by Jun, Kristi
He observed her with great interest. “You and I are so different.”
“Are we?” she said, turning to look at him. “Just because I have a privileged life doesn’t mean I don’t understand how it feels to be lonely, to suffer.” She paused for a minute before asking, “Do you think, somehow, your duty and honor make your suffering any more pertinent than mine?”
“Don’t twist my words.”
“I am not,” she bit back. “You keep everyone at a distance and use that as an excuse for your transgressions, then you do as you please without consideration for others.”
“Is that what you are looking for? An apology? I am not going to apologize because your feelings got hurt.”
She looked hurt. “Do you have parents, Mr. Hawk?”
He nodded grudgingly.
“When was the last time you spoke to them?”
He said nothing for several seconds. “Awhile,” he noted.
“My parents died before I was old enough to remember their faces, their voices . . . I don’t have any memory of them, and I desperately wish I did.”
This damn woman didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. “We’re done with this conversation.”
Chapter 10
Emily’s emotions swelled with regret.
She was tired and hungry. Why was she so awful to Mr. Hawk when all he wanted was to help her? And why had she brought up conversation about their parents when she sensed that he didn’t enjoy discussing his family? In truth, she only wanted him to see how lucky he was that he still had a family to call his own.
Thinking about how she had reacted when all he wanted to do was apologize to her was rather disturbing too. Why was she so heated with him? He was not obligated to assist her and yet here he was with her, putting his own comfort aside to make sure she was not harmed.
Mr. Hawk had stormed upstairs, and that was nearly thirty minutes ago. She found the kitchen as expected. In the middle of the kitchen table, she saw a glass vase with yellow and white daisies. It reminded her of sunshine, but now it had started to rain again. Distant thunder roared above her and she braced herself. She never liked thunder, as it used to give her nightmares as a child.
Knowing Mr. Hawk was upstairs made her feel safe though; he always made her feel safe. She must make a point to apologize to him once he came downstairs. After all he had done, she should be the one making amends. Why did it matter that he didn’t want to converse with her, that he found her questions bothersome, or that he’d rather be chasing after Mr. Harris than be here with her?
She went through the kitchen looking for a skillet to fry an egg since that was about all she could do besides making pound cake. In the cellar where the wine was kept, she also found fresh brown eggs stacked in a wired basket. She grabbed two and went back to the kitchen, started the fire in the large open oven, and placed the skillet on top to heat it.
She didn’t mind menial work; in fact, it was soothing. Once the pan was hot enough, she cracked two eggs, dropped both on it, and watched them sizzle. Her tummy growled loudly at the aroma that filled the room.
She reminded herself to make a dish for Mr. Hawk once he came down. She was certain he must be starving by now. With that thought, she placed the eggs on the plate, picked up a fork she found, and devoured the warm eggs like a starved servant.
When she was done, she felt warm and drowsy. Perhaps a nap would do her some good. Walking up the stairs to find a bedchamber, she came across a room with a door that was ajar. She peeked in and saw Mr. Hawk—in the bed sleeping.
And snoring.
A wide smile came over her face. Then she frowned when she saw the pistol resting on his chest, his finger wrapped around the trigger. It had escaped her that he was a man hunter. Did he always sleep with a handgun? This reality was bitter. She didn’t know this kind of existence, and she didn’t know if she wanted to know it. While she dreamed about him in the wilds of America, the hard reality was very different from her fantasy.
Melancholy seized her. She was reminded again how dangerous his life was. How selfish she’d been to only think of herself. She watched him with a sense of tenderness. She leaned in.
“Please know that I am deeply grateful,” she whispered in his ear. She reached out to touch him but pulled back. She dared not as she didn’t want to wake him. He needed rest, for goodness sake. He was exhausted. She grabbed the blanket from the corner of the bed and placed it over him. “Sleep well,” she whispered and left him to sleep.
Johnathan opened his eyes to a darkened room and tightened his hand around the pistol.
He had lain down to close his eyes but he must have fallen asleep, because it was nearly dark when he awoke with this feeling of uncertainty. Sitting up, the blanket that was on him fell off the bed. He hadn’t recalled putting on a blanket.
It must have been Lady Wentworth.
Ah, Lady Wentworth. The woman made him very bewildered sometimes. Usually, once he made a decision, it was done. But with her, he second-guessed everything. Fuck, what was he thinking, bringing her here? He wasn’t thinking straight, that was the problem. If he was, he wouldn’t have gotten involved, not like this. He was driven by a primal need to protect her, and he was the one who was going to do it. Everything in his life was simple before she entered it.
For God’s sake, her brother was the Duke of Kemp and a relative of the Prince Regent.
A delicate rose raised by an English society and he brought her here. Alone with him. Now that she was safe in the cottage, perhaps he should consider asking the keepers of the cottage to look after her so that he could track down Harris. He made a mental note to speak with them.
Walking down the stairs to the ground floor, he looked around. The candles were lit in the parlor and the fire was starting to die, so he walked back to the cellar and retrieved more logs to burn. Where was she? Was she asleep? She must be tired. But when he checked the upstairs, she wasn’t in any of the rooms. With unease, he picked up his pace and stormed down the stairs and called out for her. No answer. He started to panic. Where the hell is she?
A few seconds later, Lady Wentworth walked through the door, nearly crashing into him. He steadied her. She was now wearing an apron and holding a plate of eggs. A few strands of hair fell down her shoulders and there was the dust of coal on her chin.
“Where were you?”
“In the kitchen,” she said. “Cooking eggs for you. You must be hungry.”
He was speechless. An English rose, a lady of the realm, was cooking food for him. How the hell did she know how to cook? Didn’t she have servants at her beck and call?
“You could say, ‘Thank you.’”
He took the plate from her and grinned. She looked so proud of her creation.
“Wow, is that a smile?”
“Thank you,” he said. He took her hand in his and walked to the parlor and sat down, insisting she sit next to him.
“It’s the only thing I know how to cook, I’m afraid. I know you haven’t eaten all day, and this is my way of saying . . . well, that I am sorry for the things I have said. I know you are only trying to help me.”
He finished the eggs in nearly three bites and set the plate down on the table in front of them.
“I saw some cheese and bread in the cellar. Can I bring you some?”
“That is not necessary,” he said, shaking his head. “This is perfect.” It was the truth, because she had made it for him and she was resourceful. Maybe they weren’t much different after all. Maybe deep inside, they were alike in many ways.
“I was rather harsh with you, Mr. Hawk,” she started. “I am sorry for all the awful things I have said to you. In truth, I took my own apprehension out on you. In fact, the only thing you’ve done is help me and I have been so—”
God, he’d never desired anyone like this. Such desires would be risky for b
oth of them. But how could he fight this? He couldn’t, that was the problem.
Johnathan kissed her deep and hard as if he’d been waiting to do this his entire life. Her hand came up to touch his cheek tenderly, and he cupped it and linked their hands. “You drive me mad, you know that?” His lips lowered to leave trails of kisses down her neck, and she gasped at the sensation.
“Mr. Ha—”
“Johnathan,” he said between kisses. “What have you done to me, Emily?” The formality abated between them as he sealed it with a kiss, branding her for him. God, he was ready to bond her to him, alright. His hard cock pressed so damn hard on his breeches, he was about to explode.
“More,” she whispered in his ear. Emily’s hands snaked up his neck and forked into his hair, caressing it ever so gently. He managed to shift and lifted her, pressing her firmly against him. Her legs came around his waist for support and they both melted into the settee for ease. He pulled the pin from her hair, loosening it.
To his utter delight, Emily was just as hungry as he was. “Tell me to stop,” he forced out. He had no will to stop; it was Emily who would have to tell him. “Tell me to stop right now.”
“Don’t stop,” she begged between kisses. “Please don’t. I need this,” she whispered hot against his ear again.
She opened her eyes and looked into his with uneven breaths. Her hands lowered down the length of his chest and down further to the throbbing heat of his cock.
“I’m going to break if you don’t slow down.” Every fiber of his being wanted this. Even as his mind told him to stop this at once, his body had other plans. Her hands played and massaged him, stroking in fascination. The violent pleasure that erupted from the caressing of her fingers was more than he could bear. He cupped her hand and brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “Slow, my sweet. Slow.”
“You look . . . rather pained,” she said, almost amused, shifting under him.
He yanked her bodice down, nearly ripping the fabric to reveal a dune of sweet delight, the nipple like a cherry on top. While he dared to do this, her eyes kept locked with his, watching his reaction as her chest fell and rose in excitement. “It’s good pain,” he said and gently kissed her lips.
In the fog of fervor, he failed to hear the heavy footfalls until they were nearly upon them. They immediately froze. Emily pulled her bodice up, straightened her hair, and stood up to close the door and lock it from the inside. “Someone is in the house,” Emily said nervously.
“Hello?” a voice came from somewhere in the house. “Is anyone here?”
“I don’t want her to find me here,” Emily said.
“Hide behind the settee and I will get rid of her.” He stood and straightened.
The door swung open and there stood an older woman he judged to be in her sixties. She seemed surprised to see him. “May I help you?”
“I thought I saw someone come into the house,” she said.
“Oh . . . yes, well, I’m a friend of Lady Wentworth’s, and she gave me permission to use the cottage for a few days while I travel south.”
“Oh.” She chuckled with a wide smile, pushing her pudgy cheeks to a full bloom. “You’re American?”
“Yes.”
“And are ye acquainted with Lady Wentworth, ye say?”
“I was introduced to her by Lady Blackthorn.”
“Don’t know ’em,” she said. “And yer name . . .?”
“Jones,” he said.
“Well, Mr. Jones,” she said, looking at him curiously. “If there is anything ye need, ye can tell me. We look after the house for Lady Wentworth. I’m Mrs. Clair.”
“I will, thank you.”
“I baked some pies this morning. I will bring you some later, Mr. Jones.”
“Oh, there is no need. I won’t be staying long.”
“I’m happy to do it. Besides, we don’t get many visitors out here, and it’s good to see a nice-looking fellow such as yourself. Anything else ye need before I return home?”
“I am perfectly well, thank you, Mrs. Clair.”
The older woman nodded and left him. He exhaled, realizing he was holding his breath. Damn, that was close. When he returned to Emily, she stood up from hiding and looked at him with apprehension. “Can we please dine somewhere tonight? I don’t want to run into Mrs. Clair again.”
“Of course.” In fact, he was happy to. He needed fresh air.
Chapter 11
Emily was getting accustomed to riding with him—his curves, his warm and deep voice that made her feel whole. It felt as if she had waited for this her entire life, waited for him, and as strange as this feeling was, it made her heart swell with hope.
It didn’t take long to find a place called Mary’s Inn that served dinner for weary travelers that needed to break for the day and to get a meal. He helped her down from his horse, gently placed her on her two feet on the ground, and kissed her.
His lips were soft against hers, and she leaned into him for a deeper kiss, her body pressing on his. “I like this very much.”
“Shall we skip dinner and go back to the cottage? I can show you something else you might like.”
His eyes grew hot, urgent, and she felt his manhood hard against her. “Can we?” she whispered to him with a smile, as if she were being promised a warm chocolate cake that she was going to devour when she returned home. “Let’s go inside. I’m famished.”
As soon as they entered the restaurant part of the inn, the aroma made Emily’s stomach growl. “Hungry?” he asked with a grin, and she felt her face grow hot with embarrassment.
Johnathan had informed her that they were to introduce themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Jones. She rather liked Mrs. Hawk instead, but right now she felt as if nothing was going to ruin their night.
It was late and there were not many travelers enjoying their meal, which she preferred. Looking around, she took in the scene and the fragrant smell. Whenever she traveled with her brother, the food was brought up to her by her maid, and she wasn’t allowed downstairs. There was a sense of freedom here. She supposed because the ceremony didn’t exist, not the way she was accustomed to in her circle. No titles. She felt as if she were one of the regular folks here, and she didn’t have to concern herself with the motives behind their speech. She felt a sense of excitement in this place, but most of all, she was happy to be here with Johnathan.
The drop of formality between them was like a sugar drop on her tongue. She loved . . . him? Did she? She cared very much for him, but love? She erased that thought as soon as it popped into her mind. She was not going to complicate this, and she wasn’t the naïve little girl that had once eloped with a man she thought had truly loved her.
She wasn’t a fool to believe just because he chose to kiss her a few times it equated to love. Certainly, he must have kissed dozens of women in his lifetime, maybe more. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed Johnathan watching her.
“Yes?” she said with a wide smile. “What is it, Mr. Hawk?”
“Johnathan,” he informed her. “You’re incredibly beautiful,” he whispered to her.
“You’re beautiful too . . . Johnathan,” she whispered back. “But most of all here, where it matters the most,” she said and touched his chest, feeling his heart thumping under her palm. As soon as she said that, his eyes went dark. Had she said something that upset him?
“I’ll be back,” he said.
She watched him walk to the back of the restaurant toward the bar. She looked for an unoccupied table and sat down. It wasn’t hard to find him in the crowd by the bar. He was usually the tallest man with a broader frame than most men in the room. When he turned and approached her table, their eyes met. She smiled, but he didn’t return it. Instead, he quietly sat down and handed her a small tankard.
“Thank you.” She took a whiff of the hot liquid. “Hot cider?”
> She sipped it and the warm aromatic liquid slowly made its way down. Those blue eyes were intense right now. What was he thinking? There was a sense of wildness about him, and those sharp gazes spoke of an intelligence that missed nothing. Clearly, he was a capable man in all aspects of life, including women, as she had experienced earlier today. And he had a body to warrant any woman’s interest, if he desired.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, touching her face. “Why do you ask?” Did she have a lewd expression on her face? Did she look indecent? There was no possible way to look at him without these thoughts popping up in her mind.
“You have this look on your face.”
“What look?”
His brows rose, reminding her. “The same look you had when we were on the settee . . .”
How mortifying. “Do I?” she said. “It’s just a little hot in here.”
A young woman came by the table holding two bowls of stew. She placed them on the table, and the delicious aroma perfumed the air around her. “Smells delicious.”
Johnathan took a spoonful of the stew and ate in silence for a few minutes. All of a sudden, the tension seemed to mount in the air and she didn’t know why. She looked up from her bowl and watched him. His expression was natural—the same expression he had the first time they met and again at the Blackthorn’s estate. What was her fascination with watching him?
She took a small bite of the stew. “If you don’t mind me asking, what made you seek employment as a U.S. marshal?”
He stopped midway from taking another bite of the morsel and looked at her. He placed the spoon in his nearly empty bowl. “There is not much to tell.”
Everything, anything, as long as it was about him. “If we are to spend the next six days as husband and wife, shouldn’t we get to know each other a little better, just for good measure? Besides, I know nothing about you other than what Kate has revealed to me.”
