of the McAllister clan can’t do the same thing.”
Although she didn’t mean for them to, Margot’s lips quirked. “Are you comparing me to Wallis Simpson?”
In answer, his eyes glinted with amusement. “Well, in this case, I’m probably the one playing the role of Wallis Simpson, but….”
Her feet began to move before the rest of her quite figured out what they were up to. But then she was standing near him, so close she could practically feel the heat of his body. “I don’t know what to do,” she said, and the voice didn’t sound like hers, low, defeated. Where her anger had gone, she wasn’t exactly sure. Maybe it had turned tail and fled when she finally acknowledged to herself that she really didn’t have all that much to be angry about.
His arms went around her, and he pulled her close, his lips brushing the top of her head, his scent surrounding her. “It’s all right,” he murmured into her hair. “We’ll figure it out.”
* * *
How precisely they’d do that, he wasn’t sure, but he’d also driven down here not knowing whether Margot would even speak to him, or whether she’d call down a posse of McAllister witches to drive him out of town altogether, and now she was letting him hold her, had seemed to have forgiven him. Miracles really could happen.