The Virtuous Widow

by Anne Gracie

  Ellie’s face flamed. She scrambled to her feet. “There’s nothing to apologise for,” she said huskily. “We were both half-asleep and you cannot be held responsible for…for what you did. You did not know what you were—”

  “Yes, I did,” he interrupted her in a deep voice. “I knew exactly what I was doing. And I give you fair warning, Mrs. Carmichael. While my memory is impaired, your virtue is safe with me. But the moment I discover who I am, and whether I am married or not…”

  She waited for him to finish his sentence and, when he did not, looked up at him anxiously.

  He smiled at her in a possessive, wolfish manner and said with soft deliberation. “If I am not married, then be warned, Mrs. Ellie Carmichael…I plan to have you naked in bed with me again, doing all of those things we were doing and more.” It was a vow.

  Ellie’s face was scarlet, but she managed to say with some composure. “I think I may have some say in that matter, sir.”

  “You liked it well enough this morning…”

  “You have no idea what I thought!” she snapped. “And we will discuss this foolishness no further! Now, I have brought some slippers for you. The vicar’s feet are too small to borrow his boots, but the slippers will do at a pinch. And there is a razor, too.”

  He ran a rueful hand over his jaw. “So you don’t like my bristles, eh? Your daughter didn’t, but I thought you may have rather enjoyed the…stimulation.” He grinned at her, a thoroughly wicked twinkle in those impossibly blue eyes.

  “Enough!” said Ellie briskly, thinking her whole body must have turned scarlet by now. “I shall fetch hot water for you to shave and then we shall dine. There is hare stew in the pot.”

  “Yes, the smell has been tantalising me for some time.” His eyes were warm upon her. “There are so many tantalising things in this cottage, a hungry fellow like me has no chance…” His eyes told her exactly what he meant by “hungry.” And it wasn’t about stew.

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  “Mama sent me up with her looking glass,” announced Amy from the doorway. “She says you will need it to shave.”

  He grinned. A few minutes earlier, Mama had poked her head in the room, dumped a pot of hot water just inside the doorway and disappeared again, muttering things about having work to do. He probably shouldn’t have taken off his shirt, but he was damned if he was going to shave in the only shirt he apparently owned.

  Amy handed him the small, square looking glass and he took it gingerly, suddenly unnerved by the prospect of his own reflection. Would he recognise himself?

  He lifted the glass slowly and grimaced. No wonder she didn’t trust him an inch! He was a bloody pirate! All that was missing was the gold earring and the eyepatch! His skin was dark—tanned by weather, he decided, comparing it with other parts of his body. So he lived a lot out of doors. Gentlemen didn’t do that. Pirates, however…

  His eyes were blue, but then he knew that earlier from the little girl watching him so solemnly. No wonder she’d thought him a bear, though—he didn’t just need a shave, he needed a haircut as well. Under the bandage, his hair was thick and dark and unruly. His brows were thick and black and frowning like the devil. His nose was long and—he turned his head slightly—not quite straight. He’d broken his nose at some time. And his skin carried several small scars as well as the remains of recent bruises. All in all, not a pretty sight. He’d found old scars on his body, too. He’d been in more than his share of fights.

  A fine fellow for a woman to take in and care for—a brawling, hairy, black-bearded pirate! He wouldn’t have blamed anyone for leaving such a villainous creature out in the cold, let alone an unprotected woman with a small daughter. He reached for the hot water and soap. At least he could take care of the beard.

  “Will you hold the looking glass for me, please, Princess?”

  Eagerly Amy took it and watched, fascinated, as he soaped up his skin and then carefully shaved the soap and beard off.

  “Better?” he asked when he’d finished.

  She reached out and passed a small soft palm over the newly shaven skin. “Nice,” she said consideringly, “but I liked Mr. Bruin’s prickles, too.”

  He chuckled. “Prickly bears don’t belong in cottages. Now, I’m going to finish washing, so you pop downstairs, Princess, and help your mother. I’ll be down shortly.”

  Ellie’s throat went dry. She tried to swallow as he bent his head under the low beam and came down the last few steps. He suddenly looked so…different. Freshly shaved, he had removed the bandage and combed his hair neatly back with water. His skin glowed with health, his eyes were bright and lit with a lurking devilish gleam. His clean white shirt seemed to shine against his tanned skin; the sleeves were rolled back almost to his elbow. The shirt was tucked into buckskin breeches, not quite skin-tight, but nevertheless…

  It was foolish, she told herself severely. They must have been tight when he arrived, too—in fact, tighter, because he was drenched. It was knowing the body beneath buckskins, knowing it had been pressed against her, naked, only this morning, which was creating this unwanted heat in the pit of her stomach.

  “Sit down. The table is set.” She gestured and turned back to the fire to lift off the heavy pot of bubbling stew.

  A brawny arm wrapped itself around her waist, while with his other hand, he whisked the cloth pad from her hand and used it to lift the black cast-iron pot off its hook.

  “I can do that,” she muttered, wriggling out of his light clasp.

  “I know. But I’ve caused you enough work. While I’m here, I’ll lighten your load as much as possible.” He carried the pot carefully to the table.

  While I’m here… The words echoed in her head. Yes, as soon as he recovered his memory, he would be off, no doubt, back to his wife and children. All twelve of them, she thought glumly.

  They ate in silence. He ate neatly and without fuss. He passed her the bread and the salt and refilled her cup of water without being asked. Ellie pondered as she ate. His manners and his accent suggested he was gently bred, but his body bore the signs of one who had led a very physically challenging existence. He was also familiar with the workings of a cottage hearth; he deftly swapped the stewing pot with the large water kettle, rebuilt the fire in a manner which revealed he knew not to squander her precious fuel and generally showed himself to be at home in her meagre surroundings—as no gentleman would be. A servant might acquire table manners and an accent, but he showed none of the servility of a man who had been in service. On the contrary, he was rather arrogant in the way he simply did what he wished, whether she wanted to be helped or not.

  He fixed a loose shutter. The banging had driven her mad most of the year, but somehow, his fixing it—without saying a word to her—annoyed her. He went outside into the cold, despite his lack of coat, and chopped her a huge pile of wood, stacking it under the eaves at the back door which was much more convenient than where she had stored her wood before. He swung the axe with ease and familiarity. And his muscles rippled beneath the loose, soft shirt in a way that dried her mouth. Her eyes clung to his form like ivy to a rock…until she remembered to go on with what she had been doing. She should have been grateful for his help. She was grateful…only…

  Any minute now he would remember his name and that he had a wife who had a right to command these services from him! And twelve children. How dare he make himself indispensable…making her and Amy feel like they were part of a family… It wasn’t fair.

  In the afternoon she’d seen Amy standing outside looking up, her little face pale and stiff with fear. Ellie had rushed out to see what was happening, only to rival her daughter in fear as she watched the wretched man clambering about on her steep roof, replacing and adjusting slates as if he hadn’t a care in the world. She stood there, twisting a tea-towel helplessly in her hands, watching. Several times his foot slipped and her heart leapt right out of her chest and lodged as a hard lump in her throat as she realised he was fixing her leaking ro
of. He must have noticed the pot she placed in the corner of her room to catch the drips/p>

  She hadn’t breathed a scrap of air the whole time he was up there, and how he’d got up there without a ladder she didn’t even want to think about! But when he’d come down finally in a rush which left her gasping in fright, and then he’d stood there, with that…that look in his eye, as if she should be pleased he’d risked his fool neck for such a trivial matter, well!

  She’d wanted to throttle him there and then. Or jump on him and kiss him senseless.

  But of course, she couldn’t do any of that, because he wasn’t hers to kiss or throttle and he probably never would be. She couldn’t even yell at him, because how could she possibly yell at him for helping her? For scaring her silly? For making her realise that she loved him? The wretch!

  She loved him.

  The triumphant grin died slowly from his face and a light came into his eyes that made Ellie wonder whether she had said the words aloud. He stared at her, burning with intensity, his blue eyes blazing at whatever he read in her face. He strode towards her purposefully. She knew he was going to gather her up in his arms and kiss her like he had in the morning, in that way that melted her very bones.

  But she could not, oh, she could not. For if she let him love her she could not bear it if she had to let him go… She held a shaking hand up to stop him and he came to a halt a scant pace away. His eyes devoured her, his chest heaving. Her eyes clung to him, even as her hands warded him off. They stood there, unmoving.

  “Mr. Bruin!” said a cross little voice.

  He ignored it, staring at Ellie, eating her up with his eyes.

  “Mr. Bruin!” Amy tugged furiously at his buckskin breeches.

  With a visible effort, he finally tore his gaze from Ellie and squatted down in front of her daughter. “What is it, Princess?”

  “You are not allowed to climb up on the roof without askin’ Mama! It’s very dangerous. You could’ve fallen down and broken your head again. You’re a bad bear!” Her voice quivered as she added, “And you frightened me and Mama terrible bad.”

  His voice softened. “Did I, Princess? I’m very sorry, then.” And he gathered the little girl into his arms and hugged her gently. His eyes met Ellie’s across the little girl’s head, filled with contrition and some nameless emotion.

  Ellie’s eyes misted. What was she to do with a man like this? How could any woman not love him? She turned back to the cottage. He probably had half a dozen adoring wives.

  Ellie was jumpy. The night was closing in on her. They sat by the fire in companionable silence. She was mending, he was whittling at a stick. Amy had gone to bed some time before. It was long past Ellie’s bedtime too, but she had been putting off the moment. They would share a bed again soon. There was no choice. Of course, they had shared a bed for the last two nights, but he had been mostly unconscious. Mostly…

  She kept trying not to think about the feeling of waking up in his embrace. She could not allow it to happen again. It was unseemly behaviour in a respectable widow and she would have no part of it. Besides, she feared if she allowed him to touch her like that again, there could be no stopping. She had already fallen more than halfway in love with him. If she gave herself to him she knew she would be letting him into her heart as well as her body…

  She’d lost almost everything in her life as it was, but she had survived the loss. If she let herself love him and then lost him, it might be the loss she could not bear. For Amy’s sake, if not for her own, she had to keep herself strong. She could not afford to break her heart. She would not let him break her heart.

  She cleared her throat. “Mr. Bruin.” She had taken to using Amy’s name for him.

  He looked up. “Mrs. Carmichael?” A slow smile crinkled across his face, white teeth gleaming wolfishly in the firelight. He had that look in his eye again. She felt her pulse flutter.

  “It is about the sleeping arrangements,” she said in an attempt to sound brisk and matter of fact. It came out as something of a squeak.

  “Yes?” His voice deepened.

  “I am a virtuous widow,” she began.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I am—” she repeated indignantly.

  “It’s all right, love,” he said. “I am not doubting your virtue.”

  “Don’t call me lo—”

  He held up his hand pacifically. “Mrs. Carmichael… Ellie…your virtue is safe with me. On my honour as a gentleman, I will do nothing to cause you distress.”

  Ellie looked troubled. It was all very well for him to make a noble-sounding promise, but how did either of them know he was a gentleman? And what did causing her distress mean? His leaving would cause her distress, but would he stay, once he recovered his wits? She doubted it. Why would a handsome man in the peak of health and fitness want to stay in a small cottage in the middle of nowhere with a poverty-stricken widow and a small girl?

  “There is no choice but to…” she swallowed convulsively “…share a bed, but that is as far as it goes. I will wrap myself entirely in a sheet and you shall do the same. And thus we may share a bed and blankets, but remain chaste. Are you agreed?” Her voice squeaked again.

  He bowed ironically. “I am agreed. Now, shall I go up and disrobe while you do the same down here with the fire?”

  Ellie felt herself go hot. “Very well.” She fetched down her thickest nightgown and, the moment she heard his footstep overhead, began to unbutton her dress. She undressed in the firelight, glancing once or twice at the window, at the black, opaque night outside, feeling exposed. Wrapping her thickest shawl around her, she took a candle and hurried upstairs. On the threshold she paused.

  “Did you find your sheet?” she whispered. “I put it on the bed for you.”

  A deep chuckle answered her. The sound shivered through her bones deliciously.

  “Did you?” she repeated, lifting the candle to peer into the sleeping alcove.

  “Yes, love. I gave my word, remember. I’m as chaste as a bug in a rug.” His bare upper chest and shoulders glowed dark against the white sheet. His eyes were deep shadows of mystery, and his white teeth gleamed briefly. He didn’t look chaste. He looked handsome and powerful and altogether far too appealing for a virtuous widow’s peace of mind.

  She swallowed and turning her back, sat down to remove her shoes and stockings. Then she picked up her own sheet and wrapped herself tightly in it, feeling his eyes watching her every movement. Finally she blew out the candle, set it on the floor next to the bed, took a deep breath and slipped in beside him.

  She lay stiffly on her back, huddled beneath the blankets in the cocoon of her sheet, trying not to touch him. All she could hear was the wind in the trees and the breathing of the man beside her. It was worse than the first time she had slept with him. Then she’d feared him as a stranger. Now the danger he represented was not the sort that a frying pan could fix.

  Before, he had been a stranger to her, nothing more than a wounded, beautiful body. Now she knew how his eyes could dance, what he tasted like, how his hands felt moving over her skin, caressing her as if she was beautiful to him, precious. Before her marriage, men had only wanted her for her inheritance. Now she had nothing to offer a man except herself. And yet this man in her bed wanted her. And when he touched her she felt…cherished.

  It was dangerously seductive. He had already found his way under her skin, if not her skirts. Now, all she had was a thin cotton sheet to protect her virtue—and her heart. She lay rigid, hardly daring to breathe.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” With a surge of bedclothes he turned, flipped her on her side and pulled her into the curve of his body.

  “Stop it! You promised—”

  “And I do not break my promises! This is as chaste as I can manage it. Now stop fussing, Ellie. There is a sheet wrapped around each of us—it is perfectly decorous. But I cannot possibly sleep while you lie there as stiff as a board…” He chuckled awkwardly. “That’s my problem, too,
if you want to know.”

  Ellie buried her hot cheek in her cool pillow. No, she didn’t want to know that. It was bad enough that she could feel his problem, even through the sheets. The feel of him set off all sorts of reactions in her own body.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Now, stop worrying, love, and go to sleep. We’ll both rest better like this, you know it.”

  Ellie did not know it, but she allowed herself to remain in the curve of his body, enjoying the warmth of him and the feeling of strength and protection which emanated from him. It was a strange and seductive sensation, this feeling of being…cherished.

  They lay in silence for a long time, listening to the wind in the trees. And finally, Ellie slept.

  He lay in the dark, holding Ellie against the length of his body. Even through the sheets wound around them, he could feel her soft curves, curled trustfully against him. Her feet had kicked free of their cotton shroud and tucked themselves between his calves, like two cold little stones. He smiled in the dark. He was happy to be her personal hot brick.

  She sighed in her sleep and snuggled closer to him. He buried his face in the nape of her neck. He laid his mouth on her skin and tasted her gently with his tongue. Her scent was unique, like fresh harvested wheat…like bread dough, before it was baked…and hay as it was scythed. Fresh and good. He felt as if the fragrance of her skin had become a part of him.

  Who the devil was he? It was unbearable to be so helpless, to be imprisoned in the dark, unable to make decisions about his life. How the hell could he plan any sort of a future when his past was a blank slate?

  And what if his memory failed to return? Would he be forever hamstrung by self-ignorance? And if his memory didn’t come back, how long could he stay here with Ellie? He couldn’t ask her to support him. Yet he couldn’t continue to live with her—a few days in winter they might get away with, but much more and her reputation would be compromised. And Ellie was a woman who valued her reputation. He inhaled the scent of her. He must not damage her. Must not let her be hurt by his situation. But how?