A Bride Most Begrudging (28 page)

He was wide-awake now, though, and thinking of all he’d said and done. That’s when the lustful thoughts began. So worried had he been before, he’d barely even been cognizant of her as a … well, as a woman. But his subconscious had evidently been paying very strict attention. And now that the danger was over, it was reminding him with remarkable accuracy and frequency of her slim graceful arms. Her dainty curved feet. Her long willowy legs. Among other things.

He closed his eyes, trying to slow his errant thoughts. Instead, he recalled the moments he’d held her while Mary had changed the bedding.

Her skin had been creamy and smooth, burning not only where he’d touched, but burning his very soul.

He took a deep breath. Yes, he’d definitely been lying about the lustful thoughts part. Still, she was his wife and now that he intended to make an honest go of it, surely it was permissible to have such thoughts about one’s own mate. He frowned. He couldn’t seem to call up one Scripture that said as such. Surely it said that somewhere. He grabbed his Bible and lowered himself into his chair.

“So husbands ought to love their own wives as their own bodies; he who loves his wife loves himself. For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it.”

Well, he certainly loved her body, but no matter how he manipulated the passage, he knew it had nothing to do with that. He continued to flip through the pages.

“Wives, submit to your own husbands.”

An excellent verse, but not what he was looking for at the moment. He turned back toward the front.

Aha!
“Rejoice with the wife of your youth. As a loving deer and a graceful doe, let her breasts satisfy you at all times; and always be enraptured with her love.”

He slammed the Good Book closed. God would not hold him to the lustful thoughts part of his promise. As for the rest, he intended to keep to the letter his pledge.

He cringed at the thought of educating Sally, but perhaps that would work to his advantage. Constance would be very pleased at the prospect of tutoring her again.

After storing his Bible beneath his chair, he looked toward the bed. She was staring at him. Feeling color flood his face, he shifted in his chair.

“God ye good den.”

He nodded. “Good afternoon.”

She lay still for a few more moments. “I’m hungry.”

He lifted the corners of his mouth a fraction. “That’s wonderful.”

“Might I have something to eat?”

“Certainly.” He stayed where he was.

She frowned slightly. “Drew? Is everything all right?”

He cleared his throat. “Fine, fine. Everything’s fine.” He turned his head slightly but kept his eyes on Constance. “Mary? Might you bring Constance a bit of broth?”

Constance looked to the fire and then different spots in the cottage. “Mary isn’t in here.”

He twisted around. “Oh. So she isn’t. Well, I’ll get you something in a moment or two.”

She moistened her lips.

His breath caught. “Or three.”

Touching her hand to her forehead, she frowned again. “I also need to, well, your pardon, but I need to make use of the chamber pot. Um,
now
.”

He shot to his feet and made his way hastily to the door. “I’ll find Mary.”

“Drew! Your coat!”

But he was already out the door.

————

Constance drank in the sight of his ruddy cheeks and nose, along with his wind-tossed hair. Peeling off his jacket, he shook the snowflakes from its folds and hooked it on a peg. “You look wonderful,” he said, easing into a smile.

He was dressed for winter. He’d attached the sleeves to his leather jerkin with cording and donned thick woolen breeches. Stockings and shoes had been exchanged for boots. “Compared to what?” she asked.

He moved to the foot of the bed. “Compared to this morning, compared to yesterday, compared to last week, I don’t know. You simply look wonderful.”

It was a bald-faced lie, but she wouldn’t argue with him. “Were you at the big house?”

He nodded.

“Did it suffer any from the storm?”

“What storm?”

She hesitated. “The
rain
storm, Drew. You remember the one? I believe Sally got lost in it?”

He raised a brow. “The house is fine.”

She smoothed the coverlet’s wrinkles. “Is the roof on yet?”

“Hardly. We only started on the chimney this morn.”

Frowning, she looked up. “I thought you said I’d been ill for almost three weeks.”

“You have.”

“Then what in the world have you been doing?”

He stiffened. “The siding is on. The windows and doors are in. And the cornice boards have been completed. Is that all right with you?”

She shrugged. “I was simply worried about the snow. What with no roof, won’t the snow cause problems?”

“No.” He strode to the fire, rubbing his hands together in its warmth.

She sighed. “When will Sally be home?”

“I’ll bring her home after the Christmas service.”

Christmas. Sweet heaven, she’d forgotten all about it. “What is today?”

“The first day of December.” Scooping some stew into a bowl, he brought it and a spoon to her. “Here.”

She set them on her lap. “I’m tired.”

“Just a few bites, then you can rest.”

It took such effort to eat, and their conversation was already draining her. She stared at the steaming bowl.

The bed tilted from Drew’s weight, then he took the bowl and spoon in hand. “Open up.”

She wrinkled her nose. He grinned boyishly. “I promise not to miss,
if
you open up like a good girl.”

She opened her mouth, the warm concoction pleasantly appeasing. He said nothing as she chewed, just watched her mouth until she swallowed. Before presenting her with the next bite, his gaze briefly touched hers. She skittered hers away.

She opened her mouth and again closed it around the spoon. He withdrew it much more slowly this time, then returned it to the bowl. Chancing another glance at him, she ceased to chew. His stare was bold and unabashedly direct. Something stirred deep within her.

He brushed her cheek with his finger. “Eat.”

She finished the bite in record time.

His gaze, soft as a caress, touched her lips. “Open.”

She hesitated, then opened her mouth. He fed her another bite. Broth trickled from the corner of her mouth. Before she could wipe it, he was there with the spoon, scooping it up. His eyes then locked with hers as he drank from the spoon, cleaning it thoroughly within his mouth.

Her pulse pounding, she forced herself to swallow. “I’m all done. Thank you.” She slid under the covers, turned to face the wall, then closed her eyes. But her heartbeat slowed not and her desire for him swelled.

She’d make certain he never saw it, though. Never again. Many tense moments of silence passed before he finally stood and moved away.

————

Upon awaking, she first looked to his chair. He wasn’t in it, but neither was it empty. Rising up onto her elbows, she scanned the cottage. Mary was grinding with mortar and pestle, but Drew was nowhere in sight.

The chair had been pushed next to the bed, well within her reach.

In its seat lay a gingerbread slate with a huge heart-shaped leaf resting atop it. On the leaf was inscribed a message.

A cylindrical bucket is 6 inches in circumference and 4 inches high. On the inside of the vessel 1 inch from the top is a drop of honey. On the outside of the vessel on the opposite side, 1 inch from the bottom, is a fly. How far will the fly have to go to reach the honey?

She studied the dry leaf, tracing its shape with her fingertip. What beautiful foliage this land produced. She’d never dreamed.

She reread the geometrical exercise, then sighed. He’d finally acknowledged her interest in mathematics again. He must be feeling awfully sorry for her to have instigated such a thing. Still, she was pleased. Closing her eyes, she pictured the bucket, the honey, and the fly.

————

“You’re home early today.”

Drew shrugged out of his jacket. “We can only do about eight feet of bricking per day without squashing the mortar. So I’m having the men sheath the roof for now, then in the morn we’ll do more bricking. How do you feel?”

“Better and better. I’m even beginning to miss my baths.”

He tsked, waving his finger to and fro. “What would your father say?”

“He’d be scandalized.”

Chuckling, he glanced to the fire. “Has she been eating, Mary?”

“It’s lucky you are that you came home early, Master, for I fear there’s a wolf in her stomach, I do.”

Constance watched them exchange a smile, then looked at her hands. Things were different between Drew and Mary now. No longer was Mary meek and subservient around him. She looked him in the eye. She grumbled if he interfered with her chores. She laughed frequently and easily with him.

He was different as well. The barrier he’d always placed between him and others outside his immediate family was no longer there. He teased her. He whispered with her. He shared his laughter with her.

Constance refused to acknowledge the knot beneath her chest. She adored them both, and if they had found something special to share, she’d not sit here and moon over it. Lifting her chin, she blanched to find Drew standing behind his chair, staring at her.

“Have you decided how far the fly will have to go to reach the honey?”

Her gaze ricocheted from him to the untouched gingerbread slate and back up to him. “I’ve been toying with the idea in my head. Do
you
know the distance he must go?”

He took a deep breath. “I have no idea.”

“I see.” She bit her lip. “Well, I … it was … thank you. I really appreciate your giving me the puzzle. I’ve just been too tired as of yet to give it my full attention.”

He picked up the slate and leaf, then lowered himself into the chair. “You must not be as well as you appear, then.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “No, I do feel much better. Truly, I do. I simply tire very easily.”

He nodded. “That will pass.”

They sat in awkward silence—nothing like the easy silence that passed between him and Mary. This was tense and uncomfortable. She groped for something to say but could think of nothing.

He shifted. “The snow has ceased.”

“Has it? Oh, Drew, I’m so glad. I did worry you and the men wouldn’t be warm enough. Are you … uh … they warm enough?”

“Fine. Just fine. Everyone’s plenty warm.”

Another stretch of silence, this one worse than the last. She contemplated her toes, wiggling them underneath the coverlet. He studied his nails. Then they both looked at each other.

“Why don’t you eat something, Drew? Mary made some wonderful—rack-coon, was it, Mary?”

Holding her arm above the fire to test its warmth, Mary shrugged her shoulders. “You needs must ask the master. My tongue has a time with those savage words, it does.”

“Aroughcoune.”

“Yes. That. Mary baked some today.”

“Is there any left or did your wolf eat it all?”

“Mary exaggerates. There’s plenty.”

He continued to sit there. Saying nothing, just staring at her.
Say something, Constance. Quickly
.

She fingered the string that gathered her nightdress together at the neck. “Um, I think I can sleep on my tick again. You needn’t give up your bed any longer. I’ll—”

“No.”

She stilled. “But, your bed.”

“You need to stay quiet for many more days. I’ll not risk your having a relapse.”

“But—”

He leaned forward, close to her ear. “I like having you in my bed, Connie. Please.”

Her eyes widened. His face turned a dull red. He shot to his feet. “I believe I’ll have some dinner now after all.”

Tossing the slate and leaf to the foot of the bed, he strode to the shelves and retrieved a trencher. She followed him with her gaze, dumb-struck. Her insides jangled, her heart pounded. He couldn’t possibly mean what she thought he did. No, that’s why he was so embarrassed. It had come out sounding different from what he’d intended.

Still, Connie?
Connie?
Where had that come from?

He had his aroughcoune now but did not return to his chair. He, instead, sat on the hearth, legs extended, feet crossed, eyes glued to the food he was devouring.

She allowed her attention to roam back to the slate and leaf. The
heart-shaped
leaf. Could it be? Might he actually be—no. Impossible. He was merely feeling sorry for her. Responsible for her. It was Mary who received all the soft looks. Mary with whom he was at ease. Mary who was uneducated.

The thudding of her heart slowly settled back to its natural rhythm. She must be very, very careful not to allow herself to misconstrue his actions to fit what she wanted them to fit.

Closing her eyes, she pictured the bucket, the honey, and the fly.

————

What a clodpate. Drew pounded another nail into the roof ’s sheathing, thinking of a thousand things he
should
have said but didn’t. No, he’d just blurted out whatever thought happened to be in his worthless head. By trow, but his tongue did twang as readily as any buzzer’s.

Holding two nails in his mouth, he withdrew a third and continued with his hammering. Treating the woman you were trying to court like some heifer at rut time was disastrous at best and irrevocable at worst. She’d barely gained the strength to feed herself. He should be coddling her, not pressing her with clumsy advances.

Pausing, he took a moment to look out over his land. At the bottom of the hill and several acres beyond lay the James River, where soon he’d build a huge wharf so the tobacco ships could sail right to his front door. This spring would be the last time he’d need to roll hogshead after hogshead to the public warehouses.

He felt a surge of satisfaction. Mayhap he’d build Nellie a barge so she and Gerald could row over for a visit. And Sally, wouldn’t she love to run down and welcome Josh home from his factoring fresh off the ship? By trow, but it was going to be grand.

His elbow rested on his knee, the hammer hanging from his hand. Would Josh have little ones of his own racing down this slope? Most probably. He rolled the nails from one side of his mouth to the other. Would he and Constance have little ones racing down it as well? Did he even
want
babes of his own?