Page 57 of His Betrothed
A blush stole across her face, though she willed it to stop. “I seem to remember a time when youpreferred that I play with Charlotte.”
“That was when we were children. Since you’ve come back—”
He broke off, suddenly seeming embarrassed. But why should he be? She and John had always had this comfortable closeness. She had even begun to accept the possibility that she might wed him one day, that this easy familiarity would be the best marriage for her. She would know what to expect, andhe would never hurt her.
She felt no wild emotion when John looked at her, only friendship and respect—and she needed those to survive.
He smiled. “Since you’ve come back, I feel…”
He hesitated, and Roselyn held her breath.
“…differently. I grew up thinking I would live elsewhere, that I would explore England and maybe even travel over the seas. But I could be content here if—”
He broke offagain, and she wanted to groanin exasperation. What had he been about to say? His gaze caught on Thornton’s pallet, and her stomach seemed to plummet to her toes.
“Roselyn, you don’t normally sleep down here, do you?” he asked in a puzzled voice.
For a moment her mind became an absolute blank. What could she say—that she’d been caring for a man who was possibly an enemy?
“No, I usually preferthe loft,” she said, her voice almost trembling with relief as an idea surfaced, “but last night it was too hot up there beneath the roof.”
“You would be much more comfortable up at the manor.”
“John, please—”
“Mother keeps your room ready, in case you change your mind.”
“Please tell her to use it for guests, because I will never stay there again.” Her voice sounded sharp, and she forced asmile. “I won’t endanger your family by claiming a place at Wakesfield that I no longer deserve.”
“Roselyn—”
“And how is your mother? I haven’t seen her since Sunday.”
She forced him to answer mundane questions about his family, hoping he would leave. Usually she looked forward to his visits, but today all she could do was imagine that every creak of wood was Thornton announcing his presence.
“John, it’s growing late,” she finally said. “Would you like a lantern to light your way home?”
He rose with obvious reluctance. “No, I know the estate too well. Don’t you remember the night walks Charlotte used to insist upon?”
Roselyn stood up, the pleasant memory soothing her nerves. “You’re being too kind—forgetting my part in her schemes. You’re such a good brother to Charlotte.”
He tooka step closer and she felt a momentary panic.
“I don’t wish to be a brother to you,” he murmured.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. When Thornton looked at her like that, she felt the wild Roselyn struggling to break free. With John, there was no sense of imminent discovery, of restlessness born of need.
He put his hands on her arms and drew her nearer. She felt like an observer, urging herselfto experience her first kiss.
At the last moment, she turned her head aside and offered her cheek. His lips were soft, but there was none of the magic she experienced when Thornton merely brushed her skin with his fingers.
“Good night,” she murmured, her thoughts confused. Didn’t she want the safety of John’s name, of such a calm, unthreatening life?
He walked to the door, giving her a regretfulsmile over his shoulder. “I’ll return again,” he promised, then closed the door behind him.
Roselyn sagged against the trestle table, then crossed to the window, looking through the murky glass at his retreating back. She put her hot face in her hands.
“He’s gone,” she finally called.
She could hear Thornton’s sigh. “You’d better come up.”
She glanced up sharply. “Why?”
“I believe I’m stuck.”
