She sounded positive-Richard wasn't so sure. He might not be physically ill, but… he knew his "dream" was a dream for the simple reason it could not have really happened. The chances of her turning up in his room like that, smiling and saying she'd come to go to bed with him, were, in his estimation, less than nil.
And if that hadn't happened, then the rest certainly hadn't.
But he'd never had memories like this, not even of real events. Real women-ones with whom he had shared a bed. Much as he hated to think it, he wasn't at all sure that all the long nights of his lenthy and lustfully successful rakish career weren't coming back to haunt him.
Because he was sure-to his bones-that he knew her in the biblical sense.
He drew in a deep breath and let it out through clenched teeth. "Do you know much about dreams?" He glanced at her. "Can you read them?"
She looked up and met his eyes; he sensed her hesitation. "Sometimes," she eventually replied. "Dreams often mean something, but that something often isn't clear." She considered, then quickly added: "And it's often not the thing it appears as in the dream."
He threw her an exasperated look. "That's a lot of help."
She blinked and considered him. Rather carefully, he thought.
"If you're troubled by some dream, then the best thing to do is set it aside for the moment, because if it is supposed to mean something, then that something will become apparent, usually in a few days. Or the dream will disappear."
"Indeed?" Richard raised a brow, then reluctantly nodded. That was probably sound advice-he might as well put it into practice. But first, he needed to stop her from deserting him. He nodded to the tea trolley being stationed before Mary. "I'll get our cups."
Catriona graciously inclined her head and watched him cross the room. And swore she'd start carrying a fan. She was so hot, she was surprised she hadn't spontaneously combusted-gone up in flames right here in Mary's drawing room. The flushes that washed through her came in two forms-hot and hotter. Hot when he wasn't looking directly at her, hotter when he was. The only reason she was still standing here, using every ounce of her will and experience to appear unaffected, was because she'd convinced herself this was the penance she had to pay for the way her plan had affected him-to bear with the countereffect and bring him what ease she could. But…
She was desperately in need of her tea.
He returned and handed her her cup; she accepted it and sipped gratefully.
Richard sipped, too, for much the same reason, then set his cup back on its saucer. "Tell me about this role of yours-being the lady of the vale."
Catriona blinked and looked up at him. "The lady of the vale?" When he simply waited, she asked: "You want to know what I do?"
Richard nodded. And saw wariness seep into her eyes.
"Why?"
"Because…" He paused, then continued, "I want to know what I'm turning down." If she thought he was considering falling in with Seamus's plan, she'd tell him nothing. He capped the words with one of his teasing smiles, and was rewarded with one of her humphs.
"You don't need to know."
"Where's the harm?" He slanted her a glance-she'd tossed her pert nose in the air again and he was wretchedly uncomfortable. "You're the local healer, but that can't be the summation of your duties, not if you own the vale."
"Of course not."
"I assume you keep control over the rents and sales of produce, but what about the other areas? The livestock, for instance. Do you supervise the breeding yourself, or does someone else help?"
The glance she shot him was part irritation, part resignation. "There are others, of course. Most of the husbandry is dealt with by one of my staff, but the dairy is separate."
"Do you make your own cheese?" By dint of a succession of careful questions, he dragged a reasonable outline of her holdings, and how she managed them, from her. As he'd expected, there were gaps in her management-important areas in which she relied on people who themselves had no real qualifications. She trusted too easily, despite, or perhaps because of, her beliefs.
He'd already proved that.
Catriona answered his questions because she couldn't see any reason not to. And he surprised her-with his insight, his understanding, his experience. In the end, she asked: "How do you know to ask all this?" She frowned at him, grateful the heat between them had ebbed. Not disappeared, but eased. "Do you manage large estates in your spare time?"
He looked mildly bemused. "Spare time?"
"I gathered your conquests in London take up most of your time."
"Ahh." Her tart reply amused him. "You forget-I'm a Cynster."
"So?"