‘Yes, of course.’ I took an unwary gulp of coffee and felt every nerve ending in my body scream.
‘There is only now. The past has gone, the future hasn’t happened. The time you are in at any given moment is your time. I do not suggest that you should be careless of consequences, but too much cogitation might not be helping.’
I wasn’t up to long words. ‘You mean I’m over-thinking this?’
‘Yes.’ Garrick began to clear the table, dumping the greasy plates into a bucket of water for the unfortunate maid of all work to deal with in the morning. I mentally added washing up-liquid to my list of Things To Be Grateful For along with tampons, soft loo paper and hot showers.
‘I think,’ I said with dignity, getting to my feet, ‘I think I might have had one glass of wine too many. I shall retire for the night.’
Garrick hefted the kettle off the range where it had been singing quietly and led the way to my room. ‘Is there anything else you need, Miss Lawrence?’
Lucian? ‘No, thank you, Garrick. Good night.’
I washed, then rinsed out my twenty-first century underwear and hung that on the wash stand. Then I pulled on the rather fetching white lawn nightgown that Garrick had put out for me and climbed into bed, remembering to pop a pill as I did so. I’d sit and think, see if letting my mind roam freely would solve the cypher problem. Or any other problem, come to that. The clock struck eleven. Luc would be home soon and I would be ready to have a mature, calm discussion about relationships…
‘Cassandra?’
‘Worrit?’ I blinked up at Luc who was holding a lamp and looking
absolutely and completely not like Florence Nightingale. ‘Did I fall asleep?’
‘You did.’ He shifted to sit on the edge of the bed by my feet. ‘Garrick says you were a trifle mellow.’
‘Just a bit. More tired,’ I said defensively. ‘It’s been a long day. I’m awake now.’
‘No, you aren’t.’ He was in his shirt sleeves, I realised.
I wriggled up on my elbows and peered down the bed at him. Bare feet. A wave of lust, pure and simple, washed over me, followed by a jaw-cracking yawn. ‘Are you coming to bed?’ I managed, sounding about as seductive as an advert for anti-dandruff shampoo.
‘Bed, yes, if I may. Sleep, yes. Anything else, no. Not until you are awake, sober and we can talk it over.’ Lucian stood up, shed his evening breeches – and left his shirt on. And those shirts… the damned thing came down to mid-thigh. I flopped back on the pillows trying to deal with my rocketing pulse rate, my pleasure that he was an ask-first person and the urge to just grab hold and drag him into bed and to hell with talking. But the room was still circling vaguely and I wasn’t at my best.
Yes, we’re going to be lovers, I realised as I closed my eyes and felt the bed dip. Tomorrow. Behind my lids the room went dark and I turned over, towards the warmth. Lucian gathered me in, all soft linen and hard man. There was the scent of his skin and the thump of his heart under my cheek and the scratch of hairy calves against the soles of my feet and the sense that I was home. Which was terrifying.
There was only one thing I could do about it. I went to sleep.
I woke with my nose buried in something soft. I opened one eye and got a view of a stubbled chin, a bare throat and a curl of chest hair. When I lifted by head I realised that Luc was asleep and that if I just stuck out my tongue it would reach his left nipple, showing faintly brown through the thin shirt. I licked.
He came awake with startling speed. I found myself flat on my back, a considerable length of man on top of me and two large hands curled around my throat.
‘Cassandra.’ He stopped throttling me, but he stayed where he was.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m wide awake, I’m sober and… Yes.’
Luc lifted himself on his elbows which transferred the pressure from my chest to lower down. Which was… interesting. ‘I can’t marry you. I cannot have a countess who could vanish at any moment.’
‘Marriage? Of course I don’t expect you to marry me.’
He looked both relieved and confused. ‘No? And I will do my utmost not to get you with child.’
‘You won’t,’ I said bluntly. ‘I use a pill that ensures I cannot conceive while I am taking it.’ While he was absorbing that I added, ‘But you must use a condom.’ I hadn’t expected to have the condom-conversation when we were in quite this position and it was certainly a passion killer, but it wasn’t negotiable. I had no illusions about the sexual history of the average Georgian gentleman, however fastidious. ‘I’ve brought them, twenty-first century ones.’
‘I remember those, you had some in your reticule last time. That is prudent,’ he agreed. He didn’t seem to have taken offence.
‘I’ll have to get up,’ I said. ‘They are over there.’ I wriggled out of bed when he shifted back to his side, took several out of my bag and dropped them into his outstretched hand.
‘Optimist,’ Luc said, with a twitch of his lips.
‘I live in hope,’ I said primly and got back between the sheets.