He met her eyes. “Inventions—evaluating and assessing them, then working out what the most useful require to bring them to fruition—called to me. Captured me.” He held her gaze. “Possibly in the same way that you were drawn back into inventing when the chance—the need—was placed before you. Investing in inventions drew me in and held me as nothing else ever had.”
They’d returned to the archway, and he led her beneath and out onto the lawns, now silvered by the light of the rising moon. “I like—no, I thrive—on the challenge of finding a worthwhile invention, then supporting the inventor logistically and financially to transform that invention into an established success.”
Her gaze lingered on his face, on his profile, then she looked toward the house. “You bring passion and drive to an invention’s development. Trust me, for any inventor, that’s a boon in itself.”
The dry words had him inclining his head.
After a moment, she glanced his way. “It seems we share the experience of having been influenced by the actions of one of our parents to the point that our reactions propelled us down our respective paths.”
He thought about that, then murmured, “Perhaps. But we differ in that, while my reaction to my mother’s scheming pushed me into investing in inventions—an occupation that fulfills me, and with which I’m increasingly
content—your reaction to your father’s shortcomings has kept you out of inventing and inventions, an arena in which you plainly are able to make real and meaningful contributions.”
He didn’t say more. Didn’t elaborate on the contrast, but instead, left her to think it through and see that truth for herself.
After several moments of considering his words, Felicia murmured an agreement. He was right. Inventing and inventions and the contributions she might make... The prospect elicited a response from deep inside that was nine parts eager excitement and one part pure desire.
She wasn’t sure what she felt about that. Turning assumptions about herself on their head left her mentally dizzy—uncertain of her footing.
They’d walked down the lawn and around to the terrace. As she raised her skirts and, still leaning on his arm, climbed the steps, she was aware of a certain expectation in the air—of this being a moment in time when her life was poised on the cusp of a new direction.
Exactly what that direction might be, where it might lead, and what it might hold...that, she had yet to learn.
Rand halted outside the drawing room door. She drew her arm from his and faced him.
Through the enfolding shadows, he looked into her eyes.
And she looked into his.
Finally, he said, his voice deep and low, “It seems that both of us have, indeed, been working our way out of the emotional coils generated by one of our parents—working to define ourselves, to define our paths into the future.”
“From all you’ve said, you’ve advanced further than I have. I’m...” She hesitated, but they’d passed the point of being cautious. “After the revelations of recent days, I feel I’m only just starting my journey.”
It was a catharsis of sorts, to speak so openly to another who understood.
Rand quietly asked, “Did you enjoy it—helping William John see his way to solving his problems?”
She blinked, then nodded. “Yes, I did. It was...invigorating. As if I was stretching a muscle I hadn’t used in years.”
“Did you feel the lure—the one I know all true inventors feel? Did it feel right—that it was right and proper? Did it feel as if you have a place in inventing?”
“Yes.” Her reply came so quickly, he knew he’d touched on something she truly had experienced. She went on, “At least to your first question. As for the others...” She frowned. Even though he couldn’t see her eyes, he knew she was looking inward.
Then she shook her head and met his gaze. “I can’t yet say. I’ll have to take them under advisement.”
They were alone in the night, standing close.
He felt the tug of attraction, of building desire, a tangible sensation that pushed him to shift closer still—to draw her to him.
They’d both spoken openly of things they had—he felt quite sure—never revealed to any other. They’d started, deliberately, down the path of understanding each other better than anyone else in the world.
The temptation to take the next step—to draw her into his arms and set his lips to hers—thudded in his blood.
He teetered on that indefinable edge, but held his breath and braced against it—achingly aware of the compulsion, but not yet willing to take the plunge and risk...any sort of awkwardness that might drive her from the workshop she’d only so recently reentered or strain the cooperation he now knew to his soul he needed from her if the Throgmorton engine was ever to see success.
Was it wrong to put that in the scales? To weigh his responsibility to all the others against what he felt for her?
Regardless, his voice lower still, a touch of gravel in his tone, he said, “Promise me you’ll tell me when you learn the answers.”