of woman.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tara asked him, wrinkling her forehead. All she knew about his cousin was that she was nearly seven years Ryland’s senior and unmarried.
‘Margot works in the business, yes,’ Ryland agreed. ‘She works in the archive department where we house all the originals of everything we’ve published. But she has no wish to take over and run the company.’
‘But she could marry and have children,’ Tara pointed out.
‘No,’ Ryland returned, shaking his head, ‘no, she won’t.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ Tara half teased him. ‘I know she’s not so young any more but …’
‘Margot will never marry because it’s impossible for her to marry the man she wants,’ Ryland told her bluntly, explaining when he saw her puzzled expression, ‘Margot loves Lloyd—her mother’s brother’s son. They’re first cousins. It’s against the law in the state of Massachusetts and a number of others for them to marry and my aunt would never have condoned their getting married even in another state. Margot fell in love with him when she was fifteen and since then … It isn’t something that’s discussed in the family.’
‘Does he … Lloyd … love her?’ Tara interrupted him, her eyes full of tender compassion.
‘I … Lloyd has been married and has two stepchildren. He doesn’t have Margot’s intense … well, she’s a very driven sort of person. Lloyd lives in California. My aunt decided to set up a branch of the business out there, printing pretty much the same sort of stuff for the campus at UCLA as we do for Yale and Harvard. She put Lloyd in charge of that end of things.’
‘She sent him away from Margot, you mean,’ Tara said in a low voice.
‘It’s impossible—illegal—for them to be together,’ Ryland reminded her quietly. ‘She did it for the best. Except when Lloyd met someone else out there and decided to get married, well, Margot had a bit of a breakdown. They meet every summer at the island. There’s an island my great-grandfather bought, just off the coast—’
‘An island, your family owns an island …?’ Tara began, but Ryland shook his head dismissively.
‘It’s nothing,’ he told her, ‘just an exposed piece of rocky headland, really, but …’ He paused. ‘It’s there Margot and Lloyd see each other. Not that it’s ever mentioned.’
Tara shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around her body, trying to imagine how it must feel to love a man you could never really be with, to want a man you could never truly have.
In their early days together when he had been telling her about his family background, Ryland had played down the role he knew he was ultimately going to have in the family business.
He had told Tara he had come to England to study British publishing and he had then gone on to explain to her the nature of his family’s business, telling her that his great-grandfather had started a small company to publish textbooks and papers written by his friends at Yale and Harvard.
The business had grown and become extremely profitable, still maintaining its close links with the university.
After his uncle’s untimely death in a sailing accident—his hobby had been racing ocean-going yachts—his wife, Ryland’s aunt, had stepped into his shoes and run the business as its chief executive. Ryland’s father continued with his own work, bringing in new manuscripts for them to publish and sell. Under his aunt’s aegis, the company had gone from strength to strength. She had an extremely sharp financial brain and Boston’s money men had a great deal of respect for her—as did Ryland himself.
Any one of Boston’s first families would have been highly delighted to see their daughter marrying Martha Adams’s nephew, Ryland suspected, but marriage hadn’t been something he had been remotely interested in—until he had seen Tara. Within days, within hours of meeting her, he had known that she was the one—the only one.
Perhaps he was more like his cousin Margot than he had previously imagined, he acknowledged ruefully.
There was something in Tara’s make-up, a streak of idealism, the result perhaps of having always and only ever known the loving, tender protection of those around her and of having known, as well, just how much she was cherished and valued, that somehow set her apart and made her special, made him love her.
‘I do understand you have to return,’ Tara assured him, adding, ‘I just wish that Boston wasn’t so far away.’
‘It isn’t,’ Ryland murmured, tilting her face up towards his own so that he could look down into her eyes as he whispered softly a second time, ‘It isn’t.’
As he bent to kiss her, Tara shook her head. ‘Not to us, perhaps, but it is to Ma. I could see it in her eyes. She looked almost … almost frightened … as though … I’ve never seen her look like that before. Not even when she and Dad … I hated it when they divorced. I don’t want anything like that to ever happen to us, Ry.’
‘It won’t,’ he reassured her gently. ‘It won’t. Your mother probably just needs a little time to get used to the idea of our living in Boston,’ he added comfortingly. ‘After all, she’s got her own life. She’s still a very active and attractive woman … a very, very attractive woman,’ he noted appreciatively, causing Tara to give him an indignant pinch. ‘Perhaps we could give ourselves a week or so to settle in and then get her to come over for a visit,’ Ryland suggested as he removed Tara’s fingers from his arm and then bent his head to slowly suck them one by one.
‘Mmm …’ Tara moaned responsively.
‘Mmm …’ Ryland agreed as he eased her down against the bed and transferred the moist heat of his mouth from her fingers to her nipple.
Tara closed her eyes and gave herself up voluptuously to the pleasure of his lovemaking.
Ryland had teased her shortly after they had revealed their love for one another and celebrated that revelation with a romantic and very sensual weekend away at a discreet country hotel in a bedroom complete with a four-poster, a huge open fire and, even better, a bed-sized open space in front of it that there was a delicious wantonness, a wildness almost, about the way she lost herself in their lovemaking that was intriguingly at odds with the mild-mannered and restrained day-to-day image she presented to the outside world.
‘That’s because I’m in love with you,’ Tara had told him seriously and meant it, because it was true.
Her emotions had always been close to the surface, easily stirred and fired, and it had taken the gentle influence of her mother to help her learn how to harness the impetuous, impulsive side of her nature and to look beyond its immediacy to the eventual consequences. Tara felt privileged that in her the passionate intensity she felt, an inheritance from her father’s side of the family, was tempered and strengthened by the quiet wisdom that was her mother’s. Passion and sensitivity—they could, for someone without the loving parenting she had received, have been uncomfortable bedfellows, but Tara loved and valued both sides of her personality because they were her emotional inheritance from her parents.
She liked knowing that in her individuality she was still a part of them, just as the children she and Ryland produced would be a part of them. Like her, she hoped that they, too, would one day listen with the same rapt attention as she had while their grandparents told
