Inextricable surging began in his balls, deep within his loins, fierce spasms that he couldn’t defy. He could only groan in the grips of pleasure that made him shudder as if he were freezing cold.
He jerked himself from her. Warm wetness spurted everywhere as he withdrew.
But it was too late. He’d spilt some inside.
“Dear God… I am sorry.” He panted the words out, unable to catch his breath.
He looked down at her.
She glared back. “I’ll never forgive you. If your seed takes root, I swear I shall never forgive you.”
Her eyes grew wild with the look of a trapped animal. His heart panged with the notion. Didn’t she know he’d never allow her to come to harm?
He laid his hand on her stomach. “Don’t worry. It will be all right. It’s nature’s way that we should lust for each other and be drawn together to make a child. It’s no great sin so long as we marry.”
“You did this, on purpose, hoping I might be compelled to wed you!”
“I did not, I swear it.”
“No man shall force me to do aught!”
“I was not thinking of force. Listen to reason, Rose—”
Her eyes turned cold. “Why won’t you believe me? I shall never marry you, Goodman Marlowe. I shall never marry a man who will not let his late wife go.”
“What the devil do you mean?”
“I mean you make a pleasure out of mourning. You are happy to sate your hot lusts with me, but it’s Patience you will always love and respect.” Her lip curled up. “You canonise her, hold her memory above all things—even your precious faith, your image of God.”
Thomas’ jaw dropped. “You’ll take that back! It’s a lie.”
“It’s no lie. And, what’s more, it’s all falsehood! An illusion!”
Her illogical words, hurled at him, locked the gears of his mind. “What?”
“Patience never made you happy.” Her face was flushed, her nostrils slightly flared. “Never!”
Her words crashed over Thomas with the shock of icy, cold water. She stood there, still flushed, her dark red brows drawn tightly and her hands on her hips. He blinked hard.
Patience held you to blame for another man’s sins.
No. He wouldn’t listen to the traitorous whisper. He swallowed and forced himself to speak softly, “You’re wrong. I loved Patience. I respected her above all women.”
“Then why—all those weeks on the Abigail, before her death—did you look at me with softness and longing?”
It was as if a hand had tightened about his throat, choking his air. He couldn’t speak.
“Admit it. Admit you knew unhappiness with her and I shall gladly wed you.”
He put his hands up, trying to push her words back. “No!”
Her face softened. Something like pity flashed in her eyes. “Thomas, please—”
“No, just no!”
He jerked his breeches closed and made his fingers fly over the buttons, refastening them. He might have lusted for Rosalind. Yes, of course he had. But he had not felt softly towards her while his wife lived. He had not put Rosalind above Patience in his heart.
He still did not.
He bolted to his feet. Then he looked down at her, narrowing his eyes. “You’ll take back what you just said about my wife.”
She met his gaze without flinching. “I shan’t. It is the truth. I cannot lie.”
So that was it. He would not reach for Rose again. “I withdraw my offer of marriage.”
She paled. Did she care? Had she lied before? It didn’t matter. Sin or no sin, he couldn’t wed her now.
He turned and walked away.
* * * *
Rosalind stood in the backyard. For two days, the weather had turned cool and thunderstorms had pelted the land. She’d been trapped inside, haunted by the remembered pain of her afternoon with Thomas. What madness of her to think she could break through his fantasy of what his marriage had been. He would never look on another woman without comparing her to his image of Patience. A paragon who had never existed.
Well, no more wallowing. She thrust the matter from her and turned her face up. The gently misting rain wet her lips. Nature’s kiss. The only kind that was safe to enjoy. She hugged her shoulders and twirled.
“Rosalind!”
Rosalind startled. She froze and turned. “Yes, Goody Wilson.”
Wind flapped the elderly lady’s white cap and her grey eyes were stern. “Foolish girl, out in the chill and rain when there’s sickness about.”
Inwardly, Rosalind shrugged. She’d always been healthy. Shamefully healthy while those around her had fallen to illness.
“Get yourself inside and into some dry clothes.” Goody Wilson’s eyes raked Rosalind’s loosened and wildly curling dark red hair. “And make yourself look decent. Goodman Marlowe has come to fetch you home with him.”