by Jody Hedlund
He searched the room for a place he could get out of her way. But then an idea began to formulate. Maybe he didn’t have to leave the room or hide after all.
For several minutes he worked at his plan, trying to be as quiet as possible. When he had everything ready, he stood back with satisfaction.
He glanced again at Victoria still asleep and frowned at the corset and the way that it was pinching her flesh. With only a moment’s more hesitation, he crossed to the bed. She was lying on her stomach, with half of her face against the bed and the other half exposed. Her long lashes rested against splotchy cheeks, still damp with tears. Her hair had come completely loose and fell in tangled waves over her back.
She was beautiful, even when she was wilted and hot and asleep.
Should he leave and come back later? Or should he wake her and let her know about the bath. He lowered himself to the edge of the bed next to her.
She didn’t move.
He lifted a hand above her hair and again hesitated. He needed to be careful. There were boundaries he couldn’t—wouldn’t—cross. But at this moment, with the evidence of her tears and heartache still so fresh, he let his fingers dip into her hair, into the golden silk. The softness was exquisite against his fingertips, and he combed into her hair deeper, sweeping it off her back, away from her over-heated skin.
At his movement, she stirred.
He combed another wave off her back, and this time his fingers grazed against her smooth flesh, which was a mistake. Once his senses registered the satiny texture of her skin, he had to run his fingers over it again, the spot between her shoulder blades.
She sucked in a quick breath, and her eyes flew open. He expected her to sit up, push him away, and tell him to get out. But instead, she lay motionless, not breathing at all, as though waiting. Waiting for him to touch her again?
He moved his fingers higher toward the base of her neck and then very slowly and softly swept aside more hair, letting his fingers linger against her neck.
Her eyes closed, and she began to breathe again, her chest rising and falling with a rapid succession that sent a strange ripple into his gut. With her hair combed away, he didn’t stop himself from looking at her delicate shoulder blades and backbone so perfect.
Stop looking, an inner voice warned. And definitely don’t touch her, it yelled louder. But in the process of lifting his hand, he let his fingers trail against one of her shoulders. At his touch, she released a soft kitten-like noise, which melted his insides faster than honey in the hot sun. Suddenly, all he could think about was flipping her over and kissing her.
He moved his hand to her waist, telling himself that he wouldn’t kiss her, that he was only going to help her sit up for her bath. But as he began to roll her, she cried out, this time in pain. At the sight of the corset digging into her tender flesh, he bit back a frustrated oath and gently released her onto her stomach.
“Why haven’t you taken off your corset?” he asked, trying to keep his voice gentle.
She laughed almost bitterly. “Because I’m useless. I can’t do anything for myself.”
He studied the strings and understanding dawned. “You’re not useless.” He extricated the small knife he kept hidden against his calf beneath his sock. “The strings are just knotted too tightly.”
“In all my efforts to untie them, I think I only made it worse.”
He lifted his knife, and she gasped and started to squirm. “Hold still, Victoria. I won’t hurt you.”
She stopped moving. Once again she held her breath.
He carefully wedged the blade into the crossed strings at the bottom. She had to be very uncomfortable and in pain to obey him so readily, especially knowing that he was about to rip open her corset and expose her even more.
Slowly, he worked the sharp knife up through the laces until the last one at the top snapped. The corset fell away, revealing red, irritated skin and three places where her flesh had been rubbed raw.
She remained motionless except that she started to breathe again. “Thank you,” she said, her face buried against the covers.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize your predicament sooner.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Maybe not. But he was still angry with himself that she’d suffered. Before he thought to stop himself, he touched a red spot on her back.
She stiffened, and he immediately pulled away and reached for a discarded sheet at the end of the bed. “Here.” He covered her back before he did something really foolish.
She grasped the edges of the sheet and tucked it around her front, shielding herself before sitting up and tossing the corset aside. She folded her knees under her and secured the sheet modestly around her body. Her hair spilled down her shoulders, and she looked at him with her clear guileless eyes.
He found himself sinking into her, needing her, wanting to do anything to make her happy. Was this some kind of spell she was capable of casting? Was that why she had so many men vying for her and falling in love with her? He’d always thought Nathaniel was a weak man for giving Victoria everything she wanted. But maybe he’d experienced this same need too.
Tom rose from the bed before he lost complete control of himself. “I prepared a bath for you.”
“You did?” Her voice filled with surprise, as if she hadn’t expected his help with anything.
He walked over to the makeshift tent he’d formed, and he pulled back the blanket to reveal the tub.
She gave a delighted squeal and scrambled off the bed. With an eager smile, she scooped up her discarded clothing and skipped toward the bath. She ducked under the tent and dipped a hand into the water before coming back out. Her smile moved to her eyes, chasing away all of the sorrow he’d seen there only moments ago.
“It’s my apology,” he said.
“Apology for what?” She cocked her head just slightly.
He didn’t know exactly what he’d done to offend her today. Likely quite a bit. So he decided he’d better just take Dad’s approach and humble himself. “Sometimes I’m an insensitive idiot.”
The words were magic. Her smile widened and genuine warmth radiated from her eyes. He had the feeling that if they’d been married, he might have benefitted from the tub built for two. Just the thought made him look away, lest she see something in his eyes that didn’t belong there.
“I know you’d prefer that I leave while you bathe”—he lowered his voice—“but my parents are watching every move we make.”
“They sure are.”
He nodded toward the sofa in front of the window. “I’ll wait there.”
She hesitated.
“I promise I’ll keep my eyes on the window the whole time.”
“Okay.”
He spun away from her, needing to prove to himself that he was as strong as always. As he sauntered toward the window, he could feel her watching him. He tried to appear nonchalant, even though every nerve in his body was attuned to her.
When he finally plopped down and rested his head on one end of the sofa and crossed his feet on the other, he could hear her move into the tent. It took only a minute before the soft splash of water told him she was lowering first one foot and then the other into the tub. He closed his eyes to block out the image of her submerging in the water. But at her low moan of pleasure, sparks shot through his veins, heating his blood.
With each splash of water and her soft sounds of contentment, his muscles coiled tighter until he wasn’t sure he could bear another minute. Finally, when she stood in the tub, he gritted his teeth and jumped up from the sofa. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared unseeingly out the open window. He was hot and uncomfortable and desperately needed to escape from her presence. He’d never endured such torture in his life and prayed he’d never have to again.
“Do you want to take a bath now?” she asked, and from the exertion in her tone, he guessed she was rubbing herself dry with the towel he’d laid out for her.
He opened h
is mouth to speak, but his throat was burning.
“It really cooled me off,” she said.
“I’ll be okay,” he managed. Heaven help him. The only way he would cool off was by diving head first into high tide.
She was silent for a moment before resuming her dressing, this time minus the blasted corset, which she’d left in a discarded heap on the bed. When she finished, he heard her lift the blanket and step out of the tent. He tried to compose himself, tried to put on his most stoic expression, tried to hide the strange way she was making him feel.
Her footsteps crossed the room and stopped behind him. He knew he should turn and smile and pretend that everything was normal. But he needed another minute before he could face her.
She waited a few seconds before tentatively touching his arm. “Tom?” The uncertainty in her voice told him that she was confused by his aloofness. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up hurting her feelings again, and he didn’t want to do that simply because he was a weak man who couldn’t contain his desire for her.
He gave himself a mental shake and decided he’d have to act around her too now. He’d have to pretend that he wasn’t attracted to her, that nothing was different than before. He took a deep breath and turned.
Her hair hung in wet strands, and her bodice stuck to her skin where she’d neglected to completely dry herself. But she was still utterly breathtaking, especially when she offered him a smile. “You should take a dip.”
“I’m fine.” He tried to smile and prayed it didn’t come out a grimace.
She studied his face for a moment before her gaze shifted to his chest. Her lashes fell shyly against her flushed cheeks.
Had she seen the desire in his expression? It was likely written all over his face. He shifted, intending to put more distance between them, but before he could move, she leaned into him and slipped her arms around his waist. Then she buried her face into his chest and hugged him.
For an instant, the move took him by surprise. He stood frozen.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
In response, he slid his arms around her and hugged her back, relishing the way she fit so perfectly against him. The lingering scent of lilac soap surrounded her, and her damp hair brushed his chin.
“You were very sweet to prepare me a bath,” she said.
He let himself stroke her wet hair.
At his touch, she snuggled against him, and he had to close his eyes to think rationally. “And thanks for treating me normally today. Everyone has always handled me like I’m a breakable piece of crystal. No one’s ever been as honest with me as you are.”
“And that’s good?”
He could feel her lips curve into a smile. “Yes. You challenge me to be a better person. And no else does that, except maybe my mother.”
“So what are you saying?” He tried to infuse humor into his tone. “I’m too soft and womanly?”
She laughed lightly and tightened her arms around his waist. “Maybe.”
He pulled back in mock horror.
She laughed again, louder. He loved the sound of it.
“So, with the bath, do you think we’ve convinced your parents that we’re—” She blushed.
“Hopefully.” He could just imagine both of them sitting downstairs listening to the sounds coming from the bedroom and exchanging smug smiles. “But I should warn you, I have to sleep in here too.”
Her eyes widened, and her lips formed around words of protest.
He quickly silenced her with a finger against her lips. “I slept on the floor by the window last night.”
She glanced from the bed to the floor and back and then visibly swallowed. She wasn’t frightened was she? Surely she knew him well enough by now to realize she had nothing to worry about.
He lowered himself to the sofa and patted the spot next to him. “We might as well get settled. They won’t expect us to come out for a while.”
Again, Victoria blushed. But she quickly complied and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. When she finally chanced a glance at him and nibbled her lip, he had the urge to close the gap between them and pull her back into his arms. But the inner conscience he’d worked so hard to cultivate reminded him of his promise to Mr. Cole. He chastised himself for his wayward desires and prayed he’d have the strength to survive the next few weeks without going mad.
He leaned back casually. “So try to tell me something about you that I don’t already know.”
Chapter 12
Victoria placed a fork next to the last plate and then stood back and admired her table-setting efforts.
“It looks lovely,” Zelma said from her spot at the dining room table, where Victoria had already positioned her in the moveable chair.
The white hydrangeas Victoria had clipped from the front bushes decorated the center of the table. And the flaky golden biscuits she’d baked earlier in the afternoon were arranged in a tower, with raspberries placed strategically around the outer rim of the platter. She’d folded each of the napkins into a fan shape and garnished each plate with a cup of raspberry cream pudding that Zelma had shown her how to make just that morning.
“You’re such a quick learner.” Zelma gave her a proud smile.
“You’re just a good teacher.” Victoria brushed her hands against the bright orange-checkered apron that had apparently once belonged to Zelma. It was hideous, but after practically ruining two of her three outfits cooking during the past several days, Victoria had put aside her vanity in order to save her last remaining skirt from stains.
She’d tracked down Tom in the fog house after lunch and had told him that she needed to hire a seamstress to come out to the house and make her new clothes. But the conversation had gone the same way it had when she’d approached him about hiring a housekeeper. She’d ended up stomping away and threatening to leave with Jimmy in his cutter the next time the elderly fisherman delivered provisions. Since Jimmy had just come that morning with a supply of fresh produce, she didn’t know when he’d come again.
After letting her anger cool the rest of the afternoon, she’d decided she wouldn’t carry through on her threat. Nevertheless, she was still vexed at Tom for denying her again—even if she had told him earlier in the week that she’d appreciated his honesty. This time, she wasn’t acting selfishly. She really did need more garments, especially since she hadn’t liked learning to wash clothes nearly as much as she was enjoying cooking. She didn’t want to repeat the laundering process again for the rest of the month if it could be helped. Her hands still hadn’t recovered from the harsh soap.
“You’ve learned to cook well in such a short time,” Zelma said as she stirred the creamy peas and potatoes. “I certainly didn’t do so well my first week of marriage.”
“I’m sure your first meal was better than mine.” Victoria smiled at the remembrance of the burned food she’d served and how Tom had tried so hard to eat it to please her. Then, even though everything had all been her fault, he’d still tried to console her, had even prepared her a private bath. He’d been so tender and sweet. And afterward, they’d talked on the sofa until he’d finally left to carry his mom up to bed.
Victoria couldn’t deny that their evening talks on the bedroom sofa were the highlight of her day. Tom was a good listener and always seemed genuinely interested in anything she shared. She’d also gotten him to open up and talk more about his past, his childhood, living at various lighthouses, and his work as a bodyguard in Europe. One night she’d asked him about his time in the war, but he’d immediately closed up and hadn’t spoken about himself again all night. Other than that, she’d learned more about him in the past week than she had the previous month.
She exhaled a long breath as she rearranged the biscuits and centered the top one on the pinnacle of the tower. They had been getting along so well. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up the idea of hiring a seamstress after all.
“It’s all right, dear,” Zelma said gently. “It’s normal to have disagreeme
nts.”
Victoria straightened in surprise, ready to issue a word of denial. How had Zelma known about her spat with Tom?
Zelma continued before she could speak. “You’re two different people, from different backgrounds, with unique personalities and quirks. So of course you’ll both have to adjust. In fact, those early years of marriage are all about working through differences and learning to compromise.”
“Yes.” Victoria sighed. “I think we’re as different as land and water.”
“James and I were very different too.”
“You were? But you seem so good together, so much in harmony.” And so passionate, but Victoria bit back the too-intimate words.
“It’s taken years and lots of hard work to develop that kind of unity.” Zelma gave the peas and potatoes one last stir before tucking the spoon deep into the bowl and pushing it toward the middle of the table. “I’ve come to believe one of the reasons God designed marriage was to help us grow in holiness and character. We get to practice on a daily basis being humble, kind, sacrificial, self-controlled, and so much more.”
Victoria had never before heard anyone talk that way about marriage. “I guess I’d always believed that some couples made a perfect match and others didn’t.”
Zelma laughed. “That’s only a myth. The reality is that no couple starts out the perfect match. They have to work for that. Maybe some more than others. What I’ve learned is that the more I work on growing as a person, the more my marriage grows.”
Victoria picked up one of the napkins and tucked the folds tighter into the fan shape. She’d never really thought about the need to grow in holiness. No, she knew she wasn’t perfect, that she was a sinner. That’s why she needed a Savior. But she’d always assumed that overall she was living a godly life.
But here, away from the comforts of home, away from everything she’d ever known, and in the context of being married, she was getting a glimpse of some of her weaknesses.
