“I have a question for you then.”
She hesitated. “And that is?”
“Out of all your family, you’re the only one who never called me Rory.”
Her mouth snapped shut.
“Why is that?” he pressed.
Her heart beat out a heavy thud. She’d just told him she never lied, but to tell the truth after all these years…
And yet why shouldn’t she?
She reached for her tankard of ale and took a long pull. She released a small burp behind her hand before saying in a rush, “The answer is quite simple.” She inhaled a quick, bracing gulp of air. “I harbored a—”
“A hearty distaste for the lumbering Scottish brute Archie was always bringing home during holidays?” he inserted with a smile that now reached both sides of his mouth.
Oh, that she could speak around this lump in her throat… “I harbored a secret infatuation for you.”
His smile froze, and the room went airless in the wake of her secret exposed. Into the stunned silence, she added, “In my youth.”
“Infatuation?” he repeated. “Forme?”
She nodded, tightly. So many feelings charged through her—mortification, bafflement…relief. Strange, that last one.
At last, he spoke. “I thought you could barely tolerate my presence.”
“I…I couldn’t.” Now, she would have to explain. “Because of the infatuation.” She shook her head. “It was complicated.”
“Andthatwas why you didn’t call me Rory?”
“Mm-hmm,” was all she could get out.
His head cocked to the side, watching her with utter and complete concentration. “And now?”
“Now?”
Oh, what new mess had she landed in? How could she explain how she felt about him now when she didn’t understand it herself?
“Why don’t you call me Rorynow?”
Oh.She’d spoken of her infatuation in the past tense. There might yet be a way out of this mess… “Erm,” she said, her mind racing. “Habit.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “Well, you’re not an old dog, are you?”
“Erm, no,” she said, trying to understand what he was about. “If I were a dog, I would be quite an aged one at three and twenty years of age.”
He smiled, but that discerning look hadn’t left his eyes. “But you’re not a dog, Miss Windermere.”
She sat perplexed and silent. One could take a multitude of meanings from that statement.
“And you can learn new tricks.”
Ah.
“Call me Rory.”
It was an invitation. It was a command. One she couldn’t—didn’t want to—refuse. The invitation warmed, but the command and the intent in his eyes when he spoke it lit dark and secret places inside her into flame.