Page 91 of A Modest Independence

“We haven’t fought it enough. I know I haven’t.”

“It isn’t only you.” She gave him a look, half embarrassed and half foolishly tender. “I’ve tried, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His own expression softened. “You never show it.”

“Don’t I? I feel as if it must be plain for the whole world to see.”

“Perhaps it is. Perhaps it’s just me who’s too stupid to recognize it.” The color in his cheeks heightened, his voice deepening on a husky admission. “I haven’t much experience with any of this.”

“And you think I have?”

“What I think is that neither of us have exercised any restraint since we left England.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

“But we haven’t tried very hard, have we? And it’s my fault. I’m the one who proposed that we explore this attraction between us.” He exhaled a frustrated breath. “I suppose I thought I could exert some control over it. That I could manage these feelings for you the way I manage everything else.”

“Do you regret coming with me?”

“I should.”

“But do you?” she pressed.

“No. And that’s the devil of it. I don’t enjoy feeling powerless any more than you do. I’ve spent the past two decades of my life crafting a world in which I’m always in control. Not only of myself, but of my work and my environment. And now, here I am, halfway round the globe, with no control of anything.”

“You’re out of your element, that’s all.”

“To put it mildly.”

“But so am I.”

He smiled. “The difference being, you relish it.”

“Not without reason.” She smoothed his waistcoat. “Up until now, my entire life has been a study in self-control. Of biting my tongue and blending into the background. The same rigid rules and expectations that give you strength were a prison to me. They didn’t make me feel as if I had power. They robbed me of my power. Perhaps it’s so for all women. Our lives are a series of cages: daughter, wife, mother. It isn’t a structure designed for being oneself. For discovering what truly makes one happy.”

His hand moved gently over the curve of her spine. “Could you never be happy in any of those roles? As a wife or a mother?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t lived enough yet as a whole person. I haven’t experienced enough.”

“How much is enough?”

“I don’t know,” she said again. “But it must be something longer than a few months abroad looking for Giles, mustn’t it? I’ve yet to lose this restless feeling in my chest. And it’s all mixed up with my feelings for you, making everything a wretched tangle.”

“What do you anticipate will calm your restlessness?”

“More travel, I expect.”

Tom’s voice lowered, making her pulse throb and the butterflies in her stomach soar. “And what about your restlessness for me?”

She slid her arms around his waist, bringing her cheek to rest on his lapel. Tom’s arms encircled her firmly in return. “More of this.”

His lips brushed over her temple in the barest whisper of a kiss. “It’s not wise to continue in this manner. You said so yourself.”

“I never did.”

“On the train to Cairo, you said that the more time we spend together, the harder it’s going to be to say goodbye.”

“Which is true, but still no reason we can’t—”