As soon as Sarah was sure that Alexander was safely downstairs, she went into Jonathan's room and took out his riding clothes. The best thing to do was to keep Alexander busy, and not spend more time alone with him in the house than necessary. It led to all sorts of temptations and foolish thoughts, and addled her. She could not let him ever get so close to her, touch her in that manner again. Her breasts still tingled from his clever tongue and lips' tender ministrations.
As soon as Sarah heard him in the dining room with Caleb, she scurried into the bathroom and immersed her throbbing skin in the warm water. She lathered the soap, and washed herself, but every swipe of the flannel over her engorged breasts only reminded her of the rasp of Alexander's lightly bristled chin against her tender flesh. Washing her stomach and thighs caused her to groan with desire. What on earth was wrong with her? Was she ill?
She was indeed. She was sick with longing. Alexander had touched her heart, soul and body in a way no other man ever had. It was just too incredible, too wondrous. Too dangerous. She had no idea who he was, what his past commitments were. How on earth could she allow herself to fall in love him?
But as Sarah sat with him at the breakfast table, completely aquiver, the lightest touch of his hand causing her stomach to clench with longing, she asked herself another question.
How could she not allow herself to fall in love with such a man?
What was there not to love? He was intelligent, witty, and handsome, the best man she had ever known. But Alexander was not hers, and possibly never could be, she reminded herself harshly.
In any event, he had stopped short of making love to her, rejected her. Practically carried her out the door and closed and locked it upon her with a decided air of finality. As if their incredible interlude had been one absurd error never to be repeated.
It was just as well, she told herself bravely. She did not want him mistaking gratitude for her help with something more. It would cause far too many complications when he eventually had to leave.
And leave he would. He had another life out there. And she was doomed to be a spinster. For surely she could never allow anyone to touch her thus ever again. And certainly not a man like Alexander, whom she wasn't even sure she could trust. His loss of memory was not his fault, but even the thought of committing adultery made her ill. There was a wife, or other important woman somewhere, she was sure of it after his words that morning. A family. He was absolutely forbidden to her. She had to thank God he was alive, but never forget her bargain with Him. She had to give up any nonsensical romantic notions about her erstwhile cousin. She had to. For the sake of her family, her soul, she simply had to.
"So what are our plans for today, Sarah?" he asked with a false brightness which she couldn't fail to note.
"We're going riding this morning," she said firmly.
His face fell. "Oh, no, I-"
"No arguments. I don't understand your reluctance."
"I don't either," he admitted. "I suppose it's just that I'm more in control when I'm on my own two feet."
"It'll be fine, I promise."
"All right," he agreed reluctantly.
After breakfast she helped Caleb saddle two geldings, glad to have something to do to keep her hands busy and off her handsome companion. She helped Alexander onto the mounting block and Caleb got his leg over the horse. She tied a rope to the horn of each saddle, and let it play out until they could safely gallop around the open field together.
Separated thus, she began to relax at last. There was no opportunity for any accidental sensual contact so many yards apart.
"We'll just go straight on for the moment. No trees to get worried about."
He soon picked up the rhythm, and his pace. "It's sort of like being aboard a ship. I prefer them to horses," he observed with a tentative smile.
She filed away the comment for future reference. She also observed his seat upon the horse, his touch upon the reins. He might not remember about his past life, and was sorely out of practice, but no one could mistake his fine seat and assured command in the saddle. He most certainly had come from a good family.
Later he remarked, "This is a fine piece of horse flesh. He must be worth what, about fifty or sixty guineas?"
"Sixty."
She remained relatively silent, not wanting to distract him with idle chatter when he was once again remembering his past life as a gentleman. She was also couldn't help but be in turmoil about what had happened that morning, and knew from what he had said yesterday that he could detect many different subtle nuances in her voice. God forbid he should ever suspect she had fallen in love with him.