A Midsummer's Sin(11)
It was his entire fault.
He had made his decision. Approached her. Kissed her. Clutched her soft, eager body to his own. His traitorous flesh twitched, straining against his breeches. He could not take his mind from her. Could not stop lusting for her.
There was one and only one way to right that wrong. It was no good to wait and see if she were with child. By taking her body, he’d taken her as his wife as surely as if he’d spoken the words. All that remained was for them to make it legal.
And with all due haste. He must protect her against the public shame of a seven-month child.
She was a little reluctant. He’d have to persuade her. He would apprise her of his coming prospects. Yes, all women liked to know a man’s prospects.
He smiled at her.
Her expression hardened and she turned away.
* * * *
Outside, watching as black-garbed mothers laid blankets for their children to sit on and eat their nuncheon, Rosalind struggled to catch her breath, her heart pounding in her ears… Covertly, she pressed her legs together, trying to staunch the wetness that seeped between them.
Elation still quickened her blood. Just because Goodman Thomas Marlowe had smiled at her. Yet, what a smile. Lust had lit his green eyes and transformed his sombre handsomeness into something sublimely beautiful yet undeniably masculine. The smile’s brilliance still burned into her mind. Tingling centred on her navel and radiated all over her body, to the tips of her ears and her toes.
“Rose.” Thomas’ whisper sent shivers through her.
She darted a glance about. No one seemed to be taking notice.
“What are you about?” she whispered.
“I need to talk to you.”
She turned and met emerald eyes that blazed with smouldering passion. They singed her.
On a hitching breath, she let her eyes wander over him. The staid Holland collar and plain black doublet and black homespun breeches, so drab on all the other men, seemed to accentuate his tall, leanly muscled frame and dark-haired handsomeness.
Stomach bottoming out, knees weakening, she leaned against the meetinghouse. “We have nothing to speak of. You are simply my mistress’ neighbour.”
“What I did—what we did was wrong. We have to make it right.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” She darted a look behind her. “We’ve done nothing.”
“We should marry with all haste. I’ll speak with Goody Wilson today.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
“Wouldn’t you like to be a Goodwife rather than a bondslave? To have respect and position?”
Goody Rosalind Marlowe.
Fierce hankering consumed her like hunger for food or air. To be his beloved, cherished wife and helpmate… Something that would never, could never, be.
Not as long as Patience haunted him.
“Thomas, I don’t think…”
“Hear me out. At Harvard College I will earn good wages. I do intend to keep a farm but I will be able to afford servants to help with the things that must be done. Your life would be very comfortable.”
She held up a forestalling hand. “Nothing happened. Nothing.”
His jaw hardened. “You think, if we simply deny it, it shall go away.”
His eyes pierced into hers. Weakening her resolve. Making her remember their shared passion. Making her believe in the impossible.
She tore her gaze away, glancing towards the harbour where sunlight glistened on the sea and white gulls flew against the flawless blue sky. Simplicity. Purity. It was what she loved about this new world. It gave her something larger and higher than her coveting to cling to. She drew renewed resolve. By the providence of God, she’d been given a fresh start. She wasn’t about to turn it into just another prison, tied to a man that would never respect her.
A man that didn’t truly want her for a wife.
“Thomas, we must forget.” She spoke without looking at him and made to leave.
He grasped her arm, detained her.
She whirled to face him. “Are you mad to put your hands on me in the open?!”
His eyes widened and he dropped his hand.
Equal parts fear and anger trembled through her. “Fornication is a whipping offence—maybe not for a Goodman like yourself but certainly for a penniless bondswoman like me.”
He hardened his jaw. “Forgive me—but you must listen. It is for that reason that we must marry with all due haste. That and the sin of it.”
“What sin? Nothing happened!”
“Rose, pray do not be difficult.”
Contriteness softened her heart. She must make him understand. Despite the risk of being caught in a public display, she touched his arm. “Listen to me, Thomas… This heat, it has everyone to their wits’ end. You’re not yourself. Neither of us was.”