Page 36 of Almost a Bride
“Of course.” He was stunned by the flash of desire he’d been unable to control, when it was she who was supposed to be overcome. What business had his body to react to a woman who’d betrayed him? And how could he be thinking of sex, when what awaited him in London might be the end of his freedom—perhaps his life?
He let anger sweep away his helplessness and bitterness.Hewould control their encounters;hewould make her squirm with frustration.
Reluctantly linked together, they walked slowly back to the cottage, his prison.
~oOo~
During the afternoon, a light rain swept the island, but that didn’t stop Roselyn and the Heywood brothers from harvesting her grain. She walked the fields behind them, gathering the wheat in bundles, but her mind was on the morning she’d spent with Thornton.
Why couldn’t she just ignore his assault on her senses? She knew he did it deliberately, that he took pleasure in provoking her. Touching her was surely only another means to some revenge.
If only she didn’t fall for it so easily. It was as if when she was near him, he cast a witch’s spell over her; her common sense fled. When she looked into his dark, exotic eyes, she thought of shadows, and the illicit things one hid in them to do. The calm life she worked so hard for fell away beneath an itch that seemed to burn inside her.
She hadn’t been able to keep her silly gaze off his mouth. It was far too expressive for a man, whether twisted in mockery or grinning in gloating delight.
She raised her face up to the clouds and let the misty rain cool her heated skin. Next she’d be forgiving him for every crime and falling at his feet, she thought in disgust.
“Roselyn?”
She heard voices call her name, and she realized how far away her thoughts had been. John and Thomas were some distance ahead of her, and both had turned to look at her with exasperation.
Throughout the day it continued to rain, and Roselyn grew more and more uneasy about where she would feed the Heywood brothers. Just when she was wondering how she could get herself invited to Wakesfield for the evening, the sun came out. She left the Heywoods to go prepare supper, knowing it would only take a little convincing to make them eat outside.
She hurried inside the cottage, and when she didn’t see Thornton right away, she felt a moment of panic. Then she saw him standing against the far wall. His dark looks and beard blended into the shadows, and she couldn’t help thinking of the night ahead. He said nothing, just stared at her, and she wondered if he, too, was remembering how it felt to touch each other, chest to chest, so close that nothing else in the world had existed but the orchard, their bower.
Forcing such thoughts from her mind, Roselyn clenched her fingers together.
“You’re wet,” he murmured.
The exhaustion in his voice drew her out of her spell. She came toward him and realized that he was perspiring heavily, shaking as he leaned against the wall.
“What have you been doing?” she asked, reaching out to steady his arm.
“A lot of hopping.”
Thorton’s grin made her insists twist with a pleasurable sensation she’d never felt before. She wanted to step closer and explore it further—and she wanted to run as far away as she could.
She clamped down on her strange feelings and gave him a cool stare. “You will not get well if you overexert yourself.”
His chest rose and fell as he took quick breaths. “So you’ve said. But if I spend another day on my back, I’ll go mad.”
Roselyn glanced down at his broken leg. “I have seen such injuries before. It will be many weeks before you can walk.”
His grin faded. “No, it won’t.”
“Are you accusing me of lying?”
With a sigh, Thornton rubbed his face with both hands. “Let’s not start this, Roselyn; I’m too tired.”
“Let me get you back to your pallet. I have to make supper.”
“For the boys again?” he asked sardonically.
He slung his arm a little too forcefully over her shoulders.
“They are hardly boys,” she said between her teeth.
She helped him across the room and would have eased him down onto his pallet, but he didn’t let go of her.
