‘Mara,’ he said, the word as gentle as a caress. ‘We both owe a duty to our ancestors. I grew up knowing that my lot lay in improving the relationships of my family through marriage. I always assumed my father would match me with the daughter of some Lord or another. But now . . .’
Mara finished his thought. ‘Now you are heir to the Rulership of an honoured house.’
Hokanu’s relief was palpable. ‘And other considerations are at play.’
Mara knew a surge of hope mingled with aching disappointment, that perhaps she had misread him after all. He did care for her, and he knew how his presence affected her, and he was kindly, carefully trying to disengage his attention without hurting her feelings. ‘I know that political considerations might interfere with the interests of your heart,’ she offered back in an attempt to smooth his difficulty.
‘Mara, before, when I came to call upon you, I cherished the hope that you might petition my father, asking for me as a consort.’ His hesitancy cleared like clouds before sunlight, and the mischief in his eyes made him radiant. ‘The role of Ruling Lady and second son forced that silence upon me. Now, as heir, I can propose a different arrangement.’
Mara’s smile faded. He was not going to tell her politely that he could no longer pay her court! Instead, he was leading up to a proposal. Panicked, caught where she was vulnerable, and shoved hard against the thornier issue of how to resolve her future with Kevin, she fought for presence and poise. ‘What have you in mind?’
Hokanu hesitated, which was very unlike him. He sensed her confusion and was puzzled as to its cause. That necessitated a change in wording, and his hand braced instinctively against the table edge, as though he expected a blow. ‘I ask this informally, for if you say no, I would not wish a public rejection. But if you wish, I shall have my father’s First Adviser pay a formal call upon your First Adviser, to make arrangements for our meeting. . . .’ He almost laughed, and his strong, direct nature reasserted itself, ‘I ramble. Marry me, Mara. Someday Ayaki will be Lord of the Acoma, and your second son — our son — could wear the mantle of the Shinzawai. I should like nothing better than to have you by my side as Lady, and know that two ancient houses will one day be ruled by brothers!’
Mara shut her eyes against a tide of confusion. As well as she knew Hokanu, as powerfully as she was drawn by his charm, the idea of marriage churned up her feelings like a storm. She had sensed that this moment was inevitable, and had falsely sought shelter behind a belief that Hokanu’s elevation to heirship might spare her, as political considerations forced him to seek a match with better connections. No amount of rational thought had prepared her for this reality.
She felt Hokanu’s eyes on her face, felt his unspoken sharing of the turbulence his words had aroused. And in that graceful way that unerringly shattered her defences, he came to her rescue.
‘I’ve surprised you.’ Apology coloured his tone. ‘You must not feel discomforted. Let me withdraw and allow you time to think.’ He arose in consideration of her, every inch of him lordly. ‘Lady, whatever you decide, do not fear for my feelings in the matter. I love you with all honour, but I also love you for yourself. I would cherish no minute that did not bring pleasure in my company. Seek your own happiness, Lady Mara. I am man enough to find my own.’
Speechless, gripping her hands together in a misery of pent-up emotion, Mara raised her eyes to find him gone. She had not heard his steps as he went. She had to look twice to make certain the sitting room was empty. She reached out with trembling fingers, caught up her wineglass, and drained it. Then she stared at the empty goblet and the untouched plates of light lunch. Kevin’s face mingled with Hokanu’s in her memory, until she wanted to howl her frustration at the walls.
There was no choosing between them, none, and the quandary of love and honourable political necessity ripped at her like thorns.
‘Dear gods, what a tangle,’ she murmured, and only belatedly realized she was no longer alone. In true and gallant solicitude, Hokanu had sent her adviser to comfort and steer her through the awkwardness of the moment.
Still weak after her illness, Nacoya shook her head, indicating Mara should hold off speech. ‘Come,’ the old woman said brusquely. ‘Let’s get you back to your private quarters and out of those formal robes. When you are more comfortable and settled, we can talk.’
Mara allowed herself to be shepherded to her feet. She followed Nacoya’s lead down corridors without seeing where she was going or noticing the floor beneath her feet. ‘Someone has seen to Hokanu’s needs?’ she said in a voice that sounded limp.