Nathaniel Blackbourne was not a bad person. In fact, as a brother-in-law he was rather quite generous, not to mention dashingly handsome and devilishly charming. But he and Lynette had rushed into a marriage that would have benefited from a longer courtship and they were both suffering the consequences of their impulsive actions.
Which is why I should not be wasting a moment of my time on Heath Jacobson, she told herself sternly. There are more important matters at hand than an American who called me a bitch!
Although to be fair, when put into context, the insult wasn’t quite as bad as it seemed. After all, she had accused him of blindness and attempted murder when in hindsight perhaps running in front of his carriage had not been the best course of action. But it had been raining and she and Delilah had been freezing cold, not to mention completely lost. What else could she have done?
Temperance bit her bottom lip, drawing the plump flesh between her teeth and worrying it as a dog would a bone as she felt an uncomfortable twinge of regret. Maybe she had been a bit too insolent, but then so had Hugh! Answering every question with a question, she recalled with a scowl. And the way he had stared at her in his look-behind! No man had ever looked at her like that before.
There had been an unmistakable hunger in his dark, tortured gaze. Almost as if he were starving...and she were a bright, shiny apple he could not wait to sink his teeth into.
“Over there.” Completely oblivious to Temperance’s conflicted emotions, Annabel pointed cheerfully at a long line of colorful tents where various vendors had put their wares on display. “The blue one in the middle. The man who sold it to me was quite nice.” Her even white teeth flashed in the dappled sunlight. “Handsome, too. And an American!”
Temperance’s heart gave an extra lurch inside of her chest. Then Hugh was here. Unless there was another American selling look-behinds, which she sincerely doubted.
It does not matter. He means nothing to you. Don’t you dare–
“I will be right back.”
Drats.
It was bad enough she never took anyone else’s advice.
Why in heaven’s name could she not take her own?
Picking up her skirts to avoid dirtying the hem on the dusty ground, Temperance ducked nimbly into the crowd. Dimly she heard Lynette calling her name, but her sister’s voice was quickly lost. Fixing her gaze in the direction Annabel had pointed she began to march determinedly towards the tents. Given the sheer number of people crowded into the small village square, however, getting from one point to another was easier said than done.
In addition to the farmers and merchants trying to earn a bit of extra coin before winter sank its icy fingers into the countryside there were also acrobats, dancers, and even a few trick riders on horseback. Young children dressed in white wove orange silk ribbons around a tall pole in the middle of the square while a group of traveling musicians set up on the far side of it, playing random notes as they struggled to tune their violins amidst the chaos and mayhem.
Turning sideways in order to squeeze between two men balancing precariously on wooden stilts, Temperance was both short of breath and patience by the time she reached the line of tents. Slanting a hand across her brow to block the sun from her eyes - she’d lost her bonnet within the first ten minutes of arriving at the festival - she hurried down the row, passing tables filled with everything from pretty silk scarves imported from India to pear-shaped gourds.
A faint breeze stirred the banners and flags tied to the tops of the tents, but close to the ground the air was sweltering hot from the press of so many bodies and soon sweat began to trickle between Temperance’s breasts and down the narrow space between her shoulder blades, making her squirm in discomfort as she fought her way through the crowd. Biting down hard on the inside of her cheek, she yanked off a thin white glove and used it to dab at the perspiration glistening on her temple as she continued to search for Heath amidst the bustling village square.
If someone were to ask her why she was so determined to find the enigmatic American, she didn’t know if she would have an answer. At least not one that made any sense. The truth was that ever since they’d met (when he’d nearly run her over in his carriage and she’d ended up flat on her back in a mud puddle) it had been nigh on impossible to get him out of her head. Even with everything else going on - the sudden move to the country, Lynette’s impromptu wedding, and their new furry family member Mr. Humphrey, a little dog with a rather large attitude - her thoughts had never strayed very far from Hugh Jacobson.
It wasn’t because she liked him, Temperance assured herself hurriedly as she ducked to the left in order to avoid being thwacked over the head by a man juggling four skittles. Quite the opposite, in fact. And she did not even want to see him again. Not really. In fact, she could easily go an entire lifetime without ever gazing into his blue eyes or admiring the width of his shoulders or the way he had–
“What the hell are you doing here?” Standing in front of a narrow tent with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed, Hugh stared at Temperance as though she were an irksome gnat he’d thought he had squished only to discover he hadn’t quite finished the job.
With his legs braced apart and his thighs bulging beneath the tan fabric of his trousers he looked more like a giant than a man. His shoulder-length hair was tied back in a knot and his face was cleanly shaven, revealing a square chin and a full mouth curled in disapproval. He had a heavy brow that extended over his eyes, giving him a perpetual scowl. His features were dark and heavy set; the sort one envisioned when they imagined a villain.
A smile might have lightened his countenance, but as Temperance gazed up at him she doubted he’d ever worn a smile a day in his life. “What am I doing here?” Skirting around a man pushing a cart filled to the brim with apples, she squared off in front of Hugh and crossed her arms, refusing to let herself be intimidated by his surly demeanor. He was like a grumpy old dog, and like most grumpy old dog’s his bark was far worse than his bite.
Or so she hoped.
“I happen to live right down the road, not that it is any of your business. What are you doing here?”
“This is a merchant’s fair and I am a merchant.” He glanced behind him at his tent. Though smaller than many of the others, it was packed to the gills with the same random assortment of things he had been carrying around in his carriage on the day they’d met. Never in all of her life had Temperance seen such an odd collection of belongings. There had been so many things she and Delilah had barely fit! And yet he’d struck her as more of a traveling gypsy than a merchant. As a general rule, merchants actually had to be nice to their clientele.
And Hugh was anything but nice.
“Oh is that what you are?” she said sweetly. “I rather thought you were just a collector of useless junk.”
Temperance did not know why she felt the need to antagonize Hugh. No doubt it would have been best to leave well enough alone, but she so did love the way his eyes flashed and his jaw clenched when he was annoyed. It posed a delightful challenge. How much could she poke the bear before the bear poked back?
“Are you going to buy something?” he growled. “If not you can damn well turn right around.”
“Oh, I believe I shall a have a quick look.” Ignoring his fierce scowl, she stepped neatly past him and into the tent.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jillian Eaton grew up in Maine and now resides in Pennsylvania. When she isn't writing, Jillian is doing her best to keep up with her three very mischievous dogs. She loves horses, coffee, getting email from readers, ducks, and staying up late finishing a good book.
She isn't very fond of doing laundry.
www.jillianeaton.com
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For the Love of Lynette Page 22