"Nonsense."
He threw back his head and laughed. "You know me too well. You're right, why should a man of my greatness fear to ask for what I want."
"You certainly did not fear to ask what you wanted of Ellen MacTavish," she said tartly.
He shrugged. "Some needs are simpler than others to satisfy. However, I ask myself why you did not feel it necessary to reprove me for my philandering until today when Ellen came to you yesterday morning."
"I was busy yesterday." She looked away from him. "I had no time for trivialities. You surely do not think I made an excuse to see you?"
"Heaven forbid I would so flatter myself." He sipped his coffee. "But I did notice you appear a bit strained today."
"Ellen MacTavish—"
"Would not have caused you to blink an eye. I'm sure you scolded her for her lack of virtue and sent her about her business. What's really wrong?" He met her gaze. "Ian?"
Relief poured through her in a soothing stream. He had guessed, so now she could talk about it. Kartauk always managed to know what she was feeling and would have probed relentlessly until she unburdened herself. This odd bond between them had existed since that afternoon three years earlier when he had come to her sitting room after her father's funeral to express his condolences. She had never understood why she had found herself talking to him when she could confide in no one else. She had revealed feelings toward her father she had not even shown Ian—love, disappointment . . . and bitterness. He had listened impassively and afterward dismissed her confidences as if they had never taken place. He had gone back to his workroom, leaving her blessedly free. "Ian won't go to Spain."
"You knew that three months ago. Ruel will change his mind. When does he come?"
"Tomorrow."
"Then you have nothing to worry about."
"You have greater confidence in Ruel than I do. I'm not sure I was wise in following your advice. Jane was upset when I told her he was coming."
"She must come to terms with Ruel sometime. You need help and he can give it."
"And nothing else matters?"
"I'm very fond of Jane." He looked down into the depths of his cup. "But sometimes it's necessary to make choices."
"And you choose Ian?"
"Ian?" He drank the rest of his coffee in two swallows and set the cup on the table. "But of course. Ian has the greater need. We all must make sacrifices for Ian. He had a bad night?"
"How did you know?"
"You would have not brought up Spain again before Ruel arrived if you'd not been prodded."
"He coughed all night." Her hand tightened on the cup. "And yet when I mentioned Spain he laughed at me. He said Glenclaren needs him. It makes no difference that I need him too."
"Did you tell him that?"
"Are you mad? Isn't he carrying enough burdens without adding guilt?"
"No, you would not want to add to his burden." He smiled. "But I mean nothing to you and have strong shoulders that can shrug off any burden. Tell me, I want to know."
He did want to know. His gaze was fixed intently on her face, and she could feel the strength of his will enfolding her.
"Let it go," he said softly. "Give it to me. Start last night when the coughing started."
She drew a deep breath and began.
He listened intently, his clever fingers molding the clay in front of him as the words burst from her in a torrent. She was not conscious of the passing of time, but at one point Kartauk rose to his feet to light the lamp on the wooden support beside the table. Then he sat back down and listened again.
She finally stopped speaking, and silence fell between them. Peace.
Kartauk's powerful hand smashed down on the clay form on the table in front of him!
"What—" Her gaze flew to his face. "Why did you do that? You worked on it all afternoon."
"It was not good enough." He picked up a towel and wiped his hands. "It is better to destroy with one blow than try to make something magnificent out of the commonplace." He grinned. "Not that I could ever be commonplace. For an ordinary man, that effort might have culminated the work of a lifetime."
Her moment of uneasiness vanished, and she smiled back at him. "Arrogance."
"Truth." He stood up and stretched lazily. "And here is another truth. It is time you went back to your Ian. It will be dark soon and he'll begin to worry."
"Yes." She rose to her feet but stood there hesitating. "Are you coming to play chess with Ian after supper tonight?"
"Not tonight." He made a face as he looked down at the mangled clay on the table. "I have work to do here."
She started for the door. "Then I'll no doubt see you when Ruel arrives."
"Possibly." He was frowning with absorption, his hands once more kneading the clay.
He had already forgotten her presence, forgotten her words. Well, that was what she wished, wasn't it? He gave her silence and peace and then closed her away from him. Yet, for some reason, today this isolation bothered her.
She paused at the door as a thought occurred to her. "You've never done one of me, have you?"
"What?"
"You're making a bust of Li Sung without his knowledge. How do I know you haven't modeled one of me as well?"
"You're wondering if I have your likeness secreted away among my treasures?" He shook his head. "No, madam."
She felt an absurd rush of relief. "I wouldn't put it past you. No one is safe when your art is weighed in the balance."
"True." He lifted his head. "But I've never made a bust of you."
"Why not?" she asked curiously.
"I would not dare."
She started to laugh and then stopped, suddenly breathless and unsure as she met his gaze.
Then he looked down and resumed kneading the clay. He said lightly, "Even I tremble before the laird's lady's righteous wrath."
A tumult of confused emotions streamed through her, relief and disappointment foremost. For a moment she had felt as if she had been about to discover some great and mysterious truth about Kartauk and then been cheated of the knowledge. What did she really know about him? He never spoke of his past, never asked for help except as it pertained to his art, and let no one see beyond that bold, flamboyant exterior. During these years she had taken much from him and given nothing in return. Perhaps he had not been joking when he had said he had needs of the spirit that had to be met. "I did not tell the truth," she said haltingly. "You would be missed if you left Glenclaren."
He stopped in midmotion but did not look at her. "By Ian?"
"Yes." She moistened her lips before she said awkwardly, "And by me. I believe you kinder than you pretend."
"Do you?" He glanced up and a flashing smile lit his face. "But I do not pretend. Don't judge me by your standards. I'm a ruthless heathen, remember?"
She nodded. "How could I forget?"
"And now a heartless womanizer."
The rogue was baiting her. Why the devil was she worrying about the sensitivity of his blasted feelings? "That you most certainly are. From now on when you strike one of those sluts with your divine fire, make sure you stay to put out the blaze yourself."