“Are you hungry?” Without waiting for an answer, he pushed himself to stand. “Stay here.”
Ambrosia stared at her hands after he disappeared. They were shaking, along with most of her insides. A flush had spread through her entire body and her brain was focused on only one thing.
He had wanted to kiss her. Hadn’t he?
Perhaps even more problematic… She wanted him to.
What would it feel like?
She’d taken a husband, buried that same husband years later, but still, at the age of six and twenty, she’d… never been kissed before.
Perhaps such a dalliance was exactly what she needed. One kiss: one kiss from a charming and kind gentleman. Something to store away in her memories for the rest of her life so that she’d know she’d not missed out on everything good that life had to offer.
The sound of his returning footsteps sent her heart racing again. She couldn’t look at him, fearful he’d take one look at her and know exactly what she was thinking.
Despite their short acquaintance, he possessed an uncanny knack for reading her thoughts.
Crouching down beside her again, he set a basket between them and opened it to reveal bread, cheese, jams. It was a delicious assortment of all the foods she’d considered forbidden until she’d met this man.
“Don’t worry, I brought food for your son as well.” He removed a bowl and flicked a glance toward Mr. Dog, now sprawled on his back, eyes open, legs spread wide and his tongue hanging out of his mouth.
She smiled at his designation for her new pet, but then it slid away.
“Harrison wanted a son.” She spoke the words without thinking.
When she’d failed to provide him with one, he said it was a punishment. She’d never asked who was being punished, or what for.
What would her deceased husband think if he saw her now, with a strange man? What would he think if he knew she would be happy to designate a dog for her child? For some odd reason, the thought made her laugh.
After a curious glance, Mr. Beckman went to work breaking up some meat and bread and placing it into the bowl. He drew out a canister and poured some white liquid onto the food.
“I imagine Mr. Dog needs a little help softening it up,” he said.
This man was enchanting her yet again. Not by being suave or doling out compliments, but in the fact that he paid attention to not just her, but to others. The fact that he cared that the dog could eat.
Even when his own horse was missing.
When she glanced over at him, though, he was frowning, and his jaw seemed to be clenched.
“Did he ever hit you?” He ground the question out, almost reluctantly.
She ought to ignore the question; these were details a woman kept to herself, things she hadn’t even told Mrs. Tuttle.
When she didn’t answer right away, Mr. Beckman closed his eyes as if pained and then scrubbed one hand down his face. He might have been imagining worse than it had been.
“Not—It wasn’t like whatever you’re thinking. My husband, he…” She couldn’t say that he never laid a hand on her. “I…” never gave him a reason to? But that wasn’t quite true either. “I learned it was better to… cooperate.”
Back in the earlier days of their marriage, Harrison had had… greater expectations of her, as his wife.
He would come to her in the night. Would tell her to be still.
But there had always been pain, and when she’d experienced the acute discomfort, she couldn’t help but try to pull away, to close herself so that he couldn’t get to her.
“He gave up after a year, and after that, aside from…” controlling her every move. “Well, he stopped visiting my chamber.” For which she’d been eternally grateful.
But she could not deny that he’d struck her. There had been occasions when he’d found fault with something she’d said or done, and felt it his duty to dole out her punishment.
This was, of course, not something she felt she should mention.
