She smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. No matter how tightly she tucked in her blouse or how hard she stretched the fabric of her skirt, the material insisted on returning to its revealing pattern.
She still couldn’t believe she’d acted as she had. Even though it had been her husband she’d been “sparking” with. The constant reminder in the way her clothing lay was hard to take. He probably thought she was loose. Especially after this morning. While he claimed he didn’t mind it now, the first time he got his suspicions up, he’d be throwing it back in her face. She’d have to be very careful in the future that she didn’t give him any reason to be suspicious.
“You ready?” he drawled as he came abreast of her.
She was going to hell in a hand basket for sure. Just the sound of his voice was enough to evoke memories of other words just as slowly spoken. Hot on the heels of those memories came the unladylike sin of lust. Maybe she was just like her mother. She took a breath, straightened her shoulders, and mentally pulled her dignity around her. Just because she was the contradiction of everything ladylike inside didn’t mean she had to let it show. “I’m ready.”
His right brow shot up. “This isn’t going to work if you poker up on me.”
“What isn’t going to work?”
“Our stroll back to the house.”
Stroll? She’d been thinking more along the lines of a mad dash. “You plan on strolling?”
“Yup.” He held out an arm. With the free one, he motioned her into the crook. “Quicker you slide over here, the quicker I’ll be getting to that chocolate cake.”
Mentally clutching her pride, she stepped to his side. His arm immediately slid to her waist, under her arm. “Relax,” he ordered.
“I am relaxed.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I am!”
“Darlin’, when a man has his arm around a woman and she’s relaxed, there’s some natural accommodating that goes on.”
It took her a second to figure out what he meant. “And you’re an expert on that?”
“I’ve had my arm around enough to be sure on the subject.”
She made her voice as prim as she could. “I’m sure you feel you are, Mr. MacIntyre, but I’m relatively certain your accommodating expertise took place outside proper circles.”
“Excuse me?”
“As we’ve already established, no decent woman goes about un-corseted.”
She knew as soon as he made the connection because his neck turned slightly red and the hand resting on her hip reflected the same tension she saw in his jaw. She’d only meant to get the upper hand. To get a bit of her own back. She hadn’t meant to insult him, but she had. She knew it. She touched her hand to his where it rested on her waist. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about.” He steered her out the barn door.
“I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“I never made a secret about where I came from.”
But he hadn’t advertised it either. As they stepped into the sunlight, she raised her hand to shield her eyes. “Still, I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say a word, just kept walking across the yard, his path taking the route least likely to bring them into anyone’s path. His arm around her waist a natural barrier to anyone seeing the wrinkles in her shirt. She looked down at the hand resting on the flare of her hip. It was a big hand, all but spanning half her hip. A hand he’d never touched her with except in gentleness. A hand she knew in her bones he wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice to keep her safe, not because he bore her any great love, but simply because he believed a man protected what was his.
Every man she’d ever known who’d claimed to be honorable valued respectability whether they lived up to their concept of honor or not. Asa’s honor ran bone deep. He had to value respectability to some degree. And she’d just as much as told him she didn’t see him as respectable. Sunlight blinked to shade as they reached the spreading branches of the old oak tree by the back door. She planted her feet and jerked Asa up short. She took advantage of his surprise to twist out of his grip and face him.
“I said I was sorry.”
“I heard you.”
His expression was so unconcerned, she started thinking she’d been wrong. “And I heard you say it doesn’t matter, but it does if you think I don’t think you’re a respectable man.”
“You’re making it hard for me to keep my end of the deal.” He waved his hand in the direction of the back door. “Ten more steps and I’ll be earning that chocolate cake.”
She brushed aside his hand. “You’re not distracting me from this.”
“From what?”
She slammed her hands on her hips in exasperation. “From you thinking I don’t think you’re respectable!”