The Adventurer's Bride. June Francis

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СКАЧАТЬ triumph, only to see he was looking wan. Nevertheless he staggered to his feet and again her eyes were on a level with his chest. She could not have been more aware of his maleness at that moment than if her body had been joined to his. The mingled scents of sandalwood, salve, dried sweat and brandy filled her senses yet again and she had an urge to press her lips against his skin; her fingers wanted to twist the curls of his chest hair and hold tight. A shiver went through her as she recalled the ugliness of the wound she had just bound and she prayed that it would heal.

      ‘Forgive me, Jane, for teasing you,’ he said, lowering his head so that his lips touched her left ear. ‘Accept my proposal and I swear I will not rush you into marriage. I am persistent because I truly believe that we will be good for one another and the children.’

      ‘You are being presumptuous, Master Hurst,’ she said unevenly, unable to resist touching the spot that his lips had saluted, but she did not meet his gaze. ‘What does a man who has spent his life going hither and thither wherever he wished know about fatherhood and living in a family?’

      He looked hurt. ‘Obviously you disapprove of my past way of life, but I can change.’

      ‘You believe I wish to change you?’ she found herself blurting out.

      He looked surprised. ‘Aye, surely you would want me to stay at home with you and the children?’

      ‘I wonder if that would be expecting too much of you?’ she said frankly. ‘Despite your having the best of intentions. Tell me about your mother. What did she think about your travelling?’

      He fell silent, gazing down at the graceful line of her neck as she placed the brandy bottle on the table. Then he took a deep breath and said, ‘I know she worried about me, but she never tried to persuade me from following my dream. She had imagination,’ he said softly. ‘She was the one we boys went to when Father was overbearing and gave us a beating. She encouraged Pip in his storytelling. I still miss her. One day I went away and when I returned she was no longer there. I’ll always regret...’ His voice trailed away.

      But Jane could guess what he regretted and that he did not wish to speak of it, so she remained silent.

      Nicholas kept his head down, blinking back tears. He felt Jane understood how he felt. If she did eventually accept his proposal, he believed that she would be an excellent mother and wife, faithful to him and caring of her children. But perhaps she was right and he would be unable to be either the husband she wanted or the father the children needed. He would fail them and they would turn against him. Suddenly that faintness he had experienced earlier came over him again and he staggered and caught his shoulder on a carved knob on the back of the chair. He gasped in pain.

      ‘Are you all right?’ asked Jane, instantly going to his aid and helping him into the chair.

      ‘Brandy,’ he whispered.

      She hesitated before saying, ‘Have you not had enough? I have a fear of drunkards.’

      ‘Do you want me screaming with pain, woman?’ he roused himself to ask savagely.

      His tone of voice caused her to tremble. ‘I—I find it difficult to imagine you—you screaming, Master Hurst. You’re a hero. I have heard the truth from your own lips each time Rebecca told us a tale of your adventures.’

      ‘You should not believe all that you hear, Jane.’ His eyes darkened. ‘It was my brother’s intention that the readers of my first book believe me a hero when he edited my journal for the printing press.’

      Jane sighed. ‘You would do well not to disillusion me if you wish me to marry you. The feminine within me demands heroics as well as dependability in a husband and father.’ Instead of brandy, she poured some of the elderflower wine into a goblet and handed it to him. He took it. She touched his shoulder lightly and felt a quiver run through him. ‘I have no wish to hurt you.’

      ‘I am relieved to hear it. I ask that your touch remains as gentle as possible even if you do not wish to be my wife.’ He grimaced and drank the wine down before resting his head against the back of the chair.

      ‘I will get you some food,’ she said.

      He thanked her and closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that surely a sensible woman such as Jane would see the advantages of a match between them despite his shortcomings. Suddenly he felt incredibly tired and tumbled into oblivion.

      Jane watched his body slump like a sack of grain and heard the rhythm of his breathing change. She should have fetched him some food earlier, but she would not wake him now so he could eat. Best he rested. It seemed that the brandy and wine had done their work. What would Anthony Mortimer think if he knew that she had been dosing Nicholas with his best liquor? Not that she had any intention of informing him of the fact, although perhaps he would notice the level in the bottle had dropped. Hopefully he would not think that she had taken to drink because he could not find a weaver willing to work with her. Of course, if she accepted Nicholas’s offer of marriage she would not have to worry about weavers or what Anthony Mortimer thought of her.

      A sigh escaped her and she walked over to the children and told them they must be quiet so as not to wake Master Hurst. She was aware of the girls’ eyes on her and wondered if Margaret had told her younger sister about the conversation she had overheard. How would they feel if she did marry him so soon after the death of their father?

      She turned back to Nicholas, noticing how the bandage on his shoulder showed up so white against his tanned skin. There must have been occasions when the heat had been so intense where he had travelled that he had stripped off his shirt. She watched the rise and fall of his chest. Such a chest! Strong and broad with just a sweep of fine reddish-golden hair forming a V to the waist of his hose. She was aware of a heat building inside her feminine core such as she had never experienced with her late husband.

      One of the girls spoke and Jane looked up and realised her stepdaughters were still watching her. She felt her cheeks flame despite knowing they could not possibly know what she was thinking. She should be ashamed of herself. ‘A blanket,’ she said brightly. ‘Master Hurst will catch a chill if he is not kept warm.’

      She hurried over to the other chest where she kept sleeping pallets, as well as blankets. From its interior she removed what she needed and returned to Nicholas. As she did so it occurred to her that as far as she was aware her stepdaughters had never seen a man half-naked before. Their father had not been one to bare his flesh, even in her company, but it was too late now to tell them to avert their gaze. Suddenly she remembered the classical naked sculptures in the garden of the house in Oxford that her husband had chiselled out himself. She had voiced her disapproval because of his daughters, but he had told her it was art. At the time she had thought how contrary men were. Yet, so many considered contrariness a failing in women.

      She unfolded the blanket and tucked it about Nicholas, wondering what to do about their sleeping arrangements. Propriety insisted that he remove himself to the inn. Yet she was not of a mind to wake him and insist on his going there. Neither did she think it would it be right for him to do so on the morrow in his wounded state.

      Upstairs there was a large bedchamber and an adjoining smaller one. She and the children normally shared the double bed in the larger room, but during the worst of the winter weather when ice had frosted the inside of the windows and their breath turned to mist, they had taken to sleeping on pallets downstairs in front of the fire. She did not like doing so, but common sense told her that it was the sensible move to make if they were to survive the winter without succumbing to severe chest ailments. She had been considering moving upstairs the last few days, but then the snow had arrived. СКАЧАТЬ