An Unexpected Sin (2 page)

Anne’s response did not indicate whether she held an interest in anyone—just that her father had yet to arrange her marriage. Josiah did not ask her to elaborate. He would take these moments of conviviality—however few—and feast on their familiar warmth.

Still, though she did not seem angry, awkward expectation lay between them. “I have thought of you often,” he said.

Her eyes glittered fiercely, hinting at unshed tears, but they did not rival the brilliance of her smile. Though it wobbled a bit, it was true.

He wanted to reach for her. To finally feel the warmth of her body against his, but he would have to live with the ghost of their past indiscretions. The years had not faded the forbidden sensations.

But for her, they surely had not faded the pain.

Her brother was dead, and the fault was Josiah’s.

Chapter Two

The past came flooding back to Anne as she stood with Josiah. And at such a pace, the present seemed pushed away by the turgid waters. Gone was the grown, utterly masculine Josiah. In his place was a gangly boy—tall, even at sixteen years of age—who had taunted and thrilled her young heart. He had provoked her endlessly, but in soft and gentle ways. Ways that had warmed her, made her feel things she could never fully admit. And now those old memories swirled relentlessly, the innocent longing of her girlhood now a trembling, untried need.

Josiah’s hair, once a bright blond, was darker now, but his eyes were the same. She wondered how she had not known him at once, for she had spent many hours dreaming of having those eyes rest upon her with the very interest they now expressed. Could he really, after so many years, hold affection for her, or was it guilt that compelled his attention?

“I am surprised to see you again,” she murmured. “After…”

“Samuel’s accident.” The words hung heavily, thick and forlorn.

Anne’s older brother, dead.

“I miss him every day.” Just a girl of fourteen at the time, and the incident not spoken of since, Anne had never been privy to the details. All she knew was that one horrible day her brother was lost forever, and it was not until much later that it really hit her that Josiah was gone, as well. When she had finally surfaced above her grief, she had spent much time wondering what had become of him. But her questions were for naught, for she had not seen him in all the years since.

“I have never quit wanting for a way to change his fate,” Josiah said. “I am so, so sorry for your loss.”

She let go of a shaky breath. “No one has ever said that to me before. We mourned—everyone did—but I was overlooked. The sorrow was my parents’ to share. None of the regrets were ever directed at me.” Though most families were large—commonly numbering ten or more babes—she and Samuel were their parents’ only children. And when he had died, she had been left utterly alone. She was two years her brother’s junior, but she always believed herself somehow responsible. As if she should have been there to somehow save him from his fate.

Anne did not doubt the sincerity of Josiah’s condolence, but rather than look at her, he averted his eyes. A scuffle sounded from his feet, like he kicked the ground. Did he live with similar regrets? So many questions suddenly begged for release, but dredging up a painful past would not bring back her brother.

But somehow she had been given a second chance with Josiah.

The heaviness of a frown toyed with his lips. “If this is too painful…if you want me to go,” he said. “I will.”

“No!”

Her sudden proclamation snapped his attention from the vicinity of her knees to her face.

“I… I do not want you to go,” she said. “Please. Stay.”

Josiah exhaled, and the weight of the world seemed to lift from his tense shoulders. Straightening, he entertained a long moment of silence before he said, “The years have been long. How have you fared?”

She, too, breathed deeply, grateful for his lighter, less troubled tone. “My family operates an inn in Salem Town. I stay busy there.”

“Oh? Have you any vacancies?” His tone teased.

Sharing a roof with Josiah? Her mind immediately brought forth the forbidden touches and stolen kisses of their past. A thrill shot through her before she could contain its implication. “We do.”

His grin lit the rapidly fading summer sky. Fireflies were out in full force, but she took little notice of their brilliant display. She was lost in unexpected comfort—that a long-lost piece of her had found its way home.

Josiah.

She had loved him in the irrepressible, impudent way of a child. He had stolen the first kiss from her young lips—and countless more thereafter—and though she had never dared to tell a soul of their intimacy, the impression he made had remained a piece of her. Perhaps that was why no other man had ever captured her interest. At twenty years, she had nearly reached the age of matrimony and, while her mother’s talk of late had grown increasingly preoccupied with the topic, Anne had had little interest. Until now. She had supposed Josiah long gone from her life. To have him standing before her left her in a mixed state of excitement and disbelief.

“How long will you remain in Salem?” she asked.

“I would like to make it my home, but I must find work.” He gestured to the newly built home. “Paying work, that is.”

He sought work? “My father seeks help at the inn. Perhaps you would consider his employ?”

Josiah paled, a change visible even in the fading light. “Forgive me, Anne. My suggestion to stay there was in jest. I can only guess how difficult it would be for your parents to see me. Your brother…”

“You and Samuel were inseparable.”

“Yes. And my presence would be a terribly harsh reminder.”

An idea formed more quickly than the frown threatening to sweep her lips. Unable to stop herself from grinning, she said, “Then we simply will not tell them.”

Josiah raised a curious brow. “You cannot be suggesting duplicity.”

His words gave her pause. Though denial was fast to her lips, the words froze. His mention of duplicity led her to believe he had entertained the very thought she now harbored, but time had long passed. Surely her parents would not deny work to a man simply because he had known her brother, but the reminder might indeed be painful. She measured her words. “It would not be fair for you to be kept from honest employment because of something that happened so very long ago.”

Utter pain canvassed his face, twisting and contorting his features into terrible sadness. “If asked of my identity, I cannot reply with an untruth.”

Did Samuel’s death still bring him such pain so many years later? “You were a boy,” she said softly, “and you have changed a great deal. After so many years, they may not know you. You are certainly not the only one named Josiah. If they do not ask your surname, there will be no worry of untruth.” And if they did ask, she could not imagine he would be sent from the inn. Her father indeed required help, and Josiah had proven to be more than capable for the tasks, as he had helped build the newly married couple’s house. He could doubtlessly prove the same ability to her father.

Josiah looked unsure, and for a brief moment she wondered if there might be more to his worry than she realized. But the sudden urge to cling tightly to him overwhelmed her. She fell into an awkward state between knowing him and having to admit that after a half dozen years he was far more of a stranger than a friend. But that uncertainty could not erase the feelings in her heart.

She wanted to know him—fully and without caution. Though the consideration of such knowledge brought a scalding heat to her cheeks, she clung to it. Perhaps if she savored its recklessness, she might have a chance to know Josiah rather than blithely watch him walk away, his fingertips heated with the marks they had left on her skin.

To that end, her time was short. Darkness had fallen at earnest speed. Everything that had become familiar about the small plot of land on which she had spent the day fled with the sinking sun. Long shadows stretched fingerlings over the grass, pointing diligently toward the darkening eastern sky.

After a long moment serenaded by crickets and lit by dancing fireflies, Josiah spoke quietly. “Walk with me?”

Anne glanced around. Aside Prudence, who waited at some distance and made no apparent attempt to avert her watchful eye, no one seemed to pay them any mind. Anne thought twice for the propriety of leaving the company of others, but they were no longer children. She was an adult, and the village of Salem had far greater issues than her stepping into the shadows with her childhood friend.

Salem was obsessed with witches.

A shudder wound down her spine at her first step out of the warm circle of light thrown by the fire. After seeing Josiah again, she had nearly forgotten the horror of the witch trials, but the rumors of a well-dressed stranger lurking in the woods came quickly to her mind when she entered the cool, dark edge of the forest. Rich summer foliage whispered ceaselessly, stirred by the evening breeze. Salem by night—especially in the face of bedevilment—was an entirely different place. One in which she could very well imagine the rumors being true—that a stranger lurked the woods, seeking the innocent to sign their names to his book. These lost souls were said to practice dark magic, for which they were arrested as witches. Anne knew many of the accused, but none so well as her friend Elizabeth. She was Anne’s own age and her arrest had come as a terrible shock—a horror that had only been eclipsed by her trial and conviction. Times in Salem were terrible, indeed.

Just a few paces into the woods, Josiah stopped and turned toward her. “I have wanted very much to see you again,” he said softly.

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, clutching her upper arms to ward away the sudden chill. He spoke tenderly, and under his attention, she truly was the only woman in the world. “Why did you not return sooner?”

He glanced around before answering. “Trust the time was not right.”

“And now?”

He reached for her, hesitating only slightly before touching her cheek with his thumb. His fingertips traced her jaw, a touch that raced hotly from her head to her toes. She had to forcibly stiffen so as not to lean against the light caress.

“I could no longer deny my desire to reunite with you,” he said.

The low tremble of his voice shook the very earth upon which she stood, but she had nothing by which to steady herself. Just a growing weakness she had no desire to tame.

He leaned close. “What do you think, Anne? Have you wanted for me, as I have you?”

Anne had to look up to see his face, and her focus went straight to his mouth. For all of the rigid, muscular planes visible through his damp shirt, his lips were strikingly sensual. Memories of his touch raged…teased…taunted…

Then his mouth found hers and obliterated the memory. She gasped. Her lips parted and he deepened the kiss, lighting forbidden sensations deep in her belly. Never had emotion so sweetly taken over her body. She reached for him, gripping his shirt tightly as his arms circled her waist and pulled her close. Propriety long forgotten, she clung to him, lost in feelings so breathless and intense she could have never imagined they existed.

The kiss ended when she could breathe no more. He nipped at her lip and dropped his forehead to hers. “Forgive me,” he murmured.

“There is nothing to forgive,” she whispered, her lips brushing his with every word. Desperate confusion charged over forbidden desire, a swirling of storm clouds in a heart suddenly light with joy. “But I must go. The darkness…it frightens me.”

He loosened his hold of her, but did not let go. “Surely you are not afraid of the night.”

“Not the dark, but the accusations.” Elizabeth had not been the only arrest that had affected Anne personally. Months ago, Lydia, Salem’s midwife, had been arrested and had subsequently disappeared from Salem, and the frenzy had only grown since. Lydia, like Elizabeth, was one of the kindest, purest women Anne had ever known. If they were not safe from the accusations, no one could be.

Tension stiffened his body that held hers so tightly. “You believe in these arrests?”

Anne hesitated. “There is nothing to doubt, for they exist. Ever since the accusations began, Salem has been thick with hatred. The accusations are surely the work of the devil. Though I fear not for my own soul, I do fear the evil which lurks in the dark. Too many things have happened. Terrible things. This is no place for talk of witches.”

He had put distance between them now. In the night-steeped forest, she could not read him but for the wariness of his tone, now edged with discomfort. “Can I walk you home?”

“I am staying with Prudence this night. She likely no more recognized you than did I, so she is assuredly rife with anticipation of my return.” Anne looked quickly over her shoulder, a bit worried by his abrupt change in subject. The waning fire threw weaker shadows now but she caught a glimpse of her friend through the trees. “I will go home to the inn in Salem Town tomorrow.”

“I will not dishonor you by walking with you from the forest,” he said, “lest anyone pay us undue attention, but know I will watch at a distance until you are safe inside for the night.”

The possessive nature of his tone sent forth another round of shivers. Aside from her parents—and at one time, her brother—no one had ever acted so protectively toward her, but their attentions had never made her feel such delight. Anne started to thank him, but before she could speak he pressed another kiss to her lips.

“Go. I will find you soon.”

She had gone but a few steps when he softly called her name.

Anne turned, but in the darkness saw nothing but shadows. “Yes?”

“Say nothing of our encounter,” he said in the same low voice. “I do not wish to sully your reputation.”

Anne tensed. She would have to plead Prudence’s silence on Josiah’s identity…if her friend had not already spread the news over the entire village.

“No one here knows you are of Salem?” she asked.

“I have given my first name, but not my last. I could not risk my hopes of seeing you again.”

His proclamation settled warmly in a corner of her heart that was already his. She wanted to speak, but found herself unable to find the words to say what had quickly become truth.

She cared not for her reputation. Precautions came far too late, for Josiah Cromwell had already stolen her heart.

And she did not want for its return.