She shoved her heavy fall of raven hair out of her eyes and grabbed some fresh clothes from of the wardrobe. Instinct made her snatch up her riding habit. Like many of the women in her rural area, she dressed most sensibly, the habit being little more than a voluminous split skirt over a pair of breeches, the better for her to sit astride.
She found sidesaddles far too precarious, and not something every household took the trouble to invest in. A simple white cotton blouse not much more fancy than a man's shirt, a dark jacket with a full skirt, and a small hat perched atop her dark hair completed her ensemble. She pulled out her riding boots, and dusted them off.
All her restless energy could be expended upon a good gallop in the country, she was sure. Anything had to be better than being confined in a small chamber, a small house, with the man she had almost allowed to bed her.
As soon as Sarah was sure that Alexander was safely downstairs, she went into Jonathan's room and took out his riding clothes. The best thing to do was to keep Alexander busy, and not spend more time alone with him in the house than necessary. It led to all sorts of temptations and foolish thoughts, and addled her. She could not let him ever get so close to her, touch her in that manner again. Her breasts still tingled from his clever tongue and lips' tender ministrations.
As soon as Sarah heard him in the dining room with Caleb, she scurried into the bathroom and immersed her throbbing skin in the warm water. She lathered the soap, and washed herself, but every swipe of the flannel over her engorged breasts only reminded her of the rasp of Alexander's lightly bristled chin against her tender flesh. Washing her stomach and thighs caused her to groan with desire. What on earth was wrong with her? Was she ill?
She was indeed. She was sick with longing. Alexander had touched her heart, soul and body in a way no other man ever had. It was just too incredible, too wondrous. Too dangerous. She had no idea who he was, what his past commitments were. How on earth could she allow herself to fall in love him?
But as Sarah sat with him at the breakfast table, completely aquiver, the lightest touch of his hand causing her stomach to clench with longing, she asked herself another question.
How could she not allow herself to fall in love with such a man?
What was there not to love? He was intelligent, witty, and handsome, the best man she had ever known. But Alexander was not hers, and possibly never could be, she reminded herself harshly.
In any event, he had stopped short of making love to her, rejected her. Practically carried her out the door and closed and locked it upon her with a decided air of finality. As if their incredible interlude had been one absurd error never to be repeated.
It was just as well, she told herself bravely. She did not want him mistaking gratitude for her help with something more. It would cause far too many complications when he eventually had to leave.
And leave he would. He had another life out there. And she was doomed to be a spinster. For surely she could never allow anyone to touch her thus ever again. And certainly not a man like Alexander, whom she wasn't even sure she could trust. His loss of memory was not his fault, but even the thought of committing adultery made her ill. There was a wife, or other important woman somewhere, she was sure of it after his words that morning. A family. He was absolutely forbidden to her. She had to thank God he was alive, but never forget her bargain with Him. She had to give up any nonsensical romantic notions about her erstwhile cousin. She had to. For the sake of her family, her soul, she simply had to.
"So what are our plans for today, Sarah?" he asked with a false brightness which she couldn't fail to note.
"We're going riding this morning," she said firmly.
His face fell. "Oh, no, I-"
"No arguments. I don't understand your reluctance."
"I don't either," he admitted. "I suppose it's just that I'm more in control when I'm on my own two feet."
"It'll be fine, I promise."
"All right," he agreed reluctantly.
After breakfast she helped Caleb saddle two geldings, glad to have something to do to keep her hands busy and off her handsome companion. She helped Alexander onto the mounting block and Caleb got his leg over the horse. She tied a rope to the horn of each saddle, and let it play out until they could safely gallop around the open field together.
Separated thus, she began to relax at last. There was no opportunity for any accidental sensual contact so many yards apart.
"We'll just go straight on for the moment. No trees to get worried about."
He soon picked up the rhythm, and his pace. "It's sort of like being aboard a ship. I prefer them to horses," he observed with a tentative smile.
She filed away the comment for future reference. She also observed his seat upon the horse, his touch upon the reins. He might not remember about his past life, and was sorely out of practice, but no one could mistake his fine seat and assured command in the saddle. He most certainly had come from a good family.
Later he remarked, "This is a fine piece of horse flesh. He must be worth what, about fifty or sixty guineas?"
"Sixty."
She remained relatively silent, not wanting to distract him with idle chatter when he was once again remembering his past life as a gentleman. She was also couldn't help but be in turmoil about what had happened that morning, and knew from what he had said yesterday that he could detect many different subtle nuances in her voice. God forbid he should ever suspect she had fallen in love with him.
But it was difficult to avoid chatting forever. He seemed almost anxious to talk today, as though inconsequential chatter could drown out the loud throbbing of her heart, the vibrant humming between the two of them. As if speaking could negate what hung in the air unspoken.
As he chatted away about the wine they had had the day before at the picnic, she registered that this was yet another hobby of his. She would have to start writing all of it down. Even the most insignificant detail might be important if they were to discover his true identity.
"You're awfully pensive," he commented after a while.
"I'm sorry. I'm still a bit tired, and-"
"I was completely at fault this morning, Sarah, for which I truly apologize. I should never-"
"Then let's not speak of it," she said shyly.
"But we have to, don't you see? There are a handful of selfish reasons why I did what I did, Sarah, and an equal number of hopefully virtuous, decent and sensible ones for why I stopped."
"Fine."
"I don't want you to feel rejected."
"I said it was fine."
"Or think that you did anything--"
"Alexander, that's enough!" she ordered raggedly.
He tugged on the rope connecting them, forcing her to rein in her horse or risk injuring them all.
"Damn it, Sarah, will you please listen! None of this was your fault, and I'm buggered if I'll let you take the blame upon yourself. Or think that you're anything less than the most desirable woman I've ever met in my life."
"That you can remember!" she sniped.
"Fine," he snapped back. "I deserve that, well and truly. Which is why I stopped this morning, Sarah. The truth is that I don't know who I am. I have no idea if I'm single or married. I'd like to think I would be able to recall something as important as that, but it's all a blank. As are any other women in my life apart from the vaguest senses of temporary solace long ago. Long before I was ever injured, in case you were wondering. So believe me when I say that so far as I know, you are the only woman in my new post war life. The only woman I've ever kissed, caressed. Longed for."
"Oh, Alexander--"
He shook his head. "But that isn't your problem, it's mine. I don't want you to get into bed with me because you feel sorry for me. I feel sorry enough for myself."
"It isn't like that!" she admitted, throwing all caution to the winds. "I feel for you, Alexander. I've never-"
He sighed. "I do feel something for you, truly. But beyond the pleasure of kissing you,
I'm not sure at this point what else I can give you, my dear. I'm damaged, crippled, blind. I'm, well, I'm not the man I once was. I may never be that man again. It isn't fair to you to just build your hopes up only to tear them down.
"I'm sorry, Sarah. I wish it could be different, but I have no control over my circumstances. I have no past, and no future either. I refuse to lead you into any further sin, any potential heartache if what we should discover about me is, well, terrible.
"Even if it isn't, I'm not the man to make you happy, Sarah. To give a woman as joyous and loving as you all you deserve. So once again, I'm sorry. Please, never blame yourself. If you want to be angry or curse someone for being a fool, then choose me."
"Oh, my dear Alexander, I understand."
"No, you don't," he gritted out, "and I hope to God you never do. But I thank you for trying to. And for being so kind to me. It's more than I deserve."
"Don't be silly. You deserve to be helped, cared for--"
He shook his head again, his mouth set in a line of firm refusal. "Not when I can give nothing in return."
Sarah protested, "The garden, the cooking yesterday, that isn't nothing--"
He laughed bitterly and shook his head. "No, I suppose not," he said in a mocking tone which confused her completely.
She stared at him for a time, but he remained silent, his face shut against her like an iron castle gate.
Well, if she couldn't breach his defenses, she might be able to get around them. "Are you ready to ride in a full circle?" she asked quietly, managing to keep her tone neutral.
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug of resignation. "I've come this far. Why not."
They rode for another half-hour, until she suggested they ought to go indoors. "Or else you'll be saddle sore for the rest of the week, and that would never do."
They returned to the house and washed and changed. While the air had not exactly been cleared between them, at least they weren't both feeling in such complete turmoil as they had been before the ride.
They met up in her small parlor an hour later, where she was sitting writing down all she had learned about him in a little notebook.
"I think I'll go out into the garden for a while," he said, though it sounded like more of a question than a statement.
"All right, but don't forget your hat."
He raised his hand to stroke her shoulder, but rammed it back down to his side. "I won't. Thank you."
"Dinner will be ready soon."
"I know, I can smell it. Venison. I can't wait."
She was glad to be alone with her thoughts. He was such an overwhelming distraction at the moment, one she simply couldn't afford. He was so, well, larger than life, it was as if he filled the vicarage. As if he had filled her life in the few short days he had been there.
But there was more to life than Alexander; there had to be. He would leave, and she would be on her own once more. With her virtue and dignity intact.
After all, it wasn't as if she didn't have a full life without him being there. There was knitting, sewing, all sorts of other chores. There was a mountain of wool to be carded and spun into thread, and given to the local weavers. The sheep needed to be shorn, and with the wedding and everything, it had got pushed back quite a bit already.
She took a clean sheet of paper and made a list of the chores that needed to be tackled. Then she divided the list into things Alexander could do even without eyesight. It would not be easy, but he could help with the shearing, carding and spinning. He could milk a cow or sheep, and he could tend the garden. It might not be the sort of life he was accustomed to, but it was good honest work that her brother had no qualms about indulging in.
Jenny came bustling in an hour later and asked if she was ready for dinner.
"Yes, thanks. If you could just call Alexander?" she requested, marveling as she did so that it seemed so natural to share so many simple things with him, to have him by her side. She realized that though he was only out in the garden, she had missed him.
"Yes, of course."
She listened to his movements around the house with half her attention as he cleaned up in the bathroom and joined her at the dinner table. She took his hand to orient him at the table, and he tucked into the food with a good appetite.
"I'm sorry I was so reluctant about riding with you," he said as they ate. "I did rather well today, I thought. I wish I had let you talk me into it sooner."
"Let's see what else we can talk you into," she said with a laugh.
"Why, what did you have in mind?" he asked with a wary expression.
"Our flock of sheep need to be tended, shorn. We get milk for cheese, of course, but now the wool will be made into yarn, which I sell to the local weavers. If you're willing to help, I think we can get that chore taken care of before we head to Bath."
He nodded and smiled. "Very well. I doubt I'll be much use, but I'm willing to try."
Sarah could tell that he was very pleased to have been asked, and grinned back. Then she caught herself. She had to try to remember that he couldn't see her.
Secretly, Alexander was even more relieved at her mention of Bath. At least she was not planning to throw him out of her home any time soon. He had half-expected, half-dreaded it after his appalling behavior, his confession and admission.
But Sarah not only wanted him to stay, she was planning on several more weeks with him, a special trip in his company. It was almost too good to be true. So the least he could do to repay her for all her kindness and generosity was to tackle a few smelly sheep.
Hell, he would walk over hot coals to stay with such a heavenly woman. Though he would have to leave sooner or later, for the present, there was only now. And he was going to enjoy ever minute of it with her, even if he never could be her lover. Or her husband.
No. He shuddered.
Not now, not ever.
Not another hostage to fortune...
He swallowed hard, forcing the food down as the nightmares manifested themselves. They always hovered just on the edge of his consciousness. They weren't real. They couldn't be real.
He clutched his fork so tightly he could feel it bend. Sarah was real. And the vicarage. And the garden, the shovel, the sheep and horses. He had to just cling onto them for as long as he could. Never let her know how he felt about her. Never let her guess who he was, what he had done...
Chapter Fourteen
Sarah and Alexander commenced the shearing the very next morning. After a relaxing evening by the fire with her reading poetry to him, and him playing the pianoforte, and a peaceful night for the both of them, they awakened, bathed, and then put on some old brown cotton clothes.
Caleb mixed the vat of dip to keep the vermin off the sheep once they were shorn. She and Alexander began to herd them into the pen with the help of a couple of lively dogs borrowed from one of the neighbors down the road.
Alexander clapped his hands together and shouted, "Shoo!"
For the most part they did as they were told, and went into the pen. A few of the more fractious ovines tried to break away, but one of the other people who could see would round them up. Jenny also showed him how to milk an ewe amid much laughter and teasing.
After they were all milked, Alexander felt around until he grabbed a sheep and heaved it upwards to expose its stomach. His muscles rippled and bulged as the woolly beast struggled, then lay still.
Sarah worked quickly with the shears, whilst Jenny, paired with Caleb, did the same. When each fleece had been removed, the sheep was immersed in the trough and sent away bleating.
It was a glorious day, full of hard work and fun. Sarah felt she had never been so happy in her life, though it was a rather odd notion of perfect bliss. She and Alexander joked, fell over into each other's arms, supported each other, and worked well as a team. He might have been a gentleman in his past life, but he seemed a perfect match for her, humble and unspoiled despite his background. Every moment she spent with him was a new revelation, of both his charac
ter and her own. If this wasn't love, she wasn't sure what love was.
But she also knew she ought not to push him too hard after all he had been through. And after what he had said about him having no past or future. She couldn't keep basing her longings on a man who might not even exist. A man who was as insubstantial as air, for all he was right within arm's reach.
At one point, she asked, "How's you back?"
"Not the best I've ever felt. But I'm having fun, and am glad to help."
"We can stop and rest if you like."
"No, not at all. I want to keep going."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 16