Forbidden (7 page)

Over to one side he saw a daunting message burnt into wood.
"Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell."
Beneath, on a ledge, was a rod, ready.

How many were subject to this tyrant?

There were four women busy preparing the meal, presumably Mrs. Post and three daughters. A young lad turned a spit by the fire and an ancient woman snoozed in a rocker. There were also the two young men who were out tending the horses. Shem and Ham. What were the odds the spit-turner was Japheth?

Despite his distaste for the environment, the thought of Jeremy Post as Noah, and the farmhouse as a bleak Ark in the midst of the storm, twitched Francis's sense of humor, but he brought it to order. Clearly, laughter was not considered "godly."

"Don't hold with strangers, I don't." Post's harsh voice dragged Francis out of his musings.

"Pity," he said, stretching his boots out toward the fire.

Post frowned in his thwarted way. "Don't hold with gentry-types, either.
'Better is little with the fear of the Lord, than great treasure and trouble therewith.
' You touch one of my girls and I'll not be answerable."

Francis shuddered at the thought of touching one of the Post girls. "I have my wife with me, Mr. Post."

"Aye," the man grunted with a blistering look at Serena.

A banging door announced the return of Shem and Ham, and in moments they were in. The two young men stopped dead at the sight of Serena, even in her shawl, and their mouths fell open.

"Stop gawking," snarled Mr. Post, and they both colored and looked elsewhere. "Remember. '
The lips of a strange woman drop as a honeycomb, but her end is bitter as wormwood.'"

"Mr. Post," said Francis quite pleasantly, "if your sons offend my wife, I will not be answerable for the consequences."

The man's hand clenched. "If it were godly to do so, Mr. Haile, I'd throw you and your wife back into the storm."

Francis let that wash over him, but godly household or not, he was concerned about the sleeping arrangements here. He was uneasy about any situation that would put Serena Allbright at the mercy of the young Post men, who bore strong resemblance to bullocks scenting their first heifer.

He had to wonder whether he, despite his gloss of sophistication, was exhibiting the same panting awareness. He was aware of her to a distracting degree. Even the assorted smells of the Posts' kitchen could not entirely drown out her perfume, and as she was sitting close beside him, he was deeply aware of her body touching his.

He risked a glance at her. Her skin was amazing. It was like a pearl—flawlessly pale and yet glowing with an inner light. Her eyes rested on the plain wall opposite, and he could appreciate the extraordinary length and thickness of her lashes. Her nose had a decided tilt, but he could not make himself see it as a fault. It simply made her seem vulnerable and childlike.

Unlike a child, however, she sat in composed silence with never a twitch.

Was it weariness or discipline? He wouldn't expect a loose woman to have such control. Was she wife or whore? Which did he want her to be?

Francis reminded himself that he was about to offer marriage to a virtuous young lady and dragged his eyes away.

It seemed that everyone had decided silence was golden, and it sat heavily in the room except for the sounds of the women's work, and a repetitive whistling snore from the old woman. Francis passed the time by trying to devise acceptable explanations for Serena's plight, but he found himself too weary to put much effort into it.

Then the supper was spread on the table. Plain food but good, thank the heavens: thick barley soup, slices of ham with cabbage, and fresh bread with gooseberry jam. After a lengthy grace, heavily larded with references to the virtues of a simple, godly life as opposed to one of idle luxury, they all set to. Francis ate with relish and noted that Serena did, too. Of course, he had no way of knowing how long it had been since she'd last eaten.

He knew nothing about her at all.

She was undoubtedly a problem, for what innocent reason could there be for a lady to wander around unescorted in November? It cast into doubt any idea that she was respectably married. The best he could imagine was that she was a widow turned mistress and callously abandoned by her protector. Even if her virtue was dubious, however, it wasn't in his nature to turn away from any woman in distress.

What on earth was he to do with her?

Since his trip to Weymouth could be sensitive, he had done without his groom. He couldn't take a strange adventuress along. But he equally couldn't leave her here. Perhaps when he had a chance to speak to her alone, there would prove to be something simple he could do to straighten out her circumstances.

How could he arrange to speak to her alone in this cramped household?

As the meal ended, he realized that speaking to her alone was going to be no problem at all. They were to have a private room.

Chapter 4

The Posts kept country hours and on these short days the women went to bed as soon as the supper dishes were cleaned. The men would follow after the last farm-work of the day.

Before going out to see to his stock, Jeremy Post held a final, lengthy Bible-reading, including the pointed instruction:

"Keep thee from the evil of the flattery of the tongue of a strange woman. Lust not after her beauty in thine heart; neither let her take thee with her eyelids."

This was clearly directed at Shem and Japheth, but Francis thought he should perhaps take the words to heart himself. He also noted wryly that Mr. Post was not blind to the power of Serena's extraordinary eyes.

As soon as the big bible was closed, Serena and Francis were escorted—rather in the manner of dangerous prisoners being rendered safe—to the best bedroom, Mr. and Mrs. Post's own room.

When Francis attempted to demur, it was made clear that the house was full, and that this arrangement had been accomplished by Mrs. Post moving in with her daughters and Mr. Post with his sons. Francis knew a suggestion that he and his wife could do the same split would never be agreed to.

And considering the number of lascivious looks still being cast toward Serena by the sons of the house—including stripling Japheth—Frances wasn't sure he would be easy leaving her unguarded, even with the daughters.

When the door was closed on the small room, however, he shook his head. "I'm sorry. This is becoming rather awkward."

She perched on the edge of the big bed. "Aren't the Posts peculiar? Never fear, my lord, I won't fall into the vapors. I'd far rather be in here with you than out there with them. I'm not a sensitive virgin, after all."

The words were prosaic, but with her astonishing sultry beauty they dizzied him with a wealth of erotic promise.

He wondered what her reaction would be if he said, "But I am." It was true. Too fastidious to enjoy loose women and too kind to use pure ones, he was a peculiarity amongst his friends, though in fact they all thought he was just very discreet.

It was, however, yet another excellent reason for marriage. Thought of Lady Anne put him sharply on his guard. "I'll sleep on the floor," he said.

She scanned the room. "Where?"

He had to admit that short of sleeping under the bed it was a chancy proposition. The room was small and the Posts had filled every available space with chests of drawers, small tables, chairs, and other odd items. There was a narrow strip of bare floor on one side of the bed but it didn't look inviting, and he could already feel the chill drafts that whistled across the bare planks.

"My dear Lord Middlethorpe," said Serena pleasantly, "this is, if you'll note it, quite a large bed. I suspect we can both sleep in it without being aware of the other. If," she added with a sliding look that stole his breath, "that is what you want."

Damnation! The woman was trying to seduce him! And he knew in his heart—and less noble portions of his anatomy—that he wanted to be seduced. He was no better than the Post lads.

He had no idea what to say and feared he was coloring up.

At his silence, her color certainly flared. "Surely, my lord, if anyone should be uneasy about this situation, it is me, not you."

Her heightened color made her ravishing....

Francis took a deep breath and struggled for control. It wasn't as if he hadn't felt desire before and conquered it. He certainly wasn't going to leap into folly for a chance-met light-skirt.

Lust not after her beauty in thine heart, he reminded himself. Neither let her take thee with her eyelids.

He lounged in a hard chair beside the bed. "I assure you, you have nothing to fear from me, madam. Now, tell me why you were on the road in such weather."

All amusement fled and her lids shielded her eyes. "I dare not."

Dare not.
An interesting choice of words. Francis considered the enigma. Her deep red hair was escaping its pins and curling into an intoxicating mass of fiery bronze in the light of the one candle. The curving line of her body from nape to hip was sensual beauty incorporated. Even under the ugly shawl, her breasts swelled with promise, pleading for the touch of his hands. Her perfume was weighing heavy on the chill air.

She was shadows and mysteries that his body yearned for, but he made himself keep hold of sanity.

Her rings glinted in the light, helping him to control himself. "What of your husband?" he asked.

"He is dead."

"Family, then?"

"I have none to help me."

"You must have a household, servants..."

"No."

Faced with such patent evasion, Francis's patience began to thin. It had been a hell of a day. Now it appeared he had a lying adventuress on his hands, and a growing desire he was determined not to assuage. "Where, then, were you going, ma'am, alone and on foot?"

She looked up reproachfully. "My name really is Serena and I invite you to use it."

"That would hardly be appropriate."

"Why not? We are about to share a bed."

"Madam," he said flatly, "I find you bold and damned fishy."

Color flared in her cheeks again. "Bold? It was no plan of mine to create this lie, my lord!"

"If I hadn't, you'd be out on your ear. As perhaps you deserve."

"I deserve no such thing."

"No true lady could be so cool at this situation."

Her magnificent eyes flashed. "Would you rather I have the vapors, sir? I will if you want. I have cause enough."

"What cause?" asked Francis quickly.

The lids came down again and she controlled herself. "I cannot tell you."

"Then devil take you." He rose to his feet. "Get into the bed." After a moment's thought, he decided he'd be damned if he'd sacrifice comfort to this woman's modesty. He took off his boots and cravat, then stripped down to his shirt and buckskin breeches.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her scramble into the bed fully dressed and wondered if he'd misjudged her after all. At this moment she looked very uneasy, as any decent woman should. He blew out the one light and slid under the covers himself, keeping to the very edge of the bed.

It should have been easier to stay in control in the dark without the distracting sight of her, but instead there was a new intimacy. He'd never been in bed with a woman in his life. He thought he could hear her breathing and sense the distant warmth of her body. When she shifted slightly the bed carried the movement to him, along with a whisper of that devastating perfume.

He stirred restlessly. "Are you really a widow?"

"Yes."

"Then that perfume is hardly proper. It is more suited to a whore."

"Are you saying you do not like it?" There was a distinct edge to the question.

"That has nothing to say to the matter." 'Struth, he sounded like an outraged parson. "Go to sleep, Mrs. Allbright. I must be on my way early in the morning."

"On your way?"

"I am on important business." Then he registered the panic in her query. "Don't worry, ma'am. I will take you on to Hursley."