Finally.
Triumph had surged through his veins when she settled on his lap, and once he had gotten rid of that blasted bonnet obscuring her face, he hadn’t been able to resist kissing her, learning her taste.
Sweet mother of Christ, it had been incredible. Even now, the memory of her lush curves pressing along his body and the sweet taste of her mouth had him shifting against the increasing tightness in his trousers.
With a sigh, Nathan twisted to turn on the table lamp next to the chair. The wick caught and the flame gave off a small aura of light. Pulling away from the lamp, he accidently knocked the half-empty bottle of whiskey, causing it to spin and fall off the table, landing on the floor with a large thunk.
Jumping up from the chair with a curse, Nathan reached down to save the amber liquid from spilling everywhere. Righting the bottle on the floor, he patted around under the table for the cork. His now wet fingers curled around the object and he pulled it out.
He stilled when the light showed him something else in his hand accompanying the cork. Two lengths of white ribbon, knotted together, threaded through his fingers. Their ends were slightly frayed as if they had been forcibly pulled off what they had been attached to, something like a bonnet.
Nathan sat back on his heels, staring at the ribbons.
Oh bloody hell.
CHAPTER TEN
* * *
The bell over the mercantile door rang, but Sara did not look back to see who had entered. Someone jostled her where she stood in line, causing her to stumble slightly. She gave a weak smile at the apology, but didn’t look directly at the culprit.
Be calm, be calm, she said to herself. It’s not a large crowd. She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves.
She did not normally fetch the post on Saturday afternoons, but Louisa had needed her assistance this Thursday past, so she decided to fetch it between the charity meeting and arranging the flowers at the church. George was already unloading the baskets; Claire had gone to visit the dressmaker and would meet her at the church later. She had not thought it would take long to see Mrs. Yardley.
She had thought wrong. The shop was so crowded that Sara was considering leaving and returning later. Both Mr. and Mrs. Yardley were much occupied trying to keep their more vocal customers happy.
The bell rang again, a clanging over the din of voices that made her wince. The man behind her in line began to brush against her back, his sweaty odor filling the air. He was speaking loudly with his friend about the coming planting season and the litter of piglets his prize sow had just delivered. Their frequent guffawing in her ear made her cringe.
Sara stepped forward, closer to the counter, only two more people and then she would be able to fetch the post and leave. Two more, two more. She focused on her breathing.
The bell rang again; the men laughed loudly. She cringed and again wished she had waited to visit the shop.
“You do not enjoy crowds.”
The deep, quiet voice close to her ear surprised her and she jerked her head up toward the owner. A pair of pale blue eyes regarded her solemnly, filled with understanding.
Mr. Grant.
Sara froze, the memory of his lips against hers coupled with the humiliation she had felt paralyzing her. The ants clogged her throat, ruthless in making their presence known.
Mr. Grant glanced around. “It is hectic, is it not?”
She could barely swallow, her throat was so tight. She could feel the noose settle around her neck and she prayed she would not have an episode here where everyone could see her. Ironically, that thought started the tightening of the noose.
Mr. Grant shifted until he stood half-behind her, discreetly pushing the odorous, loud men away from her, using his cane to take up more space. “Better?” he questioned, his voice still quiet.
Sara kept herself facing the service counter, her eyes wide but unseeing. In two three four, out two three four.
“The trouble with crowds,” he was saying, his voice quiet in her ear and intended for her alone, “is that you cannot control who you come into contact with. For instance, the men behind us. You weren’t facing them, but I could clearly see that you were not enjoying their presence.”
Sara felt her face catch on fire, hating that he had seen that.
“Oh, Mr. Grant!”
A high-pitched voice interrupted their conversation. Recognizing the voice, Sara’s eyes closed. Could this day get any worse? She felt him turn in the direction of the voice as the noose cinched more tightly.