As they sat there on the sturdy chaise, amidst suddenly strained conversation, the sexual awareness humming between them proved palatable. Made him choke down his portion faster than he should, embarrassing himself with a strangled cough, and her seeming to find meeting his eyes a significantly greater challenge than it had been earlier this evening, outside.
For himself, he couldn’t stop looking at her. So he didn’t try to.
It wasn’t that she was a stunner, her features a little too plain, too ordinary for that appellation. But something about the way everything came together, the way he had witnessed her determination, knew of her spunk—delivering triplets, caring for youngsters, burying a cat, of all things! (he barely avoided rolling his tired eyes at the thought)—and knew how they fit together—the way her mouth blossomed beneath his…
He was captured. As surely as if she’d strung him up in a net and hoisted it over a branch, he was caught. And the lass hadn’t a clue.
Her dark blonde hair haphazardly both pulled up yet falling down—again he wondered, where had her bonnet gone? Her gloves and cloak? But he was grateful for the lack, for now he could see her features in detail: the wide, tense mouth that he longed to taste again, slightly askew below the curve of her nose; the glittering eyes somewhere between hazel and grey set beneath beautifully arched brows he longed to trace with his tongue. One of her ears stuck out a little. He wanted to brush her hair back behind it, cup her cheek, smooth the flyaway strands with his thumb, tilt her face up to his and claim her all over again.
At that thought, he choked some more. Swallowing hard and waving her back down when she rushed to get some of the melted snow for him to drink.
Once the last bite of bread was consumed and both declined any more cheese, he tucked that away for tomorrow, added another log on the already stout fire—the action more awkward than he would have liked, one-handedly maneuvering a heavy log meant for two—and stood, walking backward until several feet of distance separated him from the temptation that was Maryann.
Still looking utterly bedraggled from the efforts of the day, yet somehow beautiful, the orange glow along one side of her face casting the rest into intriguing, inviting shadows.
“I shall leave my coat here for you.” He pointed to the back of the chair where he’d discarded it after the fire’s heat began reaching out. “And remove myself to the bedroom—”
“You will do no such thing.” Fire in her voice, she rose and came to stand two feet in front of him. “Without a fire, any other room is too cold for sleep. I…” She cast about, her glance taking in the area with its single chair and the chaise upon which they’d resided. “I will sleep upon the chaise—only because your feet will no doubt hang off and I know you would decline it for yourself, even should I insist you take it—and you may sleep upon your coat on the floor. Either in front of the fire—or would that be too warm? Perhaps behind the chaise?”
“Managing female,” he murmured with a smile. Her solution was ideal, but— “You would trust a stranger to sleep so close? A man?”
The fire popped.
“I would trust you,” she said simply.
“Damn. So much for ravishing you in the night.”
Blast it. Had he really just said that?
Aye. For her eyes grew wide and the flush upon her cheeks was no longer just the fire.
But she surprised him once again, this lass he wished he’d met years ago, before war and widowhood took their toll, guided their lives in the direction they must go. “How can you be certain I will not ravish you?”
“I—” wish you would. Heartily. But he could not say that, should not even think it. But you will both be gone tomorrow. Or at least gone your separate ways. By hell… Why not? “No matter how I might wish that very thing, I must maintain my status as—” gentleman. But he definitely could not say that—for she thought him a simple gamekeeper. “Must maintain a respectful presence.”
“Ah, yes. We mustn’t do anything not respectful.” She sounded bitter. Or perhaps only sad?
“It isn’t what I would like to give you”—not even close—“but I have another shirt in my bag should you wish to change out of your stained gown. The right sleeve has been sewn; if you don’t mind taking the seam out, at least it’s clean.”
“Improper or not, that would be most appreciated.”
A glance at the metal pot he’d collected the snow in showed it had all melted. Ed nodded toward the offering. “There is sufficient water to wash. While you do that, I will look for blankets and bring in some more wood.”
He escaped quickly, shutting the door behind him to keep in the heat—to keep himself barricaded from her ever-increasing appeal.
Even her, “Your coat, Mr. Edwards! You forgot it!” yelled sufficiently loud she should be proud could not return his feet to her presence. Not until he granted her long enough to wash, change, lie down and hopefully slumber. Deeply.
Not until allowing himself to grow more frozen than the cat… But still, the lust riding him refused to wane.
In fact, only deepened to pain when he silently rejoined her nearly an hour later—only because if he dallied any longer, he feared the fire might go out—and saw how she’d moved the furnishings, to allow them both the same amount of heat, shifting the chaise perpendicular to the fire, and splaying his open coat upon the floor alongside it.
Allowing him way too easy access to herself, should his will wane as well.
Damn her.