In his mind flashed images of the humiliation he’d had to bear: standing on the church stairs, watching his bride flee from him. The looks of shock on his family’s faces, the laughter in his friends’ eyes.
He had done his best to have the courtship called off honorably by being the scoundrel that he was. But Roselyn had gone too far and committed an offense no one—least of all he—would forget.
With a growl of anger, Spencer slid the knife from its hiding place and pulled the mattress back a couple inches from the wall. With quick, angry strokes he slashed seven small marks in the wooden floor, one for each day he’d been trapped in this cursed cottage on this cursed island. Fourteen more days and he would leave, he promised himself, as he slid the knife back into its hiding place.
Inside the cottage it had grown darker, with only the dying fire for light. Soon he heard footsteps outside, and he tensed. The door opened and Roselyn strode in, closing it behind her.
She was a mess—water streamed from her body and puddled on the wooden floor. Her long brown hair looked black with water, and it clung to her back and breasts. If possible, she looked even more slender and fragile, but she held her back straight and her chin lifted, as if she defied him to speak.
Spencer refused to ask her what had happened; she’d probably fallen into a creek somewhere. Clenching his jaw, he watched her bend to stir the stew, then climb the rope stairs to the loft, dripping water as she went.
Sometime later she descended the ladder, wearing black as usual, her wet hair bound tightly to her head. She looked composed, if pale, as she removed the kettle of stew from the fire and placed it on the cupboard. He almost expected her to tell him to help himself, but she poured two helpings into wooden bowls and brought him one.
She stood above him, silent, while bitterness overwhelmed him. He couldn’t understand why she felt put upon, when she was the one who had refused to marry, who had refused to accept someone of his heritage.
“Would you rather starve yourself,” she said, “than eat the food made by my hands?”
“There is little likelihood of that,” he said, propping himself into a sitting position. “I’ll need whatever strength I can get to foil your little schemes.”
“I have no schemes.” Her gray eyes were deceptively calm. “You are the one threatening me.”
“I make only promises, not threats.”
She ignored his outstretched hand, setting the bowl on the floor so hard that some of the stew spilled over. They ate their meal in strained silence.
When Spencer finished eating, he lay back on his pallet. Roselyn came to stand above him again, and though he glared at her, she didn’t go away.
“I have to change your bandages,” she said, without a hint of anger in her low voice.
“Are you sure you’re not going to salt my wounds?” he asked sarcastically.
“When I realized who you were, Icouldhave put you back on the beach where I found you.”
She knelt down, placing a basket of medicines and bandages beside him. Spencer scowled, suddenly not even wanting the touch of her against his skin. She reached for his shirt, and he gripped her small hands to hold them still.
“So you didn’t know who I was on the beach?”
She didn’t try to free herself, as if he wasn’t worth the effort.
“I thought you were a wounded sailor, that it was my duty to help you. I even help wounded animals, you know, though they might bite me.”
He rolled his eyes. “So you would have left me there, had you known my identity.”
She didn’t say yea or nay, but he could imagine, couldn’t he?
“How long did it take you to recognize me?”
She looked down at where he held her, and he noticed the strength and sturdiness of the hands that had taken care of him. He let her go, and she quickly sat back on her heels.
“When the swelling in your face went down several days later, I recognized you.”
“Then why did you keep me here?”
She seemed taken aback by his question. “I already told you that I didn’t think you deserved to die for your fickleness.”
“Myfickleness?” he began, then shook his head. “No, I’ll leave that nonsense for another time. You could easily have called the authorities to take me away. Why didn’t you?”
Her tone stiff, she said, “The people of Shanklin would shun me if they found out I was housing a man.”
