Page 57 of The Winter Husband
His heart ached with indecision. Should he steal that time, another bite of heaven, before he had to fulfill his promise? And if she hadn’t fallen in love with him by now, what made him think he’d succeed, even if he kept her until the trees ran bone dry?
“Hold this.” He yanked out of his satchel another chute. “We’ll talk about boiling the syrup later.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Marie didn’t care a whit about boiling syrup. She was just nudging him, seeing if Lucas would broach the subject she couldn’t bring herself to mention. That little matter of the ice-free river, and the promise he’d made to her five months ago.
She couldn’t live another day with this uncertainty.
Not another hour.
Returning to the cabin on the excuse of making dinner, Marie set to work, but the pressure kept building and building behind her chest. These last few weeks, she’d struggled to push aside fear and face her tangled emotions, but the battle never ended. She was a fool to think she was in love, Paris had taught her that, but what else could these feelings be? Fortunately, Lucas hadn’t looked at her in that unsettling way again. He’d woken the next day acting like nothing untoward had happened.
She’d followed his lead, grateful for it…but, in truth, she was crawling out of her skin. How she wished Cecile was here. Cecile would understand her terror; Ceci would know what she should do. As it was, Marie could only summon up Ceci’s advice from long ago, words that kept ringing in her head.
Are you sure, in the deepest, deepest part of your heart, that this man is honest and good?
Yes.
Yes.
The certainty curled her toes, for it was based on five months of living with the man. Her feelings for François shrank to childish imaginings in comparison. But still… She wondered if Genny felt as certain about the devotion of her woods-roaming husband. Why else would her friend risk the terrors of the wilderness, if not for love?
Oh, to be that brave.
Setting the table, she lit the last of the beeswax candles Philippe had packed in the canoe five months ago. She lifted the lid of the stew, stirring it before knocking the gravy off the wooden spoon and returning the lid. She’d stoked the hearth fire to take the chill out of the air and brushed her hair until it gleamed. Changing out of her wilderness clothing, she ran her hands down the skirts of the blue brocade dress, her wedding dress, hoping she looked beguiling and irresistible rather than a wreck of nervous energy.
The heavy creak of Lucas’s footsteps kicked up her pulse. He fussed on the porch for a while, washing his hands, knocking the mud off his boots, while she tried to control her jitteriness. When he opened the door, she nearly lost her resolve. To think she’d once given herself away because of a rolling laugh and pair of handsome black eyes. Ignorant of deeper feelings, she’d mistaken François’s good looks and joviality for something far more profound.
Love sizzled to ash if not fed with patience and kindness and trust.
“The stew smells good.” Lucas’s voice dropped deep. “You smell better.”
A trill coiled through her. How easy it would be to fall into his arms. A bout of lovemaking would put both of them in an agreeable mood, but she knew that was just a way to defer the inevitable.
She couldn’t be a coward any longer.
“Lucas.” Her stomach hollowed. “We have to talk.”
He stilled in the way he did in the woods when he heard a crack of a twig.
She said, “It’s about our agreement.”
Expressions shifted over his face like swift-moving clouds, too quick to read. He dipped his head and unbuttoned his coat. “So you’ve seen it.”
“Seen…what?”
“The river.”
Ah, that. “Yes. I have.”
She pressed a hand against her stomach. She had stood by the churning waterway this very afternoon, her feelings running faster than the current, roiling more than the foaming whitewater. Were Lucas’s feelings for her as deep as this river, or was she imagining devotion when all he offered was kindness?
“The river is dangerous.” Lucas set his coat on a peg with an excess of care. “The spring melt hasn’t passed its peak, and the water is still freezing. I won’t risk an overturned canoe.”
The excuses seemed logical, they tilted her off her intent. She was so swamped with emotions, she’d forgotten he might respond with rational thought.
She asked, “How long, then?”
