No, with all the men in the district who had paid court to her, she might have reservations, but at least they were free to do as they pleased. Jonathan's duties and principles would always bind him, and she had the feeling they would make for very cold bedfellows indeed.
Yet all he had to do was smile down at her, and she felt a blaze of sensation which set her to melting. The ripples in her belly and thighs were almost excruciating. What on earth was she to do?
Aunt Susan always made Bertie take more exercise when he was suffering from what she called an excess of high animal spirits. Perhaps she should do the same? She decided to do her best on the ride tomorrow to work out of her system whatever strange mood had gotten into her.
She settled in bed and blew out the candle with a decided air. She would keep herself so busy that she would never have time to pine for a pair of handsome steel-gray eyes.
Chapter Twelve
Pamela tossed and turned most of the night despite her resolve to try to forget all about the stunning vicar who had fast become an integral part of her world.
As she lay in bed gazing up at the canopy, she recalled her first meeting with Jonathan. Was it possible she had begun admiring him romantically from the moment they'd met?
She cast her mind back to their initial meeting about eight months before. Jonathan had been new to the parish, and had heard her father had been very unwell for some time. Her father had taken a sudden bad turn, which had left him confused and not able to use his left side very well.
Jonathan had visited with a basket filled with things easy for an invalid to eat, and his Bible.
"I'm sorry you haven't been able to leave the sickroom to join us in services. Would you be needing some spiritual comfort now?" he had asked.
"Oh, indeed," she had said gratefully.
She had been acutely conscious of her disheveled appearance, her plain dark day gown made of plain homespun and her stained apron. Her hair had worked it way out of her plain brown tortoiseshell combs to curl all around her damp temples. She'd felt mortified that any of her father's associates should find her thus. Especially one as handsome as Jonathan Deveril.
She'd been stunned when he had explained the true purpose of his errand. Only the poor state of her father's health had stopped her from bursting out laughing and telling him not to tease so.
As it was she was sure she had stared at him like a nodcock for an eternity, before recollecting herself and asking him to step into the small parlor.
She had immediately requested leave to fetch tea and be allowed to wash her hands, but he had taken her elbow gently, and seated her on a low chair, her favorite one in fact. He had pushed forward a stool, and lifted her feet onto it. Even through her petticoats the contact of his huge hard hands upon her ankles had sent a shiver of indescribable sensations coursing through her body.
Pamela had told herself to stop being so silly, that he was only the new vicar. But the plain fact was that for all his religious calling, he was an incredible man. Tall, with sandy hair, not quite blond, not quite brown, which topped the well-shaped head which towered over hers. His broad shoulders were, she was sure, twice the size of her own. His clothes were somewhat less than fashionable, but of exceedingly good quality.
Well, it was ever the fate of younger sons to have to go into either the Army or the Church, she had assumed when they had first met. No matter how ill suited they might be to either career, she had noted to herself, as she had sat staring at the most unclerical new vicar as though a huge tawny lion had suddenly appeared in her sitting room.
She had taken in his steel-gray eyes, high cheekbones, sensual lips which looked ready to smile or kiss at a moment's notice. She felt sure this man had to be a breaker of hearts. She had immediately tensed, on the alert, for often vicars could be exceedingly ambitious, and determined to marry well to make up for their deficiencies in their own material status.
But Jonathan had been nothing if not kind and gentle, not at all flirtatious. He had certainly appeared devout, and prayed with her. Then he had asked her if she wanted to confess her sins.
She had surprised herself by saying yes, and admitted in a small, pained tone that she found herself so tired all the time, and not a little resentful of all she had to do. How the burdens devolved upon her most of the time. She knew she should not resent it, for her aunt was silly and not even her father's relative. Her stepmother was too imperious, and not willing to take a turn in the sick room.
"I also know she has the four little ones to look after. So I'm the only logical person to nurse him, I know, yet I feel, well, so at sea. And, well, envious of others their easy life. Though I know that I did have a very easy one until this happened.