Page 28 of Miss Barton's Mysterious Husband
Janet struggled free of Charmian’s arms. “Oh, dear, I can’t let John and Milly and Gladys see me like this,” she said in a constricted voice. “What will they think?”
Roland carried the steaming cup over to her. “Here’s your coffee, Miss Barton.”
Her aunt wiped her face and blew her nose and stuffed the handkerchief into her pocket. When she took the coffee, her hand shook so badly that Roland had to reach out to help her.
His assistance upset her again, and she caught her breath on another sob. “You mustn’t be kind. I don’t deserve it.”
He smiled at her, a gentle smile that surprised Charmian. She hadn’t mistaken how outraged he’d been when he discoveredthat Janet had hidden his letters. “It’s Christmas. It’s a time for getting things we don’t deserve.”
“You…” Janet stared at him as if he’d sprouted wings.
“Aunt, why don’t you go up to your room? John and Milly and I can manage. Especially as you did so much overnight.” Janet would loathe the servants knowing she’d lost control of herself.
“And me. I came down to lend a hand.” Roland set the brimming cup of coffee on the table and took Janet’s elbow to help her up. Charmian waited for her to shake him off, but she accepted his aid.
Charmian met his eyes. “I’ll take her upstairs. Can you stoke up the stove? We’ll have to start breakfast soon. John should be here any moment. He’ll tell you what else needs doing.”
When Roland smiled at her, she read the steadfast love in his eyes. How had she lived without him all this time? One thing was certain. She’d never willingly do without him again. She swore that on everything she held dear.
“Perhaps…perhaps that’s a good idea,” Janet said, leaning heavily on Charmian and letting her niece lead her toward the stairs.
As they left, Charmian looked back to see her aristocratic husband pick up the coal scuttle and head outside to perform one of life’s dirtier jobs.
Chapter 10
Roland slumped into a padded armchair in the mercifully and recently emptied taproom. It was late afternoon, and he’d been on the run all day. He was filthy and exhausted, and his admiration for his wife had multiplied by a thousand.
Through eyes cloudy with weariness, he observed the room. To his surprise, he realized that it was decorated for the season with holly and mistletoe and other greenery. He’d been too busy and too distracted by the guests’ demands to notice before.
A few guests remained, but the vast majority had moved on, eager to spend at least some of Christmas Day with their families. To everyone’s relief, the weather had fined up. The sky even showed patches of blue before the early twilight. The bridge would remain out for weeks, even months, but most of the travelers had plans to take longer routes to avoid the flooding.
Janet had emerged before breakfast, showing few signs of her emotional collapse. She had, however, been notably less frosty with him, which left him with mixed feelings. She’d done an unspeakable wrong, keeping him from his wife. But he’d hated seeing her proud spirit humbled. Worse, he’d hated to witness Charmian’s distress at her aunt’s emotional disintegration.
“What a Christmas it’s been,” Charmian said from the doorway.
He looked up with a tired smile and held out his hand. “I got the only present I wanted.”
The love in her eyes as she darted across the oak floor to curl up in his lap banished his exhaustion. His heart soared with happiness, as he enfolded her against him. A salty hint of female sweat tinged the clean lemon scent of her soap. Even after herexertions, she still smelled like paradise to him. He loved the earthy reality of having his wife in his arms after a long day.
When the chair creaked under their weight, Charmian gave a husky giggle. “I hope we don’t end up on the floor.”
“As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where I am. Even flat on my arse.”
“Ah, you sweet-tongued devil,” she said with the affectionate mockery that he’d once believed he’d never hear again.
“Speaking of sweet tongues…”
The kiss was long and passionate and, yes, sweet. It spoke of love given and received. Love that had proven its strength. Love that would only deepen in the years to come.
He buried his face in the silky mass of her hair and said a silent prayer of gratitude that she was with him at last. At this rate, he might even stop hating Yorkshire.
“I do beg your pardon.” Janet was turning away and shutting the door, when Charmian pulled away from Roland’s kisses and called after her.
“No, Aunt. Wait.”
Roland saw Janet’s shoulders stiffen, but she was a brave woman, if one who had been tragically mistaken. She closed the door before she faced them. The rigidity of her stance hinted that she expected Charmian to berate her once again for keeping her from Roland.
Charmian scrambled off his knee, leaving him free to stand as politeness demanded. “Please, Miss Barton, sit down.”
