"If you're sure."
"We're doing well, I think. The weather is glorious, and the sheep all gathered in the pen. We should keep it up."
They took occasional breaks for water or milk, but Alexander was determined to finish. So they labored on until the sun was just going down.
"All finished?" Alexander asked.
"All done. Besides, the sun is setting."
"That makes no difference to me," Alexander said with a smile.
"Well, it does to us. Besides, it's getting a bit chilly."
He nodded, and held his hand out to her, squeezing hers warmly, while he grinned from ear to ear, proud of what he had accomplished.
She took his arm and led Alexander back to the house. Jenny and Caleb went back to their own cottage. Sarah excused them despite their protests, telling them that they had done more than enough for one day.
Once they were bathed and changed, she served them soup, bread, cheese and cold meat, washed down with some beer.
"That was wonderful. I really enjoyed it."
"No memory of ever having done it before?"
He shook his head. "None."
"Tomorrow you shall learn how to card and spin. You'll certainly be busy with that for the next few days."
"I don't mind, so long as you let me go into the garden every so often, or ride."
"You can even work out in the garden if it's nice."
"With all of us working with the wool, we'll finish it in no time."
"You sound almost eager to get to Bath now," she observed.
He nodded. "I want to get well. Each time I have a good soak, I feel myself improving."
"I'm glad to hear it," she said, at least half truthfully. She tried to silence the more selfish other half which told her once he was well, he would leave forever.
"What would you like to do now?"
"How about play cards?" he suggested.
She stared. "Cards? But you can't-"
He grinned. "Caleb was kind enough to suggest it. He's pricked out a deck for me, so if you're willing to be patient, we can try."
He showed her the deck, and how he could feel the raised bumps on the cards, which told him number and suit. Caleb had painstakingly pricked each picture on the card, and then a little heart, spade, diamond or club in one corner.
She laughed, but was also touched at the old man's kindness to Alexander. "All right, we can try to play, but no gambling, and I'm shuffling."
They started with vignt-et-un and graduated to rummy. Then he attempted a couple of games of patience.
"Not bad at all," she praised, when he had won the second hand.
"And do you play chess, draughts, backgammon, cribbage?" he asked hopefully.
"I do. As long as we have the deck of cards here, I shall fetch the cribbage board and see how you get on."
After playing a couple of hands and already being down thirty points, she said with a laugh, "I can see this is another thing you're very good at."
"Beginner's luck."
"Hah. You must have fleeced everyone in the officer's mess."
He frowned in concentration. "I don't think so. I can't recall."
"But you know the rules."
He shrugged one shoulder. "Not much to do around a hospital all day."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I never thought-"
"It was one of the monk's ideas."
"Well, it was a jolly good one."
When Alexander eventually won the game, she stretched and yawned. "It's been a long day. You must be worn out."
"I am. Time for bed."
She stifled a yawn herself. "I need to make an early start in the morning, washing and carding."
"I'll look forward to it."
"No you won't. A sensible man would opt to stay in bed and sleep."
Alexander laughed. "You're lucky I'm mad then."
"Don't say that!" She let out a shaky sigh. "It is just that, well, they said Clifford's wife Vanessa was mad."
"And was she?" he asked curiously.
"No, of course not. Just extremely educated, with a peculiar half-brother."
"I see. You can tell me the story some time. But not at the moment. Now you need your rest." He patted her on the shoulder.
She picked up her candle and ascended the stairs. "Good night."
"Good night."
Suddenly, he broke every good resolution he had ever formulated. He stooped down and kissed her masterfully on the lips.
Sarah's common sense tumbled like the house of cards they had just had fun building. She kissed him back ardently, unable to help herself, or to quell her pent-up yearnings. Their tongues mingled and her heart hammered in her chest. She stretched up against his huge muscular frame, but he made no move to embrace her.
In fact, he raised his head shortly afterwards and sighed. "I'm sorry, Sarah. That was nothing to be upset over. Just a kiss between friends, all right? Good night."
She watched with a heavy heart as he vanished into his room and locked the door.
Why was he so standoffish one minute, so, so passionate the next? It was dreadfully frustrating! Her whole body throbbed with need, yet he had shut the door almost in her face twice now. What on earth was he playing at? And why wasn't she more relieved that he had some control and decency?
Sarah entered her room and had to restrain herself from slamming the door. She unbound her hair so that it flowed freely over her back, stripped off her clothes, and in a fit of daring, slipped between the sheets naked. She had her robe nearby just in case. In fact, she hoped he would have another nightmare. At least it would give her an excuse to be close to him, wrong though she knew the desire to be.
She thought she would toss and turn, too keyed up to sleep after that soul-wrenching kiss. Yet soon she felt a heavy drowsiness overtake her limbs, and glided into a deep slumber full of sensual dreams in which Alexander's hot hard hands were upon her. Caressing, exploring, teasing her most provocatively. Her breasts, belly, thighs, curl-clad mound.
She could feel the rush of sensation flood through her lower limbs, and opened her eyes as a movement in the room caught her attention. She saw the door close, and shot upright in alarm. It was still dark. She wasn't quite sure what she had seen.
Had Alexander been in her room, touched her so, so intimately? She felt her nipples thrusting against the sheet, an unusual warmth to her skin. Had he been sleepwalking, or had he come into the room to finish what they had started the other morning? And he had then left her to sleep? Changed his mind?
She rose and put on her wrapper, and went down the hall. She opened the door, and peeped in. He was sitting on the edge of the bed in his dressing gown.
"Alexander? Are you ill?"
He laughed shortly. "You could say that."
"Can I help?"
"Believe me, you've tried," he said raggedly, sounding as though near tears.
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Never mind, Sarah! Just go to sleep."
She wished she could see his face, but the room was shrouded in darkness.
"Were you, were you just in my room a moment ago?"
"I thought heard something," he lied.
"I see." She did not dare voice her suspicions aloud. It was just too difficult to talk about.
"Are you sure I can't get you anything?"
"No, nothing, thank you," he replied, his tone clipped.
"Well, good night, Alexander."
"Good night."
Sarah had no idea what was troubling him but she was too exhausted and overwrought to spend any more time trying to decipher his moodiness.
Her whole body was trembling, and the hot brand of his fingers on her abdomen and most secret space continued to burn even when she crushed her legs together with a frustrated sob and thrust her hips into the mattress hoping the chafing of the sheets would wipe away the memory of his touch.
It only brought more confusion as she felt herself tremble and writhe, and finally fall asleep fitfully. She
gave up on further slumber at seven, feeling as though her flesh were on fire.
By the time she got downstairs, her two servants and house guest had already begun washing and hanging out the wool, and she had no chance to speak with Alexander privately about the incident in her room.
Even when she suggested a break, her wishes were thwarted, for he informed her that he had already breakfasted.
In any event, what could she say to him over their eggs and bacon? They had talked of being honest with each other, but it was not exactly something she could blurt out and ask him.
Besides, she was fairly sure she knew the answer. Her body had been stroked to a fever pitch, and not by her own hands, of that she was sure. She had never felt such torrid heat between her thighs before. Only his touch could possibly have evoked so many thrilling new sensations.
Alexander worked like an African slave all day, never resting, never still. She could not understand the change in him. It was as if he were trying to flee from something. What it could be she had no idea. Had he had more nightmares? More memories? Had he recalled something about a wife and family which made him so standoffish?
Again, she could only guess. There was no privacy to talk of such things, not in front of the servants. Besides, every time she tried to initiate a conversation with him, he changed the subject to something neutral like the weather, or the latest news Caleb had heard in the village.
When the wool was dry, she showed Alexander how to card, and the four of them worked companionably in the bright sunshine, shaded by the trees, and kept cool by a light breeze.
He chatted amiably with Jenny and Caleb, who obviously thought the world of him. They did not ask any probing questions, but kept him entertained with descriptions of the old vicarage and the surrounding countryside.
"The building was put up in my grandfather's time. Good stone, that. And the number of rooms. It was like a mansion in my day. It's considered small now, but in its time it was a fine place, with a vicar who had lots of children running a lively parish. But a lot of the young people have gone off to look for work, and to war, of course.
"Sheep are not as much of a good business as they once were. Ever since the olden days, the Speaker of the House of Parliament has sat on a woolsack to show that was where England got its power. But times are different now," Caleb said with a sad shake of his head.
One of the sheep looked at them quizzically and bleated.
Sarah laughed and told Alexander he was being stared at.
"I can't imagine anything less regal looking than a sheep," Alexander said with a grin. "But yes, they were once king of the hills."
"Change can be good," Caleb said thoughtfully, "But this damned war--" He shot a look at Alexander and lapsed back into silence.
"Indeed," he sighed.
"Your pardon, Sir, I didn't mean--"
"It's all right, Caleb. I know that. I can't be offended by you speaking the truth, now can I." He withdrew into himself again visibly, Sarah observed with a pang, though he never moved a muscle.
She wished she could penetrate his silence. But short of starting a quarrel right in front of the others, she had no choice but to press on with her work silently.
Once they had carded a goodly amount of washed and dried wool, it was time to try the spinning. Sarah discovered that he had an excellent feel for the whole process.
"That's very good. You have a natural talent. We'll be finished in no time at this rate."
"Another day or two, anyroad," Caleb guessed, carding until his old gnarled hands looked aching.
They broke off their labors as the sun went down, and Caleb and Jenny said good night and departed.
Once alone with Alexander, she hoped to draw him out at last, but he made heavy weather of it. She noticed he had been good company with Caleb and Jenny for most of the day, so after a relatively silent supper, she was worried.
She became even more concerned when she brought out the chessboard that night and asked him if he was interested in playing, and he seemed tongue-tied.
"Is there something that you've remembered that has you worried?" she asked at length, after he had rebuffed all of her conversational efforts.
"Not exactly."
"Well, what-"
"Please, Sarah, I know you mean well. But there are some things that a man simply does not discuss with a lady."
"I see. Er, is it someone you remember?"
"I'm not sure. I think so." He took a deep breath. "Look, Sarah, there's no polite way to say any of this. So I'm just going to come right out with it, even at the risk of offending you. I have to be honest with you." He took a deep, ragged breath. "I do consider you the dearest friend I've ever had, and I would never want to hurt you. You're not a foolish woman. You must see the way things are between us. I'm very attracted to you. But I could never act upon it. I'm beginning to wonder if it's such a good idea my staying here. You're such a, well, a temptation to me in many respects, and I'm a selfish man to take up so much of your time. Perhaps I should go to an inn and wait until your brother returns."
She stared at him for a moment. A temptation? Her? She was stunned, but rather pleased with the notion. It made her sound like something other than a dull spinsterish vicar's sister.
"You're much more comfortable here than you could possibly be in a public place with strangers. I'm not sure what has you so upset, but -"
"I was in your room last night," he blurted out.
"Yes?" she said, feeling all the blood rushing to her face, and the breath surging into her throat like a fist.
"I kissed you, touched you. You know, the way we did the other morning," he confessed in an agonized whisper. "Only worse. I touched all of you. Everywhere." He swallowed hard. "You were sleeping naked. I can't tell you how excited I became."
She tried to suppress the shudder of desire and panic which coursed through her. She'd been right. It had been him stroking her to that heated dampness and rowelling sense of urgent need. "And?"
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "And nothing."
"Why did you not wake me? Why did you stop, er, touching me?" she asked softly, though even thinking the question opened up a world of possibilities. And admitting to both him and herself most of all that she wanted him. Despite reason, honor, decency, common sense, the consequences which loomed, she wanted him.
Oh Lord, she prayed. Help me to do the right thing. Even if it means doing the wrong one.
"Because I felt so hopeless," he sighed.
She sat up straight. "Hopeless? I don't understand." She was fearful now, recalling only too well the subject of suicide and despair. Her palms sweated, and her need and fear were palpable in the small of her back and the nape of her neck.
"How could you? You're a sheltered young lady from a decent family. You can't possibly understand about men like me."
"You're a good man, Alexander. You've been injured, alone. For a long time. And men have certain needs, I've been told. I've volunteered in the clinic, spoken to women from all walks of life, helped deliver babies. I'm not that naive. I know how, well, rams and ewes get lambs, if that's what you mean," she said, her cheeks heating.
He snorted bitterly. "Not exactly the most romantic comparison, but yes, that is what I mean. Except as much as my mind tells me I want to um, tup you, I fear my injuries have left me naught but a wedder."
She stared at him. "Oh, um, did you, uh, I mean-" She blushed and tried again. "Are you injured down there as well?"
"No, that's just it. I'm not."
"Did you talk to Caleb?"
"I can't believe we're talking about this over the bloody chessboard!" he shouted, standing up, and running the fingers of both hands through his flowing dark locks in frustration.
She stood up and approached him tentatively.
He turned his face away from her, and a spirit of determination rose up within her, though it was probably the last thing she should have been feeling. For it would only bring about ru
in.
And joy too, her heart whispered, as she felt her struggle with her conscience evaporating like the mist of a summer's morning in the face of his obvious agony. "I'm sorry. I know I'm inexperienced, but I'm trying to understand. Really."
"What is there to understand other than what I've told you?" he ground out.
She grasped his arm and turned him to face her. "But your blindness isn't physical, is it? Not according to the doctor. Might not this be the same thing?"
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 17
