Page 12 of His Betrothed
She remained silent, frozen, too aware of him.
“You smell wonderful.”
When she didn’t answer, his chest shook in a laugh. “I’ll wager I don’t.”
Roselyn couldn’t stop the smile that fleetingly crossed her face. Why did he have to be charming,even in sickness? She hadn’t suspected he had this side to him.
Together they managed to get him onto the pallet, where he collapsed back and closed his eyes as she covered him with a blanket.
“I must leave you for a few moments,” she said. “I have to return for the tray and the lantern.”
When she reached the shed, she began to dig in the pile of grass for his pouch. She found it quickly,then held it up in the meager light. It was still damp, and tightly tied at the neck. It took her endless minutes to loosen the leather laces.
She found herself opening the pouch slowly, not eager to know what was inside. She had nursed Thornton and held off death for him, and though she longed for him to be gone from her peaceful island, she didn’t want him arrested for treason.
And yet—thatwould be proof that she’d made the right decision in not marrying him.
Her hand shook as she pulled out several sheets of parchment, folded and sealed with an unfamiliar wax imprint. Only hesitating for a moment, she carefully lifted the wax and spread open the letter. Her stomach sank in immediate distress.
The words were in Spanish.
Roselyn stared at the unintelligible letter and grittedher teeth; anger raged through her as quickly as gossip at court. Would an English viscount actually betray his country for the sake of his mother’s people?
She told herself to remain calm, that thiscould be just a letter to Thornton’s mother. But would he have asked for such a simple thing the moment he had his wits about him?
She couldn’t give it back to him; she’d already lied and told himshe didn’t have it. She couldn’t give it to the militia, either. If no one understood Spanish, they could very well arrest him as a precautionary measure—or God forbid, hang him as a spy on his appearance alone.
She couldn’t allow that to happen. She would have to be satisfied that he wouldn’t betray his country before she allowed him to leave her home. She would watch him, even make him feelcomfortable around her. And she would listen to every word he said, in hopes of piecing together the puzzle that was Spencer Thornton.
She reburied the oilskin pouch and its questionable contents beneath the cut grass.
When Roselyn returned to her cottage, she stood above Thornton and looked down on him. He was deep in an exhausted sleep, with shadows darkening his eyes.
She dreaded bathinghim again. It would be better to do as much of it as she could while he was asleep.
Spreading towels about him to catch the soapy water, she began to wash him. But removing his breeches this time was more embarrassing and intimate. She knew who he wasnow, what he could have been to her—husband. He was different from Philip, darker and larger, and part of her wanted to stare.
Instead she concentratedon removing his splint and washing his legs, pretending she didn’t feel overly warm and flustered. It was only as she moved up his body that she realized the effect her ministrations were having on him. He was becoming…aroused.
Her face shot with heat, and she didn’t know what to do, where to turn. She wasn’t through bathing him, yet she couldn’t keep looking at…it. She dropped the wet clothover his groin, then gasped as he awakened with a start and came up on one elbow.
“What the—” Thornton began, then gaped at his barely concealed nudity.
“I needed to…bathe you,” she began, faltering with an embarrassment she wasn’t used to. “I thought it would be better if you were asleep.”
He pulled a towel over his hips. “Aren’t you a little young to bathe strange men? Surely your husbandcouldn’t approve.”
“My husband is dead. You’ve been wearing his garments.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said in a gruff voice.
There was something absurd about a naked, aroused man expressing his sympathies.
An awkward silence hovered between them, and she should have looked away—but couldn’t. They seemed caught, their gazes bound together, their bodies too close.
Thornton finally clearedhis throat, and his eyes dropped down her body before he looked away. “Let me finish this…bath, if you don’t mind.”
“You’re still weak—”
