Page 52 of Almost a Bride
He could be so charming, so amusing, that sometimes she almost wanted to laugh aloud, something she couldn’t remember doing since her daughter had died.
But she had every reason to be wary and distant—she could not forget the Spanish letter hidden in her shed, the possibility that he was a traitor to England.
He was dangerous to her in so many ways.
~oOo~
The day was hot and sultry, and a steady rain fell throughout the afternoon. Everything seemed wet, and her black gown clung to her uncomfortably. The laundry she’d done before the storm hung limply over the chairs and tables, refusing to dry.
Her nerves were frayed at being confined all day with Thornton, and he made it even worse by removing his shirt. His skin glistened with perspiration and renewed good health. When he wasn’t exercising with his cane, he lounged before the bare hearth, watching her with hooded eyes.
Just as dusk settled over the island and she felt tense enough to scream, he stood up and limped to the window to look out over the estate. Her relief at being free of his gaze was fleeting.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You have company,” he said, his mouth curling up in one corner with sarcasm. “That boy is persistent.”
She groaned. “John?”
He leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his chest. She thought he would be amused, but she sensed something darker inside him.
“So you have other suitors?” he asked in a low voice.
“He is not my suitor. And don’t let him see you!”
“That might be difficult.”
Roselyn sighed. “We can’t sit in the courtyard, because of the rain. You’re going to have to hide.”
“Hide? Where? There’s only one room in here—and don’t tell me to squeeze into a cupboard.”
“The loft,” she said, her spirits lifting with relief. “If you’re quiet, he shall never know you’re here.”
“Send him away,” Thornton said, with all the stubbornness of a child.
“I can’t—that would only make him suspicious. He’s been a good friend.”
Though he rolled his eyes and sighed noisily, he glanced at the rope ladder.
“I still can’t use my right leg; it will be difficult to climb.”
“Just try—and hurry!”
Roselyn scurried about the cottage, catching up wet laundry, putting away the double settings of tankards and plates from supper. But when she glanced at over to check Thornton’s progress, she stopped as she watched his powerful arms pull his weight up each step of the ladder to the top.
The knock at the door came too quickly; she could still hear Thornton’s slow steps across the wooden loft.
“How the hell do you fit up here?” he hissed.
“Just lie down!”
There was a crack of something hitting the wooden beams, and a muffled oath. The following silence seemed loud but for the muted sound of the rain falling.
John knocked again, and she heard him call her name.
“I’m coming!” She smoothed out her dress, wishing she didn’t feel so hot and uncomfortable.
But deep inside her glowed the thrill of doing something so unexpected and dangerous.
She opened the door to find John standing beneath the edge of the thatched roof, his cloak soaked, his brown hair dripping as it curled beneath his chin.
