by Amara Royce
So she fled the too-revealing building in favor of the barn. The small barn was warm and dry, despite the chill outside. No leaks in the roof, no drafts. Remarkable construction, really. Not that she would have expected anything less from the Lanfields. Perhaps there was something productive she could do here. Talos stood in his stall, calmly chewing oats, with Daniel nowhere in sight. The horse paused when she approached and put his nose out for her to pet him. So forward. So charming.
Then Daniel’s voice drifted over from the farthest stall. Curiosity piqued, she moved quietly through the barn until she could just see him through the slats. Leaning his back against a wall, he sat on the straw-covered floor with a sheep cradled on his lap. He was singing! Whatever the tune was, she didn’t recognize it, but it sounded like some kind of lullaby. Such tenderness. It seemed like such an intimate moment that she retreated, afraid to break whatever spell he’d wrought. This was a man who cared deeply but so privately. It was no wonder he’d despised her all these years, after what she’d done to his brother, to his family.
When Daniel finally emerged from the stalls, he had patches of drying mud stuck to his clothes, reminiscent of his younger days. His head jerked when he saw her, and she could have sworn his surprise was tinged with relief and even a little pleasure. After a moment, he nodded to her, frowning slightly, and said, “I didn’t know you stayed. You should have gone back to your grandmother’s after dropping off the meal. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but it sounds like the storm has gotten worse. It won’t be safe for you to return tonight.” He was right. The rains had picked up, and the rumbles of distant thunder were unmistakable.
She knew perhaps better than he how much more severe the storm had become. Even on the short walk between the barn and the house, she would have been soaked through if she hadn’t used the heavy cloak she’d found at home. Her boots hadn’t fared so well, but she hadn’t forgotten that aspect of farm life.
“You should eat something,” she said. “I left some things warming in the house. And you should get some clean, dry clothing on as well. You’ll do no one any good if you make yourself ill.”
“There’s nothing for it, is there? You’ll have to stay the night. Come along.”
Despite her instinct to object, she knew he was right and went to take the closest lantern down from its hook. His hand brushed hers as he moved to do the same. He froze. When she looked at him, he turned away and said, gruffly, “Be careful the wind doesn’t knock it out of your hand.”
Discomfited by the sudden tension, she snapped at him, “I’m not a child. I’ve managed just fine getting to and from the house with it. I’m capable of carrying lanterns, for heaven’s sake.”
He looked weary and stiff as he pushed the door open. Wind and rain took the opportunity to shove into the barn, and the lantern flickered.
“Let’s get on with it,” he said as he pushed her toward the house, pausing only to secure the barn shut.
Rain poured down in heavy sheets, making it difficult to see the building just a few yards ahead. A strong and sudden gust almost knocked her off her feet, but Daniel caught her, steadied her, and then remained close by as they made their way to the house. She followed him inside.
“Is the barn large enough to hold all the Lanfield sheep on the worst winter nights?” she asked, mainly to break the silence.
“By no means. When it’s so cold that we fear injury to the flock, we keep many of them in the big barn on my brother’s land. We also have a few smaller shelters out in the fields, ah, including a few of the Thorton barns now. We use mine mainly for strays and the rare quarantines. It’s useful to have the extra storage and be able to separate some of the flock when necessary.” His reply sounded perfunctory, but then he looked at her and added, “I didn’t figure you’d be all that interested in talking about shepherding.”
“It’s as fine a topic as any. My father was quite proud of his sheep. But right now I suppose food is the real priority. May I?” She gestured toward the hearth, where she’d left a large pot of stew heating. So many questions filled her mind, but they could keep, for now.
“No need. I can serve myself just fine. Thank you. I’m famished, and ’tis a relief to have something to warm my belly.”
“Well, Mrs. Weathers provided the food. I haven’t done all that much,” she replied. The warmth spreading through her midsection couldn’t be attributed to food. Or to the fireplace.
She watched briefly as his stiff fingers struggled with the buttons on his coat. That was all the proof she needed. The moment they’d entered the room, she’d become aware of the sodden chill of her clothes in such stark contrast to the warmth of the house on her exposed skin. If she felt thus after just a few minutes, it was a wonder he could move at all. Her hands itched with the impulse to go to him and undo his coat herself. She could picture his clothes piled on that rush chair, could picture him bare while she drew linen along his arms, his chest, his legs to dry him . . . could picture rubbing his thick muscles to warm him in other ways. Would his chest be firm but with a touch of softness? Would his legs be covered with hair? Would he enjoy the sensations as her palms slid along his rib cage? What on earth had come over her? Startled by the uncomfortable turn of her thoughts, she moved swiftly toward the hearth to put her idle hands to some better purpose.
“You’ve been working for hours in the wet. It’s no trouble for me to get you a bowl,” she insisted. “Now go sit in front of the fire before you catch ague.”
“I’m blathered and should wash before I do aught else,” he said tiredly, his accent heavy.
Graphic images crowded into her mind, and she didn’t trust herself to look at him, lest he catch an inkling of her thoughts. What wicked demon possessed her? Daniel Lanfield, for heaven’s sake! A man who despised her without mercy! It would be more sensible to take her chances out in the storm! Reining in her wayward thoughts, she poured hot water into a basin for him and asked, “Where might I go to give you some privacy?”
“Any room but that one,” he said. She had no choice but to look where he indicated. His face was blessedly neutral as he pointed at the room nearest to where he stood. “That one’s mine. The other rooms are all unoccupied. Any will do. I’ll fetch you when I’m ready.” When she met his gaze, the light from the fireplace reflected strangely. It seemed as if his eyes glowed with intent. Surely his words were all innocence. I’ll fetch you when I’m ready. She had no doubt he could fetch her easily, if he put his mind to the task, especially with such strange thoughts dominating her mind. Yet he had no sensual interest in her, just as she had none in him. Truly.
She hurried into the nearest room and shut the door firmly, leaving her alone in darkness. When had the house become so warm? The sounds of water sloshing sparked more vivid but unwelcome images of him in her mind. What had she done to deserve this torment? A truly depraved voice in her head whispered that she could open the door the tiniest bit to see if the reality matched her imagination. She ignored it. An aberration. A result of years of physical deprivation, perhaps. Was she coming down with a fever? She pressed her head against the door and took a few deep, cleansing breaths.
As Daniel removed his clarty boots and trousers, careful to keep all the mud and muck from scattering through the room, he glanced repeatedly at the thin door separating him from Helena. She’d thought to bring him a warm meal, thought to pour water for him. Her attentiveness touched him. Sure, that was all. But the way she’d looked at him before closing that door . . . he must have imagined it, but he could swear her eyes had roved over him as if he were already naked. He should have been disgusted by it, but that wasn’t the sensation coursing through him at the moment. Her swift but intense glance had him burning from his toes to his scalp. Any chill from the past few hours burned away, leaving him aflame and certain parts of his body standing at attention. Once he’d put aside his clothes and rinsed off as best he could, he hurried to his bedroom for fresh clothing.
“You can come
out,” he called before closing his bedroom door. “I’ll just be a few minutes more. You should start eating. No reason for us both to wait.”
As he swiftly finished dressing, the muffled sound of her movements in the great room agitated him. No woman outside his family had set foot in this house ever. Those light footfalls and whispers of domestic activity struck him as both comforting and, unaccountably, arousing. How could they spend the night together in this house?
“I’ve eaten,” she replied, her voice carrying through the wall. “I can sleep in a chair or even on the floor,” she called. “You’ve worked so hard today. You really should get some rest in a comfortable bed.”
As if he could let any woman sleep on the floor while he used a soft bed and still call himself his mother’s son. He quickly finished buttoning his trousers and yanked his door open.
“Today was but a regular day’s work on a farm. Naught to speak of. As for you sleeping on the floor, it would be a cold day in Hades, ma’am. My ma would come back from the grave just to shake me for my thoughtlessness.” He would not compromise on this point. Gentlemen did not sacrifice a woman’s comfort for their own.
“I refuse to banish you from your own bed.” She stood with her hands gripping the back of a chair, braced to argue. Her defiant stance perversely charmed him, as did the steaming bowl that sat on the table accompanied by a thick slice of bread and full mug.
“Well, I refuse to have you sleep anywhere else in this house. As a guest, you must take the bed. I’ll tie you to it if I must.” Did he really just say that? He nearly smacked himself in the head for his idiocy. She should have slapped him. Yet she didn’t appear offended. Instead, she looked curious, thoughtful.
“We could share it,” she said, watching him carefully. Her cheeks reddened, but she held his gaze.
“Huh?” He couldn’t have heard properly.
She was watching him carefully. A bright red crept up her neck and her cheeks, but she held his gaze as she added, “No one need ever know. We both need sleep, and surely your bed would reasonably accommodate both of us.”
Now a pang of discomfort shot through him. She wasn’t wrong. His bed was plenty large enough to share, and his bones ached from the day’s strain. But other parts of him ached in a different way, and those were the parts that made sharing that bed a very bad idea.
“We would know.” He cleared his throat. “And that’s a thing you can’t unknow.”
When his eyes met hers, the flush on her face grew even stronger. When her gentle fingers brushed against his cheek, he ceased to breathe. Then she said, with a tart smile, “I only mean to sleep. Just keep each other warm.”
He had never been a man of many words, but now he could barely eke out a breathless syllable. Her touch burned his skin, and muscles all over his body contracted. Had he caught a fever from the rains? She moved in close to him, and he was struck by the sense of rightness and pleasure. It should feel awkward, shouldn’t it? Unnatural. This woman, of all women. It should feel wrong to slide his hands around her waist. Her finely muscled arms should feel like an affront. Touching his lips to hers should feel like burning in the fiery pit of hell. And yet. That inexplicable, irrational sensation overtook him, just like the night at the coaching inn. Her closeness unraveled his brain. Something in him reveled in her softness. Her mouth, her skin, her full hips. A thrill shot through him when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer. He traced the line of buttons down her blouse with his finger and grew hot when she shivered against him. His good sense had fled, and he could not make himself seek it. One thought invaded his mind: More. He feared this overwhelming desire. Even with Nancy, he hadn’t felt such overpowering lust, as much as he’d been determined to do his husbandly duty toward her. He’d found her attractive, and his body had performed accordingly, but he’d never felt anything like this.
Chapter 16
God in heaven, Daniel Lanfield was kissing her. Daniel. Lanfield. Helena couldn’t believe it. As if those were the only two words her mind could grasp, they repeated over and over in her head until they merged into one constant nonsensical string. DanielLanfieldDanielLanfieldDanielLanfieldDanielLanfieldDanielLanfieldDanielLanfield. What was she doing? The sensations careening through her were incomprehensible too. Hot and soft and moist and taste and teeth and . . . Even as she clung to him, she couldn’t make sense of what was happening. He was kissing her. And she was kissing him back, pressing up on her toes to get closer, to get as close as humanly possible. When he tipped his head, she followed. When his lips parted, she followed. And greedily pulled him closer. Judging by the way he paused and gasped against her lips, he was as shocked as she at the power of their kiss.
No, a voice in her head cried. But it was drowned out by everything else, by all the sensations rioting through her, by the voices saying yes and please and more. At first, the kiss felt pure and achingly simple. Just a kiss. But the wave of need that crashed over her couldn’t stop at a little kiss. She needed more. More of his touch, more of this intensity. When she pulled him down to deepen the kiss, the firmness of his shoulders against her arms, of his chest against hers, left her a shaking mass of sensation. She couldn’t think, only feel. His lips were so soft, so different from the rest of him, from his calloused hands and his rigid muscles beneath her fingers. So soft and warm and gentle. It wasn’t what she’d expected. He wasn’t what she’d expected. A tendril of warm pleasure unfurled in her belly, blooming as she felt a rumbling groan go through his chest. She could feel his heartbeat under her fingertips. He must be able to feel her quivering. But, oh, she couldn’t resist just a little more of this.
By God, his lips against hers, his firm body against hers, growing firmer by the moment from what she could tell through her skirts—she couldn’t breathe! Or maybe that was because his lips wouldn’t release hers. She pulled back slightly just to take a breath, but it was enough to break the moment.
You cannot do this! He loathes you! He thinks you loose and immoral, and you are proving him right!
When she’d said the words We could keep each other warm, she certainly hadn’t meant anything like this. She had to put a stop to this insanity.
Suddenly, air whooshed around her, chilled and disorienting. Daniel was at the door, his back to her, his hand frozen on the knob. He looked just as confused and uncomfortable as she felt.
“I don’t expect you’ll pardon me, Mrs. Martin, but I am sorry for this,” he said to the wall, his voice shocked and distant. “I’ll make my bed on the floor in the other room.”
“That’s wise,” she said, “but there’s no need for apologies.”
“Or ’appen, in the barn,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken.
“Don’t be daft. There’s no need to go to such extremes over a . . . harmless misstep.”
He turned his face to meet her gaze, his mouth twisting into a grimace that made her wary.
“A misstep,” he echoed sharply. “That would be a fine, mild word for it.” He stopped speaking so abruptly that she waited a long moment for him to continue. She’d give a great deal to know what he was thinking right then as he closed his eyes, his hands clenched against his thighs.
“Given the rough weather we’ve had today, literally and metaphorically, it’s no wonder we forgot ourselves, Daniel.” She tried to make her tone light and casual, but she didn’t realize until his eyes flew open with a jolt that she’d used his Christian name. Where on earth had that come from? “I’m sorry. Mr. Lanfield.”
His eyes blazed at her correction. “Definitely the barn.”
“No! I shall not drive you from the comfort of your own home. You cannot sleep in your barn in the middle of a storm.”
“Ah, Mrs. Martin, I cannot sleep here. Because that didn’t feel at all like a mistake, even though we both know it was. For a critical moment, I forgot who you are and what you’ve done. I forgot who I am and where my loyalty belongs. I’ll bed down in the barn because . . . if I stay under this
roof with you, I’ve no doubt I’ll want to do that again. And that cannot happen.”
She couldn’t bring herself either to concur with or deny his prediction. I forgot who you are and what you’ve done. He would never forgive her for her youthful transgressions. He would never see her as anything besides the girl who’d abandoned his brother and ruined Marksby. The realization hurt more than she’d imagined it could.
“Daniel! You dolt, open up!” A male voice, deep and jovial, sounded from the vicinity of the front steps. Helena leapt from the bed, disoriented. She sat back down abruptly, dizzy from standing too quickly. The events of the previous night flashed in her memory, and shutting her eyes only made everything worse. A heavy hand knocked at the front door. That was the pounding she’d heard in her dream. There was something familiar about that voice, uncomfortably familiar. “Come open the door, man! Hal told me you nearly drowned over a lamb or two, you fool! Open up so I can knock some sense into you!” Oh, dear Lord in heaven. Gordon! It had to be.
She peeked through the curtains as well as she could without disturbing them. She dare not draw the man’s attention. But she couldn’t see much of him. She could tell that he was tall. He dressed much like Daniel—practical, warm, sturdy. That was all she could see before the creak of the door told her he’d entered the house. She pressed herself into a corner between the window and the bureau and struggled to right her clothing. She hadn’t undressed, but she’d untucked her blouse and loosed her stays to sleep. Even with the laces in the front for easy reach, her fingers fumbled, and a fine panicky sweat prickled her skin. Angels in heaven, her boots were across the room, by the door, still covered in muck.
“Danny!” Gordon called out again. This time, his voice was louder and more anxious. “Why aren’t you waking?” His footsteps ranged through the front room but quickly made their way to the bedroom door. What was she to do? How could she face him? Like this? She hadn’t seen him since she ran away. What must he think of her? Of all people in this village, he surely had a right to hold a grudge. What would he think, finding her here? She couldn’t slip out the window without her boots. If he hadn’t heard she’d returned to Marksby, perhaps she could pretend to be a new maid. Perhaps a lightskirt. There must be some such women in the area. A hysterical laughter threatened to burst from her. Perhaps she was finally slipping into madness.