Page 49 of His Betrothed
Charlotte glanced at Spencer with a boldchallenge he found amusing. “Well, I must be off on an errand for my mother. Good day, Roselyn—Mr. Sanderson.”
She walked away from them toward the village with a determined stride. Roselyn said nothing as she watched Charlotte go.
“Why did you decide to lie about my identity?” Spencer finally asked.
She began to walk him back toward Wakesfield. “I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of thatSpaniard, and wondering what would happen if more were sent after you. I must do all I can to protect Charlotte and her family.”
He sensed she was withholding more, but could hardly confront her about it—not without revealing the things she needed protection from. “And how did you come up with a lie quite so quickly?”
“I’ve had that story prepared for a long time.”
“It will be easy enough forher to discover the truth,” he said.
“I know that. The sad thing is, I’m counting on her trust in me.”
“Then why didn’t you discourage the baking lessons? Surely that will only increase the risk of her seeing me again.”
“I know, but she looked so…disappointed.”
He knew it wasn’t the baking lessons Roselyn was talking about.
She sighed. “And now I have to dread what she’ll tell her father.”
That evening after supper, Spencer stood at the window and looked out across the estate. It was getting easier to stand on one leg, and his returning strength should have cheered him.
But he was so bored and restless that he’d even begun paging through the Bible. He was tempted to ask Roselyn to find him something else to read, but he could hardly have her stealing books from Wakesfield. Yethe was getting desperate to stop his morbid thoughts.
He watched her leave the barn and walk toward the cottage as the setting sun cast the island in a hazy glow. She walked with proud grace, like a woman who actively used her body and didn’t just sleep between parties like the idle women at court. He thought back to this afternoon, when she’d lain beneath him. She could have probably pushedhim off, or at least struggled.
But she hadn’t. She’d only come up with another scandal, as if she had known just how to upset him.
Spencer rested his chin on his folded hands and stared at her with narrowed eyes. He suddenly noticed that she carried a stick.
He turned as she entered the cottage, and raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to beat me for my impertinence?”
Roselyn held out the stick.“It’s time you had a cane.”
He stared at her, uncertain whether to feel chagrined that he hadn’t thought of it first, or amused that she no longer wanted to touch him. He grasped the stick.
“Will this help your soldier story?” He gave her a slow smile, and though she had an uncommon mastery of her emotions, she blushed.
“If I give you a knife,” she said, turning away to light candles againstthe gloom, “could you carve it to the correct height?”
When she mentioned a knife, he looked down to keep a straight face. “I may not be able to do as much as your Heywood brothers can, but as a boy, I was always whittling.” He stood up and held the stick out before him, judging the proper height for a cane.
“What did you mean about the Heywoods?” she asked with obvious curiosity.
Why hadhe said such a foolish thing? “Oh, just that they’re so competent at theirfarmskills.” He drawled the words as if it were all so beneath him.
But she didn’t look angry or offended, merely thoughtful.
When Roselyn awoke before dawn, she knew immediately that something was wrong. The cottage had a peculiar stillness that unnerved her. Perhaps she was just being foolish—it had been almosta fortnight since Thornton had barged into her life, and she was growing accustomed to the sounds of a man breathing and moving about in his sleep.
Even last night, long after she’d gone to bed, she’d listened to him working on his cane.
But this morning she heard nothing, and tension fluttered through her stomach. Wearing just the smock she slept in, she scrambled on her knees to the edge ofthe loft and looked down.
Thornton’s pallet was empty.
