He fixed a loose shutter. The banging had driven her mad most of the year, but somehow, his fixing it—without saying a word to her—annoyed her. He went outside into the cold, despite his lack of coat, and chopped her a huge pile of wood, stacking it under the eaves at the back door which was much more convenient than where she had stored her wood before. He swung the axe with ease and familiarity. And his muscles rippled beneath the loose, soft shirt in a way that dried her mouth. Her eyes clung to his form like ivy to a rock…until she remembered to go on with what she had been doing. She should have been grateful for his help. She was grateful…only…
Any minute now he would remember his name and that he had a wife who had a right to command these services from him! And twelve children. How dare he make himself indispensable…making her and Amy feel like they were part of a family… It wasn’t fair.
In the afternoon she’d seen Amy standing outside looking up, her little face pale and stiff with fear. Ellie had rushed out to see what was happening, only to rival her daughter in fear as she watched the wretched man clambering about on her steep roof, replacing and adjusting slates as if he hadn’t a care in the world. She stood there, twisting a tea-towel helplessly in her hands, watching. Several times his foot slipped and her heart leapt right out of her chest and lodged as a hard lump in her throat as she realised he was fixing her leaking roof. He must have noticed the pot she placed in the corner of her room to catch the drips/p>
She hadn’t breathed a scrap of air the whole time he was up there, and how he’d got up there without a ladder she didn’t even want to think about! But when he’d come down finally in a rush which left her gasping in fright, and then he’d stood there, with that…that
look
in his eye, as if she should be pleased he’d risked his fool neck for such a trivial matter, well!
She’d wanted to throttle him there and then. Or jump on him and kiss him senseless.
But of course, she couldn’t do any of that, because he wasn’t hers to kiss or throttle and he probably never would be. She couldn’t even yell at him, because how could she possibly yell at him for helping her? For scaring her silly? For making her realise that she loved him? The wretch!
She loved him
.
The triumphant grin died slowly from his face and a light came into his eyes that made Ellie wonder whether she had said the words aloud. He stared at her, burning with intensity, his blue eyes blazing at whatever he read in her face. He strode towards her purposefully. She knew he was going to gather her up in his arms and kiss her like he had in the morning, in that way that melted her very bones.
But she could not, oh, she could not. For if she let him love her she could not bear it if she had to let him go… She held a shaking hand up to stop him and he came to a halt a scant pace away. His eyes devoured her, his chest heaving. Her eyes clung to him, even as her hands warded him off. They stood there, unmoving.
“Mr. Bruin!” said a cross little voice.
He ignored it, staring at Ellie, eating her up with his eyes.
“Mr. Bruin!” Amy tugged furiously at his buckskin breeches.
With a visible effort, he finally tore his gaze from Ellie and squatted down in front of her daughter. “What is it, Princess?”
“You are
not
allowed to climb up on the roof without askin’ Mama! It’s very dangerous. You could’ve fallen down and broken your head again. You’re a bad bear!” Her voice quivered as she added, “And you frightened me and Mama terrible bad.”
His voice softened. “Did I, Princess? I’m very sorry, then.” And he gathered the little girl into his arms and hugged her gently. His eyes met Ellie’s across the little girl’s head, filled with contrition and some nameless emotion.
Ellie’s eyes misted. What was she to do with a man like this? How could any woman not love him? She turned back to the cottage. He probably had half a dozen adoring wives.
Ellie was jumpy. The night was closing in on her. They sat by the fire in companionable silence. She was mending, he was whittling at a stick. Amy had gone to bed some time before. It was long past Ellie’s bedtime too, but she had been putting off the moment. They would share a bed again soon. There was no choice. Of course, they had shared a bed for the last two nights, but he had been mostly unconscious. Mostly…
She kept trying not to think about the feeling of waking up in his embrace. She could not allow it to happen again. It was unseemly behaviour in a respectable widow and she would have no part of it. Besides, she feared if she allowed him to touch her like that again, there could be no stopping. She had already fallen more than halfway in love with him. If she gave herself to him she knew she would be letting him into her heart as well as her body…
She’d lost almost everything in her life as it was, but she had survived the loss. If she let herself love him and then lost him, it might be the loss she could not bear. For Amy’s sake, if not for her own, she had to keep herself strong. She could not afford to break her heart. She would not
let
him break her heart.
She cleared her throat. “Mr. Bruin.” She had taken to using Amy’s name for him.
He looked up. “Mrs. Carmichael?” A slow smile crinkled across his face, white teeth gleaming wolfishly in the firelight. He had that look in his eye again. She felt her pulse flutter.
“It is about the sleeping arrangements,” she said in an attempt to sound brisk and matter of fact. It came out as something of a squeak.
“Yes?” His voice deepened.
“I am a virtuous widow,” she began.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I am—” she repeated indignantly.
“It’s all right, love,” he said. “I am not doubting your virtue.”
“Don’t call me lo—”
He held up his hand pacifically. “Mrs. Carmichael… Ellie…your virtue is safe with me. On my honour as a gentleman, I will do nothing to cause you distress.”
Ellie looked troubled. It was all very well for him to make a noble-sounding promise, but how did either of them know he
was
a gentleman? And what did causing her distress mean? His leaving would cause her distress, but would he stay, once he recovered his wits? She doubted it. Why would a handsome man in the peak of health and fitness want to stay in a small cottage in the middle of nowhere with a poverty-stricken widow and a small girl?
“There is no choice but to…” she swallowed convulsively “…share a bed, but that is as far as it goes. I will wrap myself entirely in a sheet and you shall do the same. And thus we may share a bed and blankets, but remain chaste. Are you agreed?” Her voice squeaked again.
He bowed ironically. “I am agreed. Now, shall I go up and disrobe while you do the same down here with the fire?”
Ellie felt herself go hot. “Very well.” She fetched down her thickest nightgown and, the moment she heard his footstep overhead, began to unbutton her dress. She undressed in the firelight, glancing once or twice at the window, at the black, opaque night outside, feeling exposed. Wrapping her thickest shawl around her, she took a candle and hurried upstairs. On the threshold she paused.
“Did you find your sheet?” she whispered. “I put it on the bed for you.”
A deep chuckle answered her. The sound shivered through her bones deliciously.
“Did you?” she repeated, lifting the candle to peer into the sleeping alcove.
“Yes, love. I gave my word, remember. I’m as chaste as a bug in a rug.” His bare upper chest and shoulders glowed dark against the white sheet. His eyes were deep shadows of mystery, and his white teeth gleamed briefly. He didn’t look chaste. He looked handsome and powerful and altogether far too appealing for a virtuous widow’s peace of mind.
She swallowed and turning her back, sat down to remove her shoes and stockings. Then she picked up her own sheet and wrapped herself tightly in it, feeling his eyes watching her every movement. Finally she blew out the candle, set it on the floor next to the bed, took a deep breath and slipped in beside him.
She lay stiffly on her back, huddled beneath the blankets in the cocoon of her sheet, trying not to touch him. All she could hear was the wind in the trees and the breathing of the man beside her. It was worse than the first time she had slept with him. Then she’d feared him as a stranger. Now the danger he represented was not the sort that a frying pan could fix.
Before, he had been a stranger to her, nothing more than a wounded, beautiful body. Now she knew how his eyes could dance, what he tasted like, how his hands felt moving over her skin, caressing her as if she was beautiful to him, precious. Before her marriage, men had only wanted her for her inheritance. Now she had nothing to offer a man except herself. And yet this man in her bed wanted her. And when he touched her she felt…cherished.
It was dangerously seductive. He had already found his way under her skin, if not her skirts. Now, all she had was a thin cotton sheet to protect her virtue—and her heart. She lay rigid, hardly daring to breathe.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” With a surge of bedclothes he turned, flipped her on her side and pulled her into the curve of his body.
“Stop it! You promised—”
“And I do not break my promises! This is as chaste as I can manage it. Now stop fussing, Ellie. There is a sheet wrapped around each of us—it is perfectly decorous. But I cannot possibly sleep while you lie there as stiff as a board…” He chuckled awkwardly. “That’s my problem, too, if you want to know.”
Ellie buried her hot cheek in her cool pillow. No, she didn’t want to know that. It was bad enough that she could feel his problem, even through the sheets. The feel of him set off all sorts of reactions in her own body.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Now, stop worrying, love, and go to sleep. We’ll both rest better like this, you know it.”
Ellie did not know it, but she allowed herself to remain in the curve of his body, enjoying the warmth of him and the feeling of strength and protection which emanated from him. It was a strange and seductive sensation, this feeling of being…cherished.
They lay in silence for a long time, listening to the wind in the trees. And finally, Ellie slept.
He lay in the dark, holding Ellie against the length of his body. Even through the sheets wound around them, he could feel her soft curves, curled trustfully against him. Her feet had kicked free of their cotton shroud and tucked themselves between his calves, like two cold little stones. He smiled in the dark. He was happy to be her personal hot brick.
She sighed in her sleep and snuggled closer to him. He buried his face in the nape of her neck. He laid his mouth on her skin and tasted her gently with his tongue. Her scent was unique, like fresh harvested wheat…like bread dough, before it was baked…and hay as it was scythed. Fresh and good. He felt as if the fragrance of her skin had become a part of him.
Who the devil was he? It was unbearable to be so helpless, to be imprisoned in the dark, unable to make decisions about his life. How the hell could he plan any sort of a future when his past was a blank slate?
And what if his memory failed to return? Would he be forever hamstrung by self-ignorance? And if his memory didn’t come back, how long could he stay here with Ellie? He couldn’t ask her to support him. Yet he couldn’t continue to live with her—a few days in winter they might get away with, but much more and her reputation would be compromised. And Ellie was a woman who valued her reputation. He inhaled the scent of her. He must not damage her. Must not let her be hurt by his situation. But how?
Questions continued to rattle fruitlessly in his head, until at last he fell asleep.
When he awoke Ellie was wrapped around him. They were lying face to face. Or rather her face to his chest. She was using him as a pillow. Warm little puffs of air warmed his chest as she breathed. Her hair, loosened from its braid, flowed in waves over his skin. One of her hands was curled around his neck, the other was draped across his chest. The sheets they had been wrapped so chastely in were now bundled ineffectively around their middles, leaving them uncovered above and below. There was nothing chaste about their current positions.
The warm soft weight of her against his naked skin was irresistibly appealing. He stifled a moan. He was rock hard and aching from wanting her. Her legs were twined around his, one leg over his hip. She was open to him. One small movement and he could be inside her. He had never wanted anything so much. She was his woman, his heart-mate and she was soft, sleepy and open to him.
He swallowed hard. He wanted so badly, needed so much, to be inside her. His entire body throbbed with the need. He fought it. He had given his word. She trusted him. He might be a nameless pirate, but he had given his word and she’d believed him.
He would not take her, but that didn’t mean he had to be a saint. He ran his hand down her body. The sheets were bunched around her middle, riding up over her thighs. He ran his hand along the leg she’d thrown across his hip, caressed her sweetly rounded backside, hesitated, then stroked the silken skin of her belly and thighs. She was warm, sweet and more than ready for him. A hard shudder rocked his body. He closed his eyes, willing the need back down.
Sleepily, she opened her eyes and looked at him, blinking drowsily. Still barely awake, she smiled at him. Her skin was flushed a soft pink, her lips were parted and damp and smiling in welcome. His hand moved again, caressing her intimately and her eyes widened in shock, even as her body arched towards him. He had not broken his word, but he was perilously close to it. He removed his hand.
She moved back in sudden caution, only to find her legs were gripping him.
“Oh!” she exclaimed and tried to untangle herself from him. He watched her sweet embarrassment as she discovered her sheet and nightgown pushed up to her middle, and the extremely intimate position they were in. She struggled to pull the sheet and nightgown down and in the process her hand brushed against his arousal.
She froze as she realised what she’d done and he gritted his teeth, willing control. Her face flamed adorably and she avoided his eyes in sudden shyness. It was odd for a married woman with a child to be so shy, but he had no time to explore that question. His focus was on the battle between his body and his mind. His body wanted nothing more than to make love to her. His mind also wanted it, heart and soul.