Faith concentrated on the mending, some of her pulls a little more harsh than necessary.
“What is wrong with you?” Prudence asked, her voice low. “You will snatch a larger hole in that cloth than the one you are to mend!”
“She accuses me of impropriety.”
Faith made no gesture toward Rebecca, but Prudence’s eyes found the other woman just the same. “What did she say?”
“Her words did not concern me so much as did their implication.”
Prudence blew an exasperated breath. “Well, then, what was her implication?”
“That I am guilty of impropriety.”
“With whom?”
“Nathanial!”
To Faith’s great misfortune, the word came at volume enough to turn every head and silence every mouth in the room. Across the table, Rebecca leaned back in her chair while a cold smile traced her lips.
Goodwife Corey finally broke the silence. “What of Nathanial?”
“Just that he visited Mother.”
“Of course he did, dear. You said as much just moments ago.”
Silence again descended. Faith would not have thought it possible that this one could be more uncomfortable than the last. Then Prudence intervened.
“Do you suppose he will soon take a wife?” she asked of the group.
“Who would marry into that family?” scoffed one of the elders. “They are no better than murderers. Wealthy, but murderers all the same.”
“One can hardly blame Nathanial for what happened in his absence,” said a younger girl.
“The consideration is not that he could not help what happened in his absence, but that he was absent at all,” argued another. “His duty was to his family.”
“He is a grown man,” argued the same young woman who had defended him previously. “He was under no obligation to stay in Salem.”
“He did have an obligation to consider his father’s wishes,” stated the elder.
“His desires lay elsewhere,” said the younger. “A man cannot be faulted for knowing his direction.”
The elder dropped her sewing to the table in a huff of indignation. “He turned tail and ran as soon as the opportunity presented. A fine quality in a husband to follow his desires over his obligations, is it not? Such is the way when a man finds his desires in the back room of a tavern with his pants around his ankles while his wife waits at home.”
The statement garnered a number of nods and murmurs. Faith was only partially taken aback—sex outside the bond of marriage was strictly forbidden, but despite the laws, neither fornication nor adultery were rare. Even she, who had never stepped foot in a tavern, had heard plenty of rumors about what happened in the back rooms. She also knew what happened in barns and anywhere else a moment of privacy could be found, as she had found the need to defend herself more than once against such lechery. She had nearly lost the fight against one man—her landlord’s son—but she had kept the story to herself, lest her accusation against him cost her the privilege of living in her home.
“Indeed, that must be true,” stated a second elder. “For he spent his first night in town at the tavern.”
“Only part of it,” said another with a laugh. “The remainder was spent on his parents’ lawn.”
The report came with a round of laughter Faith found unbearable. Though she could speak not for what happened at the tavern, the man who had returned to Salem seemed very much in the character of the determined boy who had met with her aunt for schooling, day after day, so that he might attend college in Cambridge. That he would return from London and spend his first moments in Salem paying respects to her mother seemed only to confirm the goodness of his heart. He was not there to defend himself, and even though his loyalties clearly lay outside her beloved Salem and she could not imagine aligning with him, she would listen to no more. She grabbed her things and stood, once again drawing every eye in the room. Though no one asked for an explanation for her departure, the sudden silence spoke volumes.
“I—I need to care for Mother.”
“You have only just gotten here!”
“Please accept my apologies,” Faith said as she backed through the doorway. Prudence stared at her as if she had gone mad, but it was Rebecca’s expression that stuck with Faith. It was a little too knowing, and Faith could not begin to guess why, but when it came to that insolent woman, only one thing could be true.
Her intentions were as foul as the rest of her.
Chapter Seven
When Nathanial caught sight of Faith’s approach, for a split second he was disappointed. He had wanted to surprise her with the newly procured structure for her chickens, but any feelings of discontent faded as quickly as they formed. Several strands of her long hair had escaped from her coif, and they fell to caress maddeningly at her breasts with every brisk step. She carried a small bundle of linens, and her stride did not falter until she looked up to see him staring. Then she changed speed and altered direction so she stalked straight to him.
“You.”
He grinned. “It is me, yes.”
“I had to defend you.”
“Defend me? Against whom?”
“The goodwives at the sewing circle. They spoke of your family’s insolence and…and of your visit to the back room of the tavern before you collapsed on your mother’s lawn.”
He would have laughed if not for the fury that somehow made her more beautiful. “I cannot say what startles me more—that you felt the need to defend my visit to the tavern or that you believe I did anything in need of defense.”
“You may have just stepped off the boat, but the rest of us did not. We all know what awaits a man in the back of the tavern.”
“Well, then, let me enlighten you,” he said mildly. “That particular enticement greeted me not in a back room, but at the front door.”
The impact of his words left a visible mark—from insolence to surprise to anger. “You did not! I defended you!”
“Against what wrong doing? To have a drink is both legal and moral, is it not?”
Her eyes flashed fury. “That depends upon what you drank and how thoroughly you were enticed.”
“Seeing as how the contents of my cup are known only between myself and the barkeep—and the contents of my breeches no one’s concern but my own—what is the need for your defense?”
She opened her mouth and closed it again. “Why must you be so insolent?”
“Forgive me. My question is sincere. Why did you feel the need to defend me?”
“I wish I knew!”
He should not push her, but the depth and direction of her feelings mattered to him a great deal. She cared for him, and he found that—as well as her defense—most unexpected. “There must be a reason.”
“You…” She looked past his shoulder, her eyes seeming to fix on the henhouse he had installed. “You did this?”
“I did, in so much that I had it delivered.”
Her face nearly crumpled, but she held it together. “This…this is why I defended you.”
Her reaction, however hidden, nearly undid him. “Because of a half-finished poultry house?”
“No,” she whispered. “Because you are not the person they made you out to be.”
He did not ask for details. “People will think what they will. A man can spend his life worrying what others think, or he can spend it living.”
“Yet you choose to spend yours at the rear of my house with a pile of weathered wood.”
“I would hardly call a single morning a lifetime, and surely you find this of better quality than a mere stack of weathered wood. Look,” he said, demonstrating as he spoke. “If you shut this door in the evening, you might well have eggs in the morning—or you will when they take to roosting in here. Might have a go at keeping predators away, though they can be quite clever when hunger strikes.”
For some time after he quit talking, her expression did not change. He tried to read it, but unless she was truly bewilder
ed, he could not decipher her look. Finally, she spoke. “You are a wealthy man, and surely one of great importance. Why do you linger here?”
“Because, for now at least, this is where I want to be.”
“Why?” She was near tears, and within them he saw not weakness, but strength. A woman who accepted nothing without knowing why…who would continue to grow because she continued to reach. A woman who, no matter how much he wanted otherwise, would never truly need him.
And how he needed that—a strong woman who was his only weakness. Lesser men would argue, but he could think of no better way to spend his life.
He took her free hand, lifting their joined hands to touch her cheek. She did not resist, but he would not be too quick to feel relief. It was likely he had just stunned her, and pointing out his action would probably not end well, but he had to serve his point. “Do you feel that?”
“I assume you are not asking me for a confirmation of the obvious?”
“Do not stop at the obvious,” he said, his voice low. He took a step nearer, closing the last of the distance between them. “Feel what is within. Does your heart flutter? Is there a thrill that invades you?”
Her eyes were so beautifully intense upon him that he was at once relieved when they drifted closed. Gently, he turned her arm so he could see her wrist, pressing his lips against the softest point. Her pulse trumpeted madly, and his matched hers beat for beat.
He was so painfully aware of her proximity he nearly went to his knees. “Do you feel it?”
“Do you credit yourself with the beat of my heart?” She reached for sarcasm—he could tell by the words she chose—but the soft, breathless whisper on which they were delivered suggested she felt none of it. And those lips…they were the most enticing on either side of the ocean. He would be content to watch her whisper any number of obscenities, directed at him or otherwise.
Her eyes remained closed, but he would have no more of that. “Look at me,” he said. “Please.”
She obliged.
Before he lost his nerve, he lowered his head, closing the distance between them and settling his mouth against hers with the softest of kisses.
Her brown eyes widened, but she made no move to escape. Nevertheless, he tensed. The thrill of having her near shot through him in fierce chaos, but he kept steady, his intentions pure. He tilted his head and parted his lips, taking full advantage of her gasp when he nipped at her mouth, using the opportunity to deepen the kiss. A groan rumbled between them, and though he knew not from which of them it had originated, it was all the encouragement he needed. He released his hold on her wrist and plunged his fingers into her hair, his palms cradling her face as he dove and explored and tasted every corner of her mouth. He was hungry—starving—and after an initial hesitation, she met him stroke for stroke.
He walked her backward until they met the house, whereupon he debated taking her inside. But if he let her catch her breath, no doubt she would begin talking of propriety and sin and whatever she thought went on in the back room of the tavern. He would not take that chance—not now.
Something hit the ground at his feet—the linens, he presumed—and her hands settled on his shoulders, then moved to clasp at the back of his neck. She drew him closer. While he stood, stunned, it was she who deepened the kiss, her ease so practiced he developed an instantaneous desire to flatten the man who had taught her to move as she did. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, their bulge not the only one between them. He strained at his breeches with a need so great it brought as much pain as it did pleasure, but none so much as when her pelvis grazed his. The layers of clothing between them did nothing to dissuade his rampant desire. The urgency with which he required her was unlike anything he had ever known, and at once he craved the feeling as much as he did her taste and the smooth slide of her skin against his.
“You desire me,” she said.
“I do.” It was perhaps the greatest understatement of his life.
Her fingers wound through the length of his hair, leaving him damned grateful he had not cut it with the rest. The length was just enough for her to grip, and few moments in his life had been as wanted as that in which she clutched the strands with urgency. Her breath quickened with his, and he found her proximity as intoxicating as the finest wine.
“Is your desire for me and only me, or do I just happen to be the nearest?”
“Feel me,” he said. “Feel my desire for you.”
“Ah, I see,” she said knowingly. “So that is your first erection?”
He laughed, somewhat taken aback by her blatant terminology. “No, I may have entertained one or two in your presence before.”
“Only then, I suppose.” They were close enough that her lips grazed his when she spoke—close enough for him to feel her smile.
“Now,” he said. “If that counts for anything.”
She stiffened, pulling away. “Rumor has it such interest is easy to come by. And lest your greater worldview cripple your sensibilities, let me advise you forthright that I have no intention of suffering as one of your fleeting interests.”
Despite her biting indignation, a smile found his lips. “What makes you think you would suffer?”
“I dare not hope for less.”
“How might you know what to hope for?”
Her eyes darkened. “I know well enough.”
He growled internally, knowing he had no right to ask if she had experienced that kind of interest firsthand. He would like to blacken every eye that had ever looked upon her with desire, but with her beauty he would verily have to leave his mark on every man in Salem.
For now, he would settle to leave his mark on her. Ignoring her obvious ire, he trapped her with his arms, noting that despite her discontentment, she made no attempt at fleeing. Encouraged, he claimed her mouth, probing its contours. Gently at first, he waited for her to fall into him before increasing the pressure. He traced with one hand the distance from her shoulder past the swell of her breast. He lingered there but a moment before moving to the curve of her waist, where he captured her hip and pulled her pelvis to meet his. At the pressure, he could not help but move against her.
A distant whistle brought the motion to a sudden halt. Nathanial did not recognize its proprietor outright, but Faith blew a small, frustrated breath and backed a step away, loosening but not entirely escaping his arms.
“Who is that?” Nathanial asked.
“Jeremiah Burton.”
Nathanial frowned. He remembered Jeremiah. He was as useless as they came. “Is he trouble?”
“Of what kind?”
“Any kind.”
“The whole of the village will soon know you kissed me, if that is the trouble to which you refer.”
“Ordinarily that might be unfortunate, but under the circumstances I think your reputation will be held intact. And,” he could not resist adding, “I would consider you quite the willing participant in that kiss.”
Ignoring his addendum, she retorted, “You know nothing of my reputation, and kissing in public is a crime, even for the pious.”
Such ridiculous laws could only be crafted by the small-minded and embraced by an equally small town. “Your tongue is brazen, little one. But even the most protected of reputations will outstand any talk that might come from this private display—that is, of course, if you share my intentions.”
She stared, blatant suspicion clouding her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Just this morning I asked your mother for your hand, and she granted it.”
Chapter Eight
Faith stared at Nathanial, her mouth ajar, not the least bit mindful of Jeremiah’s approach. “You did what?”
“I am not a brute,” he said mildly. “You are free to decline.”
“You were not free to ask,” she sputtered. Could he be serious? It mattered not what she thought of his family—they thought themselves one of the finest in all of the colonies and would certainly never permit their son to settle
for less than the wealthiest of patricians. She opened her mouth only to close it again when she realized her argument had nothing to do with her own desires, but of the impracticality of such an arrangement. Had his attention dizzied her to the point that she had forgotten what his family had done to hers…to the whole of Salem? Even if she looked past that, there could never be anything between them. His disdain for her beloved home had seen to that. If she succumbed to him, she would be left with nothing but the mark of a sinner while he moved on from town to town, building his coffers and bedding every willing woman along the path.
He brushed a fingertip over her trembling lip, setting fire to the sensations that still lingered from his kiss—sensations that wanted nothing of reason. “A man is always free to ask.”
The conversation was cut short by Jeremiah’s intrusion, and for that she was infinitely grateful. She needed time to shed the effects of Nathanial’s touch, though she was not sure a lifetime would be enough. Not even Jeremiah’s approach served to snap her out of her haze, for his swift, hard strides spoke of fury. She reacted by stepping closer to Nathanial, which in turn only seemed to anger Jeremiah all the more. He had been persistent for many months in his attempts to court her, and the scowl he wore after seeing her with Nathanial contradicted his pseudo-friendly tone. “You two seem cozy.”
“Old friends,” Nathanial said, earning a murderous glare. “Speaking of which, it has been a long time. How have you fared?”
Jeremiah turned his scrutiny toward Nathanial. “Have we met?”
“Nathanial Abbot.”
Recognition lit Jeremiah’s eyes, but the hard set of his jaw did not soften. Faith had seen him skirmish enough with other men to know he was looking for a fight, but Nathanial stood a head taller and was twice the heft, all of it muscle. Surely Jeremiah would not be so foolish. He closed his stance a bit and straightened, but he remained tense. “Ah, many years gone. I would not recognize you. How were your travels?”
The Sins of a Few (Entangled Scandalous) Page 6
