Christian raised his brows at her bald query. “I thought, all things considered, that you might wish to know my intentions.”
Lifting her teacup, she opened her eyes wide at him over the brim. “You have intentions?”
“Indeed. And as you feature prominently, I thought I should mention them.”
She searched his eyes, unsure whether to encourage him or not.
He didn’t wait for her to make up her mind. He looked down at his hand, resting by his plate, at the gold signet ring on his little finger. “I was wrong—wrong not to tell you about my peculiar commission, wrong to leave you without any means to reach me.”
Her gaze locked on his face. He had her full and complete attention.
Forcing himself to sit still and not squirm, he went on, “Twelve years ago, when I was younger, and, yes, caught up in the romance of being a spy, I made that mistake. I adhered absolutely to the ‘tell no one more than they need to know’ rule. If I had the time again, I’d act differently, but I can’t rewrite history.”
Glancing up, he met her gaze. “You said fate had thrown Randall in your path—now it appears fate has stepped in and removed him from your life. Which leaves the way open for me.”
Her eyes flashed.
He held up a staying hand. “Before you erupt, know this—I freely admit to the mistake I made twelve years ago, but I’ll be damned if I pay for it for the rest of my life.” He caught her gaze. “And I’ll be damned if I let you pay for it any more than you already have.”
Her eyes slowly narrowed to slits. Her lips thinned. After a long moment she inquired, in her sweetest voice, “Don’t you think that’s rather presumptuous? Just a touch overarrogant, even for you?”
He held her gaze and bluntly replied, “No.” After a second, he went on, “My service to our country cost us both, but you far more than me. But the war is over, my service is past, and now Randall’s dead, there’s no reason for either of us to keep paying in any way whatever.” He hesitated, then went on, grasping the thistle of complete exposure, “The future we envisioned twelve years ago—it’s still there, waiting for us if we wish to pursue it. I intend to.” He paused, then, his eyes still locked with hers, said, “No more secrets between us—I wanted you to know.”
Once again he couldn’t read her eyes. Couldn’t see her thoughts in her expression.
A full minute ticked by, then she looked away, sipped, and set down her cup. “Times change.”
“True, but people like us don’t. What used to be between us is still there—not exactly the same perhaps, it’s evolved as we have, but the strength, the depth, the power of it is, if anything, even greater.”
She drew in a slow breath. “Perhaps, but…I no longer know if that—the future we envisaged twelve years ago—is what I, now, want.”
He’d expected that, had known she wasn’t likely to throw her arms around his neck and encourage him to speak with her father then and there. And if the implied rejection still stung, he told himself it was far less than he deserved for, as she’d correctly termed it, deserting her.
Regardless, he wasn’t about to accept any dismissal, certainly not yet. Reaching for his coffee cup, he evenly replied, “I’m prepared to wait for however long it takes for you to make up your mind.”
He sipped, aware of the sharp, frowning glance she leveled at him.
Sometime last night he’d made a decision, one that had kept him in her bed. That morning, he’d sought to draw her back to him; instead he’d discovered how elusive she could be, how much her own person.
Discovered how independent and strong-willed she’d grown.
Discovered that she was no longer someone he could dominate and lead, but instead—given she was his goddess and, courtesy of their past, he was cast as a contrite supplicant—he might very well have to follow.
Regardless, he’d never been more certain of his path.
She continued to regard him suspiciously as she crunched her way through a piece of toast.
He clung to silence. He’d said all he had to—told her his intentions and that he would wait, that he wasn’t going away. The ball was in her court; the next move was hers.
Pushing away her empty plate, she patted her lips and goddesslike decreed, “I believe I should speak with my brother.”
Letitia hadn’t requested any escort on her walk to the old lodge, yet given Christian’s statement—of his intentions, no less—she wasn’t surprised that he was ambling beside her, easily keeping pace as she marched along.
Despite his forthrightness over said intentions, she had no real belief that she understood his motives. Being well acquainted with his baser traits, she knew it was possible that he was acting out of protectiveness and using their connection to keep her close, to help manage her as matters unfolded.
In men like him, protectiveness toward women like her was ingrained, and while in the past it had grown out of his possessiveness, she could no longer be sure that was still the case.
Could no longer be certain he truly wanted her.