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“Indeed. Miss Winthrop, I have come to ask that you accompany me. You see, there is a traveling band of actors giving a showing of The Taming of the Shrew …” He hesitated and looked at her expectantly.
She felt a blush enter her cheeks. “That is most kind. It would not, however, be seemly for me, in my present situation, to be seen at the theater with you, unchaperoned.”
“Aha! I am not obtuse to the proprieties, and although I care little for them, I am aware that those proprieties would weigh with you. Hence, I have taken the liberty of purchasing fourteen tickets. Miss Graves advises me that there are twelve students in your class. That leaves us two tickets with which to accompany them and make sure they do not get into any mischief!”
Sassy blinked, for she had not expected this and was, in fact, flattered that he had gone to such trouble on her behalf. “You astound me! I … why … I know not what to say.”
“What else but yes? You surely would not deprive your students of such a classical outing?” the doctor replied with a mischievous look in his eyes.
“But this must have cost you a great deal?” Sassy exclaimed.
“Yes, it did. That is why you must accept—for now I shall have to work hard, so much harder to cure the ills of patients far and wide so that I do not fall into debt,” he said with a dramatic wave of his hand.
She laughed and inclined her head. “Then on behalf of my students and myself, I do accept. Thank you.”
Dr. James Bankes bowed his head. “You have made your humble servant exceedingly happy.”
~ Fourteen ~
SASSY WAS EXCITED at the prospect of going to the theatre and looked forward to it with great anticipation.
No nightly visitors appeared again to disturb her peace and worry her mind, and Sassy filled the ensuing days with student activities. However, by the end of the week, the arrival of the Marquis of Dartmour at Netherby blew such forced calmness to smithereens.
Sassy’s afternoon was at a happy conclusion, for she had tutored, she had finished sewing the remaining panel of her window draping, she had repaired damage to her redingote, and she had just sighed in realization that she was left with nothing to do.
It was already a gray day and getting darker as night approached, but, she told herself, there would be no harm in taking a stroll about the grounds. She donned her drab brown pelisse, slid on her gloves, and made her way downstairs just as the front doors opened to divulge the marquis’s arrival.
She hadn’t thought it possible for her heart to beat as fast as it had suddenly begun thumping. A rush of forceful feeling welled up inside her and burned as it lodged in her throat. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t feel, and now, she knew why. Her mother’s ‘secret manuscript’ had revealed to her what ‘transition’ meant to the white witches of her family—not only did it mean that great magical power was at hand, it also meant her true mate would be disclosed. Thus, was he her true mate? Was her magic forcing her to feel this strong attraction for him, or was it real? She wished she knew if this was what her mother had experienced when she’d chosen her father. She had to know if this was real.
She found herself frozen on the last step, staring across the central foyer at him. His eyes, blue and full of life, stared back at her as he murmured, “Miss Winthrop.”
“Yes,” she said, evidently agreeing that was who she was.
“How fortunate, indeed how fortunate I am to find you just at this moment. I was sure you would not agree to see me, but in spite of that fear, I came in hopes that you would,” he said breathlessly.
“I-I … well, you see, I am on my way out … going for a walk,” Sassy murmured.
“Ah, have you had me on trial and sentenced me without reprieve?” he said, his blue eyes twinkling.
She laughed in spite of the fact that she wanted to bolt past him. “If that is your form of apology, I accept,” she said, taking the last step and walking towards him. Her feet were not listening to her. This was not what she wanted to do. She wanted to keep a distance between them—she had to.
He had moved into position to block her path, and she made no attempt to go around him, although she could have. She knew she could have, but instead looked up at his devastatingly handsome face, into his mesmerizing blue eyes, and said, “My lord …”
“Yes, and I find a strange urge to say, my lady, for you are,” he whispered softly.
“I don’t understand. I am but a vicar’s daughter. Now, please let me pass,” she said, not wanting to pass at all.
Sparks burst between their bodies. It was as though energy had formed a net and wrapped them within its web. She felt herself pulled closer to him. She had to get control, but how could she when this, this was all written?
“What is written?” he asked suddenly, his dark brows forming a frown.
What—impossible? How could he hear her thoughts? “I … don’t know what you mean,” she said, not looking at him.
“You just said, it is written,” he said.
And so it was—not his name, just that she would dream of her mate, he would come to her, she would know him. How had he heard her think that? “I never spoke any such words,” she said. “Now, let me pass.”
“Miss Winthrop, please, I would like to make a new start. Won’t you let me?”
