“Huh . . .” Another shiver slithered down his spine.
“Do you understand what I’ve told you? Have you received your answer?”
His cheeks heated. He wasn’t about to admit that his inquiry had been about his pending marriage. She’d just insisted he’d be fantastically happy with Roxanne. Somehow, he didn’t see that conclusion winging toward him with her as his bride.
Roxanne was aloof and beautiful, but they were both detached and reserved. It was the Ralston blood flowing in their veins. They simply weren’t affectionate. How could two such stiff, taciturn people find the sort of contentment Joanna had described?
She had no idea what he’d asked, so it couldn’t be a trick she’d performed to make him believe she was very astute. He’d probed for advice about a private nuptial matter, and the reply was spot on to the subject he’d raised, but it felt completely in error too.
Him? Roxanne? Madly in love? The notion boggled the mind.
“I must have done it wrong,” he fibbed. “I wasn’t curious about . . . ah . . . love, but about a different issue entirely, so your comments might be gibberish.”
“Would you like to try it again? You could reflect for a bit, then reword your query.”
“I think that will be my one and only attempt at the occult.”
“It’s not the occult.” Her tone was scolding. “These cards are ancient and prophetic. They’ve been utilized for hundreds—perhaps thousands—of years so human choices are clearer.”
“So you say. As for myself, I won’t claim to be impressed.”
Appearing dubious, she scrutinized him, then she pushed away from the table. She bustled about, opening the shutters and curtains, blowing out the candle. Order was restored, the perception of sorcery vanishing as light flooded in.
She tucked the cards into their box, then took them to her workroom. He followed, leaned on the doorframe and observing as she put them away.
She came over to him and said, “Have I entertained you sufficiently for one afternoon? Clara’s classes are almost finished, and I walk to the village to meet her.”
“I suppose I can declare myself sated.”
It was a bald-faced lie. He’d likely never have enough of her. She’d ignited a fire in him that he couldn’t quell. He had no desire to quell it.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. He liked that she didn’t skitter away, that she didn’t pretend offense, and it had him speculating as to whether she was still a maiden. She was so independent, and she carried on far outside the bounds of society. Maybe she’d had lovers in the past, and he was tantalized by the prospect.
If she was loose with her favors, it would solve several problems for him. A gentleman couldn’t seduce a maiden, but once a lady had shed that badge, it produced a route to all kinds of wicked conduct.
He wasn’t such a rude oaf that he’d pressure her about it, and he had to hope—as they were better acquainted—she would provide a hint about her condition.
He dipped down and kissed her, which was becoming a habit. She jumped in with delightful enthusiasm, and the embrace quickly spun out of control. To see her was to want her. How could he ignore such an overwhelming impulse?
She was young, pretty, and alone in the world. She exuded a confident air that was enticing, but she seemed very vulnerable too, as if she needed a strong man by her side.
You could be that man . . .
The remark wedged itself into his head, and he shoved it away, being determined to focus on the moment and naught else.
He simply kissed her, then kissed her some more. He didn’t unbutton any buttons or untie any laces, but salacious thoughts were pelting him. A potent animal lust was pounding in his veins, and he caught himself yearning to throw her down on the floor, to ravish her without consequence.
The urge was so gripping that he forced himself to slow down and ease away. Their lips parted, and she gazed up at him, her expression tender, but exasperated too.
“I can’t resist you,” she said.
“You shouldn’t resist me. Why would you?”
“I can list a thousand reasons.”
“Name one.”
“How about your engagement and marriage?”
“I told you: I won’t be wed for over a year. It means I am very much a bachelor.”
“I could argue the point, but I won’t. I’ll merely state that you feel free to dally, but I am unwed, so I don’t have the luxury to pursue a romance with you.”
He grinned. “Is that what this is? Are we pursuing a romance?”
“I can’t settle on the appropriate term to clarify what’s occurring.”
He tried to link their fingers, but she wouldn’t permit it, and he remembered the day by the stream when that odd surge had flowed from her into him.
“Why won’t you allow me to hold your hand?”
“I have power in my palms,” she said, “and I’d rather not waste it on you.”
“You have power in your palms? What kind of power?”
“I’m positive you’ll laugh, but my hands heal people, and it requires an incredible amount of my energy.”
“You might use them for healing, but you use them for other things too. You definitely used them on me—for something.”
“Did I? I can’t imagine to what you refer.”
She looked innocent as a nun, and he smirked with derision. “You are a rolling ball of fabrications and outright lies. Do you ever tell the truth?”
“Usually.”
The blithe comment made him laugh. “At least you admit you’re a partial fraud.”
“It’s not always beneficial to be brutally honest. Depending on the circumstance, it’s not harmful to round the edges a bit.”
“You have an answer for every facet of your mischief, don’t you?”
“It’s not mischief, and if you’re going to stand there and insult me, I don’t have to listen.”
“I’m not insulting you. I’m critiquing you. You should devise better anecdotes to explain yourself.”
“You are not simply critiquing me. You deem me to be very peculiar, and if I’m not careful, you’ll soon be counselling me as to how I can
