Page 67 of Almost a Bride
All under the late afternoon sun, in view of anyone who might come by.
Her eyes opened then blinked with a slow, languid awareness that made him think of awakening at dawn in her arms.
“What are we doing?” he whispered, while his fingers crept upward behind her thighs.
“I—I should go. I have so many orders from the tavern to bake.”
She stumbled over her words, and he wanted to kiss them away. Instead he teased even higher, until he could feel the roundness of her backside against his fingertips.
She gave a little squirm and a gasp, and everything shuddered inside him, off-balance.
Still on his knees, he moved back, then pulled her knees shut. She stood so quickly that she almost knocked him over.
“I have work to do,” she murmured, not looking at him.
Spencer watched her stride to the gate. More and more he realized she was not like other women. And there was the danger—to them both.
~oOo~
Roselyn did not return to the cottage until close to midnight. She released her breath as she saw that Spencer was asleep.
Her arms ached from kneading; her fingertips were sore from peeling fruit.
And her nerves were at a fevered pitch.
She had spent every moment waiting for him to come to her. Wild Roselyn, her old self, had taken possession, pushed away all her rational objections. She wanted to experience everything she never had with Philip.
But the new Roselyn she’d fashioned was so afraid—her voice was like that of a child wailing alone out on the open moor, growing ever softer, ever more plaintive.
~oOo~
When she awoke the next morning, Spencer was already gone. He was probably meeting with Francis, or going on one of his long walks.
But a deepening feeling of dread made her rush through her morning rituals.
It was all going to be over soon—she’d done what she could, short of confronting him or handing over the pouch to the authorities.
A restlessness gripped her that had nothing to do with his questionable loyalty—she was overcome with needs she hadn’t imagined existed. This was a more powerful lure than anything that had drawn her to Philip.
But she had to attend to her business, or risk losing the tavern owner as a customer. She had baked far too many goods to be carried in baskets—she would need to borrow a workhorse and cart.
As Roselyn entered Wakesfield’s main barn, she pulled a carrot from her pocket for Angel, but found the stall empty. Before she could even wonder who had taken the mare for a morning ride, Spencer rode into the barn on Angel.
She stood still, awed and impressed. He looked whole, well, a powerful man in his prime. She felt too warm and flustered as he grinned down at her.
“I saw you come in,” he said, pulling Angel to a halt. He patted the mare’s neck, but his gaze caught Roselyn’s, then wandered leisurely down her body. “She’s truly a beautiful animal. It was a lot easier to mount her today.”
She wished she could take back the wild coloring sweeping her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “You’re healing, so naturally you’re stronger,” she said, keeping her voice as normal as possible.
“Do you mind if I exercise her this morning?”
She shrugged, trying to ignore how her palms were sweating and her heart raced as if she’d just ridden the length of the island.
“Very well,” he said. “I shall see you at dinner.”
She stood watching him as he rode off, knowing he might as well be riding out of her life.
She was overwhelmed with a sudden regret—had she made a terrible mistake when she’d abandoned their wedding?
