The creak of the door alerted him the day had begun.
Jennifer had no idea how to greet Stephen. Exhausted, she’d slept a bit later than the hour she normally rose. After their first coupling, and her moment of disquiet, he’d carried her back to bed. To her complete accord, he’d been demanding most of the night.
A tingle coursed through her body. She supposed she should have been less enthusiastic. But then, Stephen stood a strapping man. Even so, she had not meant to appear wanton.
She took a deep breath and opened the door to find him sitting in her rocker before the fire.
Apprehension rooted her feet to the floor. His frame alone caused her heart to lurch. Seeing the firelight dance over his fetching features took her breath. Especially when she remembered the acts performed only a short time ago. Heat swamped her body. The idea of his touch scorched her skin more than the flames of any fire. She drew her shawl tighter.
Stephen turned in her direction. His fierce gleam told her he too remembered their passion.
Good Lord. Her knees wobbled.
She thrust out her chin and held her head higher, refusing to cower because she had behaved so wickedly. She hoped her traitorous body would perform her morning chores and resist the compelling magnetism pouring out of this man. Without another glance in his direction, she headed for the bucket of water. For she knew it would only take one look and she would succumb—most willingly.
“Good morning.” Her voice had not sounded as strong as she’d intended.
“Good morning.”
Until he’d spoken, she’d not realized she expected Angel to fall from his lips. The sentiment had become almost a second name to her. He’d called her Angel throughout the night. She loved hearing it, although the term certainly did not describe her. But as an endearment from Stephen’s lips, her soul had swelled with contentment.
Stephen turned back to the fire, giving her a chance to gather her composure. When nervous she oft times chattered. Her nerves reared now.
“I’ll stoke the fire. No I see you already have. Would you like something to drink? Water. I need water for tea. I’ll . . .” Words spilled from her throat, hopefully keeping her mind too busy to think. It didn’t work.
He remained in her rocker, his gaze on the fire. She didn’t need to be a sorcerer to see this did not bode well. His silence instigated errant thoughts racing through her head. Was he ashamed of her behavior? Did he think her a wanton? Maybe he was just tired. After all, he’d kept her awake most of the night. He could have stayed in bed. Slept the day away. No. There must be something else. But what?
Unable to stand it any longer, she asked, “Stephen? Why are you staring into the fire? Is something wrong?”
He flinched. If she had not been watching, she would not have seen it.
“No. Nothing is wrong with me. How about you?”
Me?
“What do you mean?”
His body grew stronger each day. His movements more sure, he shoved from the chair with a smooth motion. “There is nothing wrong. I simply asked you the same question.”
“Oh.” She rubbed her hands on her shift. “You were quiet.”
“Would you rather I prattle nonsense in the early hours?” His low voice seemed harsh and weary.
“Suit yourself. Go back to your dark perusing. I’ll leave you alone.” Her voice displaying the irritation she felt, she spun around.
“What’s got you so wound up this morning?”
She stilled. Took a deep breath, and turned to face him. Before she opened her mouth, he continued.
“Usually the morning after, a woman purrs. But you.” He shoved his hands through his long waving hair. “You are different from any bloody woman I’ve encountered.”
She fisted her hands at her sides. “Purr? You expect me to purr?”
“Usually, a woman is a lot more gentle after a long night of . . .”
“Stop right there.” She held up one hand. “How can you speak so coldly of . . . of . . .”
“Of what we did?” He braced his hands on his hips. “Go on. You can say it.”
Her faced flamed. Blast the arrogant man. “How can you be so callous? So unfeeling? Have you no shame?”
“Shame is it?”
Her head spun. She wasn’t exactly ashamed of what she’d done. But she couldn’t speak so freely as if it were an everyday occurrence.
“What’s wrong woman? What did I do other than give you what you wanted?”
She gaped at him, hardly able to believe the words falling from his lips. Tears pooled in her throat. Curse him for the dog he was. Determined not to let him see how he’d hurt her, she summoned her anger to be her shield. Before tears could spill out and betray her, she turned away—fury in her heart. Darned if she would let him intimidate her. “You were gentle. You desired me.”
“I wanted you my sweet,” he mocked. “Nothing else.”
She’d thought he shared some of the warm feelings that had been inside of her. Now, his hateful words proved him a scoundrel. Life had dealt her harsh blows. This was just one more. The strong survived, and she’d survived worse.
She marched over to the window, bracing her arms on the little table, next to the wall. She would not regret her decision. She had willingly given her body. She’d found ecstasy in his arms, even if only for one night. Her own foolishness believed he owned some emotion. How wrong she’d been.
How could he touch her and bring her body to life without feeling something for her? True, he was a skilled lover and she had no experience, but she knew what she felt. She could still hear his sighs at her touch, his coaxing and delight at her responses. What about his words? His endearments?
Such an idea was ludicrous. She swiped at an imaginary tear.
“Using your own words, I believe you have outstayed your welcome.” She turned again, facing the tall demon who’d spouted horns. She glanced up, meeting his glaring eyes. “You have healed. It is time for you to leave.”
“You’re putting me out? Because you’re frightened?”
“What you mistake for fright is fury.” She shoved her hair out of her face. “You have repaid my hospitality with arrogance and insults.”
“Insults?” He jerked her against his chest, his arms tightened against her struggles. A look of chagrin crossed his face. “I may have behaved a bit boorishly, but no insult was ever intended.”
His husky words flowed over her like honey seeping over a hotcake. Her body betrayed her. She didn’t want to need him. But she did just the same.
“You wanted me. Admit it.” Stephen spoke between kisses he nibbled along her neck. “As much as I wanted you. No harm in that.” He dropped another kiss, again and again. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t keep my hands off you, my lovely angel.”
Lord forgive her. Anger melted at his touch. Fury transformed to desire when he called her Angel. Her bones turned to liquid. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers tangled in his hair. He bent down and slipped one arm under her knees. Lifting her against his chest, his lips came down on hers with a passion that would not be denied. By either of them.
As he carried her to the bed, she wondered if they could spend all their days locked in each other’s arms.
Chapter 14
“I told you before. The answer is no.”
The big oaf laughed. “You’ll change your mind.”
Jennifer swallowed and tried not to insult her neighbor, of sorts. Barincott was the last man on earth she wanted to marry. Not only did he think himself the greatest catch—which she supposed he was entitled to some consequence since he did own most of the land in the area—but, his leering grin depicted he expected women to fall at his feet. He didn’t attract her in the least.
Especially since Stephen.
&
nbsp; How could she possibly compare the two men? They were as different as night and day. Where Barincott’s hair was dark, Stephen’s hair blazed redder than the sunset. More like the fox her father allowed her to chase on one of their hunts with the hounds. When Stephen entered her life, he’d had a beard. She shivered remembering the grimy mass and how quickly she’d washed him, to find a full flowing beard, the same russet color of his magnificent hair. A mustache hid Barincott’s upper lip, but didn’t hide the slant of his ogling smile.
And their bodies? Stephen had gained some weight over the last several weeks. Enough where his skin didn’t hang on his bones. And with clothes that fit, he looked remarkable. She dare not think of his touch.
Barincott spoke and she nearly missed his words. She tilted her head back, her eyes lifted to his smirk. If he were on the ground instead of being up on his horse, maybe he wouldn’t appear so intimidating.
“No, Mr. Barincott. I will not leave. This is my home.”
“Mrs. Faircloth. This is vara season. You barely made it through the last flood. And you had a husband then.”
Jennifer bit her tongue to hold back the heated reply. Yes, she’d had a husband. Worthless creature that he was. She would not fall victim to another man. Especially an unpleasant buck-fitch like Barincott. True her husband had pursued his dreams. Chasing rainbows which always seemed to be waiting around the next bend. Well, he was gone. And she’d never completely blot away the stain on her conscience, she owed her husband that much. After all, she’d chosen him instead of her family. But she was a fighter. She would survive without him.
Barincott. Another Englishman who’d pooled his resources in England and trekked to a new land to make his fortune. Her lip curled down. She just didn’t trust him.
“Out here in the middle of nowhere,” Barincott spread his arms in a wide gesture, “is no place for a woman. This country does not accept a woman’s independence. You cannot stay here alone.”
He didn’t need to remind her she dwelled in a foreign land. “I can take care of myself.”
The gelding shifted. Barincott leaned forward bracing one arm across the saddle. “You’ll get lonely.”
Not that lonely.
Saints save her. If she married the likes of him, she’d cut her own throat. “I’ll manage.” The pain in her fingers made her aware of the grip she had on the rake. The thunderous beating of her heart caused her chest to hurt. If he decided to use force, she would be at his mercy. She would be completely vulnerable.
Anger ripped through her at the memory of Johnny’s foolishness and her own ignorance.
“You need protection.”
“She has protection,” came the steely voice from behind.
Oh Lord.
When Barincott’s head jerked to the sound of the new voice, she cursed Stephen for his reckless appearance. Why couldn’t he stay hidden?
The smile faded from Barincott’s lips. His eyes hardened and his teeth, still showing, ground together. Knowing what she’d find if she glanced back, she struggled not to turn around. She lost. At the front of her abode, Stephen with his arms crossed, lazily leaned against the wall at the open doorway. She gave her best glare, but he stared right past her to the man still sitting on his horse.
She braced herself.
“Well now, Mrs. Faircloth. It would appear you are not alone.” Barincott straightened in his saddle, his voice held a rigid edge of steel. “Abraham Thaddeus Barincott. And who might you be?”
“Stephen McArthur Radbourn.”
Damn. And double damn.
Barincott studied Stephen for some time. “What business do you have with Mrs. Faircloth?”
Stephen stepped from the shadows into the light. “Jenny and I are old friends.”
The gleam in Barincott’s eyes turned to hatred. “Is that so, Jennifer?”
Dear Lord. What kind of impression did Stephen think he’d given by addressing her so personally? And now Barincott used her Christian name, too. “Yes . . . yes,” she said with a surprisingly composed voice. She looked up to meet Barincott’s gaze. “Stephen is a friend of my family.” How easily the lie flowed from her lips.
Barincott leaned back in the saddle as his horse shifted. “No one from your family has visited the entire time you’ve been here.”
Before she could think of a reply, Stephen saved her.
“I bring news from Jenny’s family.”
Jenny. Barincott’s jaw tightened at the nickname and the way it rolled off Stephen’s tongue. She hoped she wouldn’t have to split the two men up from a fight. Each had the look of a rooster ready to strut for his hen.
“Oh? What news?” Barincott leveled his gaze on Stephen.
“That’s personal.” Stephen took a step and once again acquired the familiar stance with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression revealing he’d allow no argument.
“Don’t mean to pry. I’m a concerned neighbor. I’ve been keeping an eye on Jennifer since her husband’s death. Merely curious if the news came from Jennifer’s family, or perhaps, her husband’s.”
If he meant to get a rise out of Stephen, it didn’t work. He knew she’d had a husband.
“It’s the same family. Johnny was my cousin. Parents on both sides of the family are concerned for Jenny’s welfare.”
Oh he’s a master. Even she began to believe his nonsense.
Barincott seemed to consider this new information. He didn’t like it. But he couldn’t dispute it. He glanced around the house and lifted his chin. “How did you get here? There’s no horse.”
Her fingers tightened on the rake. She refused to look at Barincott for he’d see the fear and guilt about to devour her.
“I have a wagon. My driver will be back by dark.”
She blinked her eyes in relief. It seemed her houseguest happened to be a proficient liar. What had she been worried about? Her gaze zipped from Stephen to Barincott, waiting for his reaction. She bit her lip to keep her mouth shut.
Barincott looked ready to explode. He held his tongue. A long time passed between them as the two men stared each other down. Barincott gave a nod to Stephen, his fingers touched the brim of his hat. Then he gave her a nod. “If you need anything . . . anything . . . I am only a short distance away.” He glanced once again to Stephen and his voice lowered with aggression. “Good day. Until next time, Mr. Radbourn.” His horse danced and with a kick to his ribs, spirited away.
Jennifer let out the breath she’d been holding while dizziness clouded her vision.
She swayed holding on to her rake.
The ground came up to meet her.
Stephen watched the man ride away. His teeth clenched, his jaw ached up to his temple. The urge to hurl the man to the ground and throttle the fop took every ounce of his self-control. A seaman's life was hard, and their survival required a tough hide. Being the captain he’d kept strict discipline among his crew. He allowed no quarter, earning him the reputation of being ruthless. Months ago, he would have tied the man to a rope and swung him overboard. But then Jenny might not take too kindly to her neighbor being keelhauled, even if he did deserve it.
His gaze swung to Jennifer. He nearly swallowed his teeth when she hit the ground. Unsteady, he ran to her side with a clumsy gait.
“Jenny? Jenny, my love.” Where the hell did that come from?
He brushed a raven lock from her face.
Heat exhaustion? Stubborn woman. How long had she been out in this heat, anyway?
Uncurling her limp form, he lifted her up and carried her into the little house. Fear gripping his chest, he headed straight for the bed. Once he placed her on the quilt, he hurried to the bucket and dipped a cloth in the cool water, then rushed back to her side. Careful, he sat on the side of the bed while he wiped her face hoping to cool her fl
ushed cheeks.
From what Jennifer had told him, her neighbor intended to replace her husband.
Over his dead body.
Her husband might be dead, but Stephen was very much alive. Thanks to Jennifer.
He thought of earlier, when he’d heard voices. Peeking outside, he’d seen a man giving Jennifer a moderately hard time. He figured the man her neighbor, but when the man looked ready to dismount, he decided to make his presence known. When he stepped through the doorway, Barincott, his attention on Jennifer, never noticed. So Stephen had stood there—waiting. When Barincott insisted she needed protection, Stephen refused to remain silent any longer.
“Ohhh.” Jennifer’s lids fluttered open. Gradually her gaze focused on him. Pools of soft velvet. Indigo eyes that suddenly narrowed and lit up with fire. “What the blazes did you think you were doing?” She pushed him away and scooted to the end of the bed. She jumped up and waved her arms about. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“You,” he replied slack-jawed. He stood with the cloth still in his hand. Quick to anger, his temper flared. “How do you think I felt when you toppled to the ground? Damn Jenny. You scared ten years off my life.”
“Why didn’t you stay hidden?” She paced as she shouted.
Stephen gave a shrug. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you. And he wasn’t taking no for your answer.”
The True One (One and Only Series Book 2) Page 12
