Looking into his eyes, she felt her temper rise, like a volcano filling her, seething, building, preparing to erupt . . .
Her earlier thought echoed in her mind. Easy? Had she really thought it would be, with him?
She glared; others would cringe and slink away—he, his resolve, didn’t so much as flicker. Suppressing a growl—she really didn’t want to return to their previous sniping ways—she shackled her temper, then, seeing no other way forward, nodded curtly.
“Very well. You can follow.” She sensed his surprise, realized he’d tensed for a battle royal. Defiantly held his gaze. “At a distance.”
He blinked; some of his tension drained. “Why at a distance?”
She didn’t want to admit it, but he wouldn’t oblige if she didn’t. “I can’t think—not clearly, not so I trust what I’m thinking—if you’re on my heels. Or anywhere close.” She didn’t wait to see his reaction—her imagination was quite bad enough; turning, she headed for the steps. “Stay back at least twenty yards.”
She thought she heard a laugh, abruptly smothered, didn’t look back. Head up, she set off, striding across the main lawn in the direction of the lake.
Halfway across, she glanced back. Saw him leisurely descending the steps. Didn’t look to see if his lips were curved or straight. Facing forward, she walked on.
And turned her mind determinedly to her topic.
Him. And her. Together.
An almost unbelievable development. She recalled her original aim, the one that had landed her in his arms. She’d wanted to learn about the attraction that flared between a man and a woman, the attraction that led a woman to consider marriage.
She’d learned the answer. Quite possibly too well.
Frowning, she looked down. Hands clasped behind her back, she ambled on.
Was she truly considering marrying Simon, latent, ofttimes not-so-latent tyrant?
Yes.
Why?
Not because she enjoyed sharing his bed. While that aspect was all very nice, it wasn’t of itself compelling enough. Out of ignorance, she’d assumed the physical aspects weighed heavily in the scale; now, while she would admit they had some weight, indeed, were pleasantly addictive, at least with a gentleman like him, she couldn’t imagine—even now, even with him—that that alone had tipped the scales.
It was that elusive something that had grown between them that had added definitive weight and influenced her so strongly.
She might as well call it by its real name; love was what it had to be—there was no longer any point doubting that. It was there, between them, almost tangible, never truly absent.
Was it really new to them? Was there something different he was offering that he hadn’t before? Or had age and perhaps circumstances shifted their perspectives, opened their eyes, made them appreciate things about each other they hadn’t until now?
The latter seemed most likely. Looking back, she could admit that the potential might, indeed, always have been there but masked and hidden by the natural clash of their personalities.
Their personalities hadn’t changed, yet she and apparently he . . . perhaps they’d both reached an age when they could accept each other as they were, willing to adjust and cope in pursuit of a greater prize.
The lawn narrowed into the path leading toward the lake. She looked up as she turned the corner—
Nearly tripped, stumbled—grabbed up her skirts and leapt over some obstacle. Regaining her balance, she looked back.
Saw . . .
Was suddenly conscious of the soft breeze lifting tendrils of her hair, conscious of the thud of her heart, the rush of blood through her veins.
Of the icy chill washing over her skin.
“Simon?”
Too weak. He was close, but momentarily out of sight.
“Simon!”