A Midsummer's Sin(10)

It had been enough. He had not resented her for it.

He hadn’t.

He could never have resented Patience because he had loved her more than his life. She had saved him.

Now he had betrayed everything he’d committed to with Patience. Everything he had committed to God. He had lain with a woman who was not his wife.

How had he allowed himself to weaken like that?

Yes, once he had hoped there could be a way to reconcile his lustful love for Rosalind and his need to remain true to the new beliefs that had made a changed man of him. He’d tried to get to know more about Rose, to see if there were any intellectual and religious depths beneath her sensual appeal.

One winter’s day at Goody Wilson’s farm, he’d attempted to engage her in the most basic discussion of theology.

She had listened with the careful kindness of one who bears the most tedious torture. Then she had tilted her head back, exposing the delicate cords in her throat so that he was nearly overcome with the urge to seize her and put his lips on her to trace every delectable line. A smile had broadened her full red lips. “Oh, look what a lovely shade of periwinkle.”

Frowning, he had looked up and seen nothing but dull, winter grey sky.

“It is a gift from God.”

“You think this?” He’d been unable to hide his dubiousness.

She had lowered her head, her eyes luminous with joy. She’d been so lovely, his heartbeat had quickened.

“Yes, it is a message that we must seek beauty even when and where least expected.” She had spoken with perfect conviction.

He’d glanced back at the sky seeking this miracle.

He’d failed.

He had failed in another area, the subject of God himself. Rosalind was not a Puritan. She had not yet heard the call to grace. He had tried to share the comfort given him by his faith.

She had wrinkled her slightly stubby nose up. “Oh, I shall never convert, so please save your breath.” She had smiled kindly, as if to an inferior who is mistaken. “But you are very kind to try.”

Her tone had been so final. He had lost all hope for persuading her. And that had broken his heart. For she had no interest in religion, philosophy or even politics. Yes, many a man would be happy with such a wife. Except that she didn’t seem to have any religion or beliefs save for her convictions, such as the belief that a winter’s dreary sky was a gift from God. Such independence of thought fascinated him to no end. Yet they had nothing in common upon which to build an intellectual and pious match such as he and Patience had shared.

After such perfect love born of mutual respect with his late wife, how could he possibly marry a woman like Rosalind?

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t risk being pulled into the kind of sinful focus on sensuality and earthy pleasures. He couldn’t imagine a more earthy, sensual woman than Rosalind.

The thought sent a leaden weight sinking down in his belly.

His gaze pulled to the side, drawn against his will to where she sat across the aisle. Her white cap covered her bright red hair. Sweat glossed her summer-tanned face, making it glow like rich honey against her coffee-coloured Sunday dress with its snow-white kerchief fastened tightly to her neck and her sleeves long and tight.

As if he had willed it, she turned his way and her eyes met his—velvet brown orbs framed by heavy dark auburn lashes—beautiful… He inhaled sharply. Even from this distance he fancied he saw her pupils enlarge. Her lush, rose-coloured mouth opened. He could taste her breath, her kiss, her wet, warm tongue. She ran her tongue over her lip. Arousal tingled through his loins and, inwardly, he groaned.

A sinful image burned in his mind. Of her on her knees before him, opening her mouth even further, that wicked tongue sliding—

Blood rushed into his cock, lengthening it. Her image seemed to leap closer, pushing everything and everyone else aside as if they were suddenly the only two there. His pulse thudded within his erection, straining against his breeches. Again, he shifted on the pew. The scent of her arousal, a memory lingering in his senses, seemed to grow stronger. He could feel her soft curves once again writhing against him.

“In Adam’s fall, we sinned, all of us!” The minister’s voice boomed, so loud it seemed to rattle the walls.

Thomas jerked his gaze back to the pulpit. The minister seemed to grow larger, to rush forward. His fiery dark eyes looked directly at him, their black depths searching his soul for sin.

Perhaps even seeing it.

“God despises the weak lust lurking in your hearts. Only his grace can cleanse us of our sin.”

Thomas caught his breath and glanced at his lap, unable to continue facing the minister.

This was serious. No matter how delicious the memory of last night seemed, what they had done was wrong.