Jenna stepped away from Horace and straightened her panniers. “Well, you’ve made up for it with your help. I am anxious to find the one responsible for the lady’s poisoning.” But had the deacon shot Mr. Pentreath over his wife’s accusations? It didn’t make sense. To her knowledge, the squire never accused the churchman of anything pertaining to his wife. The two events might not be related.
Her heart sank a little, thinking of Mr. Pentreath. Reports from the manor had him up and around, doing well. She’d sent Luke over with more Peruvian bark elixir, wishing she could have gone herself. However, being near him was too tempting.
“Promise me you won’t confront the deacon alone, if that’s your aim.” Horace wagged a finger at her. “Foiled clergymen have been known to be quite ruthless.”
“I promise. I must leave you now. Tell Mary I said hello, an’ hope she feels better soon. Come to my shop if you need anything for her.”
She walked toward the front gate. People milled about, spilling out into the street. She waved to a cordwainer’s wife she knew. The cordwainer had crafted fine boots for Lem in the past, no doubt to strut before his mistress. He was buried in the last pair.
Down Middle Row, she passed the Red Lion Inn, her head held high, lips firm. On St. Nicholas Street, she stepped around The Hall, once an old Guild Hall, which projected into the street. Farther along, she noticed two men arguing in front of the Blue Anchor Inn.
A gust of wind swept down the street and nearly blew off her hat. She re-pinned it and walked closer. Mr. Pentreath and Nerth Hockin! She frowned. The squire was foolish to confront that hulk of a rascal in his weakened condition. She had the urge to rush over and insert herself between them. Instead, she whipped about and hurried into her shop.
She hung up her cloak, slipped on her apron, and put the kettle over the fire to boil. Then in the shop’s front she laid out the ingredients for gout powder to fulfill an order: birthwort, red gentian root, leaves of germander, and centaury. She put the germander leaves into her mortar and started to grind them down. The minty scent tickled her nose.
The bell tinkled as the shop door slowly opened.
Without turning around, Jenna knew who it was. She could sense him, almost a feverish animal scent, and she was a she-wolf. Her stomach flipped.
“Good morning, Mrs. Rosedew.”
Her breath hitched, and she inhaled her herbs to distract herself. “Good morn. Are you feeling better, sir?” She faced him and pasted on her business smile. Faltering, her smile grew warmer to see him here.
“I’m much better, thank you.” Mr. Pentreath removed his hat, his black hair blown loose in waves from its queue. “How are you this fine Sunday?”
“I’m well, so kind of you to ask.” She wiped her hands on her apron, then wished she’d used a cloth to be more ladylike. “It’s good to see you up an’ fit. What can I get for you?”
“I saw you enter your shop. I just had a loud discussion with Nerth Hockin. He claims no knowledge of any of the miners assaulting me, but then I doubt he’d tell me if he knew.” Pentreath fingered his hat. “He’s far too large himself to have been my attacker.”
“Maybe you should let Magistrate Odgers deal with the man. Nerth has always been a bully, an’ you’re just recovering.” She half-turned and stirred the leaf remnants about in the mortar, her pulse thundering.
“Nerth wouldn’t dare…. Not if he wishes to keep his position.” Mr. Pentreath stood taller, as if she’d affronted his capability. “Unfortunately, I told Constable Chenery about my suspicions when he came to see me. I’m certain he’ll make the situation worse.”
She smiled and glanced away for a moment. “I’m sure you’re right. I don’t see why the little weasel still has that office. Surely there’s better men in town.”
“Far better, though too many have gone off to war. And weasel is an apt description.” Mr. Pentreath laughed.
His laugh tingled along her spine; she reveled in it. Now at a loss for words, she scraped her pestle around some more, although the germander was fine enough.
“I feel as though I’ve offended you in some way, Mrs. Rosedew.” He walked closer. “I’d like to discuss the matter.”
She pressed against the narrow table to steady herself, not too obviously she hoped. “I will have the rent money for you, in February.” She’d sold the jewelry for a good enough price. But why had she said that, right at this moment? His presence unnerved her—excitement rolled up in risk. She turned her back on him and shook the pestle free of debris over the mortar, then laid it down. “So you needn’t worry.”
“You wish to discuss the rent? I assure you that I wasn’t worried.” He sounded insulted as he moved up behind her. “You said I wasn’t inappropriate with you that night I was shot. But I believe otherwise.”
Jenna trembled. He stood too close. The back of her neck heated. “What did Nerth say about his relationship with Mrs. Sandrey?”
He put his hand above her on the wall, hovering even closer. He smelled of bergamot and the autumn winds. “You are purposely avoiding my question.”
She was acting like a coward. She turned. His face was inches from hers. Her muscles jumped. Was he trying to intimidate her, seduce her? She fought down the urge to encourage him. “You were in a delirium, sir, an’ not responsible. We can forget about it.”
“I kissed you, didn’t I?” His dark eyes were intense.
“’Tis true, but—” She almost said she’d enjoyed it. Her mouth went dry, her knees growing weak. “I’m not offended, I swear.”
“I apologize for my ungentlemanly behavior.” He stared at her lips, his words a whisper.
What was the matter with her? She’d flirted with men before, but why couldn’t she manage it with him? His good opinion meant so much to her, even as her flesh dimpled. She yearned for him to kiss her, now, though it would be so wrong. “I accept your apology.”
“Are you just being kind, or bending to my position as your landlord, in saying you were not upset?” His gaze searched hers.
“No, sir. I’ll be honest. I didn’t mind at all.” She touched his frock coat lapel, the wool smooth under her fingers. Part of her wanted to drag him against her. “But I know it isn’t what should have happened between us.” Now she was whispering. If a Sunday visitor came in, they’d both be compromised.
“You’re right, of course.” His knees touched her skirt, his gaze sharp yet needful, tugging at her. “Completely inappropriate. I shouldn’t be behaving in this manner. I’m being a cad. You should ask me to leave.”
“Completely, ’tis true.” She sighed and smiled, her mouth quivering. “We are most unsuitable. I…still don’t wish for you to leave.” Now she’d stepped over the line, yet she suddenly didn’t care. The longing in his expression matched the desire she held for him.
“In many ways we’re unsuitable, I agree. But not in all.” He moved, and she moved at the same time. Their breaths mingled; their lips met, soft and warm. Her heart soared.
“Forgive me,” he pulled back, “I couldn’t help myself. I can’t explain the way you affect me, my…earnestness.”
“I forgive you.” She felt dizzy, her world quaking beneath her feet, but she didn’t step aside. “I don’t know why I’m behaving in such a way, either. ’Tis not like me. But I can’t deny my own earnestness.”
“Some things can’t be explained.” He caressed her cheek then kissed her again, thoroughly, slipping his hands under her chin and jaw, his fingers into her hair.
She reached up and tightened her arms around his neck. He tasted so good, so perfect; her body reacted, her craving for him rose hot and urgent. She should push him away, though she needed him as much as he must need her.
* * *
Branek kissed her luscious mouth, wanting to devour, yet savor, her. He pulled back with a moan. “Should I go?” If she slapped him, or ordered him out, only then would he leave. He shouldn’t be dallying with this woman, but she meant so much to him. A kindred spirit,
as the ridiculous poets would say. His heart swelled with a warmth he’d never experienced before. “Tell me, and I’ll do what you wish.”
“I know what I wish, but ’tisn’t right.” She gasped, her lips swollen from their passionate kiss. “Though it feels so very right.”
“Shall I depart, and—and beg your sincere pardon?” He gripped her shoulders, his arousal dictating that he not move too far, too quickly. While he respected her resistance, he wished she had none.
She laid her fingers over his, as if to hold him there. “You like honesty, don’t you?” She drifted into him and kissed his mouth. “I can’t deny I want you to stay.”
He returned her kiss, caressing his hands over her back, his chest heaving.
“We’ll go upstairs,” Jenna whispered. “Let me lock up.” She bustled to the door, bolted it and returned to him, her beautiful eyes shining, an emerald fire that enveloped him.
In his haze, he hoped he’d heard correctly. Her hand in his, he walked toward the stairs, the ramifications blurred over by his physical, perhaps selfish, need. She started up the narrow, crooked stairs. He followed on her heels, into a bedchamber.
Once inside, she closed the door. The room was cozy, with a tester bed neatly made. The chest of drawers, washstand and clothes press looked well used.
Then he dared to stare at her, her gaze wide and yearning in return. Here was his last chance to be the true gentleman and leave. He didn’t need this complication, but he wanted to immerse himself in this woman. He swallowed slowly, his heart racing.
She unpinned her hair, and it fell like an auburn stream over her shoulders. His fingers twitched—as well as his lower extremity! He removed his coat. She came forward, her expression tentative; she unbuttoned his frock coat and waistcoat with shaking hands.
“’Tis only because of what I feel for you…that I would behave in such a loose way,” she whispered as his garments dropped to the floor.
He ran his fingers through her lush hair. “The same for me.” He kissed her forehead, then her mouth, holding her against him as if she might vanish. He inhaled her scents of spice and lemon. “I’m not some rakehell, I assure you.”
She eased away and began to undress. He fumbled to unlace her stays. When he put his lips to the soft flesh of her shoulder, she quivered beneath them. He pulled her shift over her head. Her figure was voluptuous, enticing. He trailed his fingers over her full breasts, the brown areola of her nipples. His body trembled. He kissed her again and unbuttoned his breeches.
Her face radiated desire, a woman who wanted him, eagerly. She beckoned him toward the bed. They reclined on the mattress. He stroked her hip as he stared into her emerald eyes. His breath stilled at the emotion he saw there.
“Jenna,” he whispered. She smiled so sweetly, his heart clenched. He kissed her throat and across her breasts, nibbling at her nipples, then suckling like the starved man he was. Her skin tasted clean, delicious.
She stroked him and he groaned. His passion surged and he could barely contain himself. They kissed deeper, tongues searching; their moans increased. He ran his fingers along her thigh and into her soft bush. She sighed and opened up, urging him on, caressing him. He thrust inside her then forced himself to slow, to watch her gasp with pleasure. His breath rasping, he moved carefully at first, holding himself back, reveling in the hot feel of her flesh around his, the glistening of delight in her gaze.
“Branek,” she moaned, her fingers gliding through his hair as her pelvis met his.
He loved to hear his name on her lips. They rocked together, faster, their sweat mingling, her soft body smooth against his. The bed ropes squeaked. His skin afire, he wanted to possess her, feel every inch of her as he kissed her lips deeply. His release thumped through him, quicker than he wished. His body shuddered with gratification, a burning in his brain. She cried out and clasped his back, her fingers digging into his muscles. Their foreheads pressed together, they panted with fulfillment.
He withdrew slowly, struggling to take an even breath, and collapsed beside her. Cupping her face, he kissed her again as they both gasped. Their gazes locked, hers clouded with satisfaction, and questions he wasn’t sure how to answer. He wanted to whisper endearments, but the foreign words wouldn’t leave his mouth.
He traced a finger down her silken thigh. Dare he let his emotions free like this? He’d kept his heart clamped tight these many years, but now it felt supple, curling around her, as he hugged himself against her body.
Contentment trickled over him like heated and healing spa water.
Chapter Sixteen
Jenna stirred and opened her eyes. She felt the once familiar soreness between her legs. Branek—should she think of him as Branek?—snored softly behind her. His warm breath tickled her nape, and she sighed. They had committed an illegal and sinful act. She’d sworn to be no man’s mistress, yet this man had tempted her beyond reason.
She turned her head and watched him sleep, restraining the urge to trail her fingers through his hair. How relaxed he looked, with the tension gone from around his eyes. Her love for him seeped through her. The strange sensation floated inside her like a summer breeze, yet the pressure of even that light air weighed her down with responsibility.
She had realized she loved him in the shop when she asked him to stay—but must keep that emotion to herself. This affair would never change what loomed between them, their difference in station. To the town, and in all honesty to herself, she’d only be his whore.
Rising quietly, she slipped on her wrap and went downstairs. Her kettle still bubbled over the fire. Jenna placed tea leaves in her pot and poured in the hot water. Her clock on the mantel showed they’d slept about two hours.
She poured more hot water into a bowl, and with a bar of lavender-scented soap scrubbed the stickiness from between her thighs, though she wished she could hold him close, deep inside.
Eventually, footsteps sounded above. He must be dressing. Soon, the stairs creaked with each of his steps. Her pulse skipped at every creak.
Branek entered the kitchen, hair mussed, his coat draped over his arm. His gaze probed hers. He did not look arrogant, only a little ashamed, or perhaps unsure.
She couldn’t resist a smile, and her body swayed as though tugged in his direction. She pulled her wrap tighter. Nothing witty to say came to mind. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”
“Of course, thank you.” He raked his hand through his hair and sat at the table near the hearth. “Should I beg your profound pardon? I hope I wasn’t too…what is the silly word I used? Earnest?”
“No pardons, please. Quite ardent, you were.” Her cheeks heated. She poured tea into two cups, nearly sloshing the liquid onto the table. “Sugar or milk, or both?”
“Plain is fine.” He turned the cup in his hands, then met her gaze. “We’re very civilized, after—I’m afraid I don’t know what to say, or if I’ve again behaved like a reprobate.”
“You did not. We were both…involved.” She sat across from him and sipped from her cup of fragrant tea. “I behaved like a wanton. You must think little of me now.” Her words held no self-pity. She’d lain with him and found immense pleasure. She refused to be ashamed.
“I’m not one for pretty words, because I’d given up on saying them.” He drank slowly from his tea. “But I think you are an exceptional woman.” His reply soft, he reached across and clasped her hand.
“I don’t need pretty words.” She squeezed his fingers. His declaration was flattering, but hardly the response of a man in thrall. Her heart clenched, yet she’d expected it. “But I know who you are and who I am. We cannot change it.”
He studied her. “Honest, as always.” His eyes looked sad, as if he’d just realized their differences. “I’ll ask the obvious question. What do we do now?”
“I don’t know. There are many obstacles. An’ we must be very careful.” She gripped his hand, harder. Her breath rasped in her throat. She intended to tell him it could never happen again,
but the words wouldn’t spill out. She desired him, this instant, in his rumpled, casual state, so unlike the aloof squire she’d first met. She entwined their fingers together, his flesh brown against hers. “If anyone catches us, they may suspect we’re involved in your wife’s death even more.” She might nudge him away with this warning; then it would be his decision, and not hers.
“Indeed, I know you’re right.” He raised her hand and kissed it, his eyes clouded. Releasing her, he leaned back in the chair, staring about the room, but not at her. “Neither of us is above suspicion.”
“Chenery already asked me if anyone paid me to adulterate the infusions.” She stiffened in her chair, remembering her anger.
Branek’s eyes widened. “The scoundrel! I’ll throttle him.” His shoulder muscles bunching, he slid to the chair edge as though about to jump from his seat and go after the constable.
“No, say nothing, sir. Please.” She gripped his arm. “We must not bring his attention to us anymore than it is.”
“Ah, you are wiser than I.” He blew out a breath and stroked along her hand. “We must behave circumspectly.” He didn’t move for several minutes, as if mulling over the possibilities, as slim as they were. “I don’t wish to damage your reputation.”
“Nor I yours. Would you prefer a little brandy in your drink? I forgot that you don’t care for ordinary tea.” She stood, anxious to do something; tears of frustration at the impossible situation threatened behind her eyes. His touch unnerved her.
He inhaled, as if breathing pained him. “No brandy, thank you. I should go, I suppose.” Branek rose up, tall and unsettled. He watched her as if waiting for her to stop him. “My dear.”
“If you think it is best.” Jenna bit back her distress that she couldn’t say the words, stay with me longer. She fetched his hat and handed it to him, feeling the gesture so inadequate, too dismissive. “I—”
The Apothecary's Widow Page 17