Lord Sin. Catherine Archer

closed her eyes, telling herself not to look, not to see how far it was. Taking hold of the bottom of the railing with shaking hands, she kept her eyes closed and put her foot on the first tread. Over and over again with each step upward she told herself not to think of where she was going, to pretend she was only walking up the stairs at home, that there was nothing to be afraid of.

      And her determination might have worked, might actually have gotten her to the top. But she did not find out, for her foot caught on the hem of her dress and she stumbled. With a cry of fear she opened her eyes, at the same time clutching frantically at the railing.

      Her horrified gaze lit on the floor so far beneath her. Vertigo swept her in sickening waves. Her heart pounding in her chest, Mary held on to the rail in abject desperation. Completely paralyzed by her terror, she could now move neither up nor down. The rail seemed the only stable force in a continually shifting world.

      With a sob of self-defeat, she sank down, closing her eyes on the reality of her overwhelming fear. She’d solved nothing, proved nothing to herself.

      How long she stayed there she did not know. Time felt as if it had melded to a pinpoint of fear, and paralysis. Forever she would be here frozen in this one moment of terror.

      And then through the haze of her anxiety she heard the sound of a voice. It was a deep voice, rich and filled with concern.

      Ian—where he had come from she had no idea, nor did she care. “Mary, what is it?”

      She could not look up, could not speak, merely shaking her head in anguish. She was past even being ashamed that he should see her this way.

      “Mary,” he prodded softly. “You must tell me what has happened.”

      Without lifting her face from the crook of her arm, she whispered, “Too high, this is too high.”

      The next thing she knew she was being lifted, her hand being pulled from the security of that rail with gentle but unshakable insistence. It seemed the one thing she could do was cling to the only other stable object in her world.

      Ian. His arms closed around her even as he pressed her face to his chest. Her own arms found their way around the solid strength of his shoulders and she clutched at him desperately as he started down the steps, the motion making her head spin anew even though she did not look.

      Mary tried her very hardest to think of nothing, to make her mind a cloudless blue sky where the fear could not control her. It was not until Ian paused and lowered her to some soft object that she realized they had stopped.

      She then heard him move away from her. For a moment Mary simply lay there with her eyes closed, making certain the feelings of vertigo had passed. As indeed they seemed to have done. Her head did not spin, nor her stomach.

      At last, telling herself that she was quite safe now, Mary opened her eyes, and saw the cream-colored ceiling of her own sitting room. She saw also a decidedly anxious Ian Sinclair standing over her, his compelling dark eyes troubled.

      He reached toward her with a glass in his hand. “Drink this,” he told her.

      Automatically Mary sat up and took it and drank the water it contained. She was not entirely surprised to see how badly her hands were shaking, but now that the terror had passed she was beginning to feel a certain amount of embarrassment over what had occurred.

      Why, of all people, had it been Ian Sinclair who had found her like that? How indeed had he found her?

      Avoiding his gaze, Mary swung her boneless legs over the side of the settee. Still without looking at him, she put the glass on the table with exaggerated care. Taking a deep breath, she spoke, being not at all pleased at the huskiness of her voice. “How did you find me?”

      He answered with a sigh. “I had come to the rectory looking for you. The man who was trimming the hedges told me you were in the church.”

      She glanced up at Ian, unable to keep from seeing the sheer masculine strength of him. In spite of her fear, Mary had felt so safe in those arms. Determinedly she kept her attention focused on the conversation. “Why were you looking for me?”

      He scowled. “I was in the foyer when the footman was telling Victoria that you would not come to dine.” His brows moved even farther together. “I had the distinct feeling that you had refused because of me. I could not allow you to do so.”

      Her incredulous reaction to this statement seemed to wash away the lingering traces of anxiety. “You would not allow, sir? How dare you!"

      He halted her with a raised hand, shaking his head regretfully. “Mary, I did not mean to insult you. I have misspoken. I simply wanted to talk to you, to make you understand that you have no cause to avoid me. I know how much you must need your friends right now.”

      Mary could only stare at him, surprised by the seemingly genuine concern in his voice. The moment stretched on and she felt almost as if she was being pulled down into the dark, mysterious depths of his eyes.

      Even as she watched, his expression changed. Those eyes became yet deeper, more sultry. Mary’s pulse quickened in her veins, though she tried to calm it.

      She knew this was wrong, knew with utter certainty that it was mad for her to allow Ian Sinclair to matter to her in any way. He was the son of an earl. Mustering every ounce of her will, she looked away. “I…thank you for what you did for me…in the church.”

      “What did happen in the church?” he asked, studying her closely. His face was set, making the fact that he refused to be put off quite evident.

      She glanced over at him again, forcing herself to remain coolly polite. “I am simply afraid of heights. I had a bad experience in the bell tower as a child. I should not have tried to go up there.”

      His gaze was compelling. “Why did you, then?”

      She wanted to lie, to make up some story that would salvage her pride, but her upbringing would not allow her to do so. Yet neither was she able to resist his will for her to answer. “I…know this must sound terribly silly, but I wanted to be closer to my parents. Before I was held at the edge and threatened with being tossed over by two illbehaved boys from the village I would often go to the bell tower to speak with my mother. After that I could not go back.”

      “That is quite understandable,” he answered with surprising kindness. “All of us live with the fear of something. And as far as thinking you silly for wanting to be closer to your parents, nothing could be further from the truth. I had my own special place to go in the wood at Sinclair Hall to speak with my mother. She died when I was born.”

      She nodded, somehow touched by his sharing this with her. “It does seem as if they can hear you better in certain places, does it not?”

      He nodded his own head. “I continued to go there until I was seventeen. That was when I went to live with my grandmother in London, after…” Ian stopped as if he had suddenly realized he was saying more than he wished to, his lean jaw working. “Well, enough of that,” he concluded with studied charm. “It was you we were speaking about.” In spite of the change of tone, Mary could see the tension in his stiffly held shoulders and neck. She wondered at the depth of unhappiness in him, as she had that day in the garden when he had spoken about the way unresolved hurts can influence one.

      Looking at him from the outside, it seemed impossible that anything could so affect this man. He had wealth, social position and an undeniably handsome form and countenance. But each time she caught a glimpse of the man inside she sensed his hurt, and it drew her to him even more. What could possibly cause him such deep loneliness?

      He went on, drawing her attention away from her thoughts, his gaze unwavering on hers. “Why today, Mary, when you are already under such constraint because of the loss of your father? Why would you try to overcome this fear now?”

      Again she felt compelled to reply. “Today I just…” She looked down at her hands where they lay twisted together in her lap. “I just wanted to be free of my fear. I’ve never felt so afraid of things