Page 46 of Almost a Bride
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. Yet he 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 pushed him 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 against the 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 had he said such a foolish thing? “Oh, just that they’re so competent at their farm skills.” He drawled the words as if it were all so beneath him.
But she didn’t look angry or offended, merely thoughtful.
~oOo~
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 almost a 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 of the loft and looked down.
Thornton’s pallet was empty.
Chapter 14
He couldn’t have left the island, Roselyn told herself as she dressed; not when he couldn’t mount a horse alone or defend himself on a dangerous journey.
She descended the ladder and walked quickly out the door. Would he go to Wakesfield Manor, now that Charlotte had met him? He’d originally wanted no one to know where he was, but he’d allowed her to choose whether to tell the truth to Charlotte.
Roselyn was so confused that she didn’t know what to believe anymore.
But Wakesfield didn’t seem like the right destination, so she swiftly headed through the meadows toward the ocean. The sun was just beginning to peer over the horizon, and by the time she neared the cliff, her face was bathed in warmth from running.
She finally saw Thornton, silhouetted against the dawn sky, the sun streaming brightly around him. Roselyn took a deep breath. She wasn’t certain why she felt relieved—or why she’d worried at all. Surely it was just fear for his safety.
She suddenly remembered that when he had mentioned the Heywoods last evening, something had not sounded right. He’d tried to cover it up, but she had not been fooled. For a moment, she thought he’d felt inadequate, but she’d put such a ridiculous idea from her mind. With his arrogance, he’d hardly feel inadequate about anything.
She calmed her breathing as she came up behind him.
“Did you think I’d gone for good?” he asked without turning around.
Startled, she came to a halt at his side. He looked down at her, and when his eyes widened and a slow smile lit his face, she knew immediately how she must look to him—flustered, unkempt, with her hair down as if she couldn’t take the time to dress properly in her haste to find him.
And it was all true.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, and turned to look out over the ocean. It was low tide, and gulls swooped and darted amid the wet rocks at the base of the cliff, looking for food.
