Waiting for the Moon

She stood before him. The moment felt brushed with magic, rich with the intoxicating scent of possibility. She drew in a quiet, shaky breath and smiled down at him. "You have been much concerned about my husband."

He flinched. "Your potential husband."

She laughed nervously. "Please to forgive me. My possible husband is upsetting you."

"Yes."

A quietly spoken word, steeped in so much emotion. It tugged at her heart, filled her with love for this man who sat here in the dark, brooding, thinking so strongly that he was dishonorable, and yet he hadn't touched her. Not last night and not now, when she wanted him to touch her so badly, her flesh felt tingling and raw.

She kneeled on the cold, hard floor before him, setting her candle on the floor. He stared down at her through eyes that were dark with pain. "I know you are in pain," she said softly, "and so am I. It is the uncertainty-that is the right word, I think-the uncertainty that pains us."

The glass slipped out of his hand, hit the floor with

246

a crash. The pungent scent of bourbon wafted upward. "That's what I feel like," he said in a rough, throaty voice.

She frowned. "I do not understand." "I feel like a bit of spun glass in your hands, Selena. If you but close your hands, I would be crushed."

The words confused her. She tried to make sense of them, to find some strand of meaning that she could draw forth, but nothing came to her. He was speaking of being crushed by her, but he should be speaking of the husband. She gazed up at him, her look steady and true. "Then I shall not close my hand."

He released a ragged sigh. "Ah, Selena, everything is so simple for you. So easy."

She smiled. "We have had this speech before. And everything is so difficult for you."

"I made you a promise, damn it. I vowed to be honorable. For once in my miserable life, I'm trying to do the right thing, and here you are, in my bedroom in the middle of night, dressed for love... ." His voice thickened and broke off. "You should leave."

"What of him, Ian? What of this husband who may someday come for me?"

He flinched at her use of the word husband, and slowly turned his gaze down to hers. "I can't look at you without thinking of him."

"What if I am a virgin?"

A frown flicked across his brow. "Then you aren't married."

"See, Ian?" She breathed, smiling. "So simple."

He drew in a sharp breath, then appeared not to breathe at all. "What are you saying?"

"I want to know. This uncertainty is unacceptable to me."

He gave a laugh that sounded forced and looked away from her.

She leaned forward, slid between his bent legs and

247

gazed up at him. "You know how to answer this uncertainty, do you not?"

"You don't know what you're asking."

"No. But you do, and I trust you completely."

"You are asking me to love you," he said quietly, and she heard the wonder in his voice, the hope, and it filled her heart with a painful, aching emotion.

"I believe you already do."

His gaze slid away from her face. He stared for a long, silent moment at the bed, his eyes narrowed and unreadable. "What would you do," he said at last, "if he came for you?"