And when he’d first made love to her—hadn’t he forced himself to lie on his back, his fists around the bedposts, his submissive position an echo of that which Lyda had forced upon him? Aye, he had—for her sake. Somehow he had understood her fear, had felt her hidden pain, and though he’d known nothing about Richard at the time, he’d found a way to soothe her, to show her that she could trust him.
Tears blurred her vision as she realized the sacrifice he’d made for her.
His hands stroked her hair. “What’s wrong, love?”
Startled, she looked up to find him watching her. “I thought you were sleepin’.”
“Just dozing.” He shifted his weight, held her closer. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”
She sat, looked into his blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Nicholas. I’m sorry for tyin’ you to my bed. I didna know—”
There was such anguish in her voice that Nicholas set aside the jest that had come to mind, wiped her tears away with his thumbs. “How could you have known? You did what you had to do to feel safe. So did I. I held a pistol to your head, remember?”
Her lips curved in a sad smile. “You’ve done so much for me. If no’ for you, Belle and I would have died a dozen times over. If no’ for you, I wouldna be able to read. If no’ for you, I would never have known how precious a man’s touch can be.”
“I assure you, love, there was no suffering involved, either in teaching you to read or in showing you the pleasures of lovemaking. Besides, you’ve saved my life, too—once when I would have bled to death and again when I would have been shot in the back.”
She had saved him in other ways, too, but Nicholas did not yet know the words to tell her exactly what she’d done for him.
God, she was beautiful. She sat, looking at him with doubt in her tear-bright eyes, her hair in glorious disarray around her shoulders, the pink crests of her breasts peeking through the golden strands, tempting him. “Of course, there is a way you can repay me...”
She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, stopped to tease one flat nipple, her lips curved in a seductive smile. “And what would that be?”
“Marry me.”
Her smile vanished, and she shook her head. “You would come to regret it one day. And your family—”
“—has no say in this decision.”
Her answer was not what Nicholas hoped to hear. “I’ll think on it.”
Chapter 29
Bethie awoke early the next morning to Nicholas’s kisses.
“I’m going out for a while, but you keep sleeping, love. I’ll ask Matilda to send up breakfast in an hour. Would you like a bath?” His hand crept playfully beneath the covers, cupped the part of her that was still damp with his essence.
She opened her eyes, pushed herself against the delicious pressure of his hand. “Aye, I’d like a bath—if it’s no’ a burden for her. Mmmm. Dinnae stop.”
“It’s no’ a burden, love. And perhaps I willna be leavin’ just yet.” With deft strokes of his fingers, he brought her quickly to the edge, then unlaced his breeches and slid into her with one slow thrust.
It was a fast coupling, hard and hot, and left Bethie feeling warm and languid long after Nicholas had gone. She rose slowly, nursed Belle, her mind drifting through everything that had happened the night before.
She hadn’t meant to tell him she loved him, had meant to keep her feelings for him secret. But in her anguish over his pain, the words had slipped from her tongue. Yet she would not take them back. She had no idea what she would do.
Nicholas, though he had spoken no words of love to her, was bent on marrying her. Though Bethie’s heart wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with Nicholas as his proper wife, she feared the differences between them would bring them both a lifetime of regret. What if one day her mother or Malcolm should wander up to their door? What if the story of what Richard had done at Fort Pitt became widespread? What if, in her ignorance and poverty, she shamed him before society? How would Nicholas and his family feel then?
A knock came at the door, and with it a breakfast of eggs, bacon, bread, butter, and hot tea. Breakfast was followed by a bath. Trying to keep her mind off her troubles, Bethie brought Belle into the tub with her, laughed as her baby daughter splashed, giggled, and cooed in the warm water. She had just dressed and put Belle down for her morning nap, when another knock came at the door.
The innkeeper entered, followed by three other women bearing all manner of brightly colored cloth and lace. “Your husband sent Madame Moreau and her daughters to take your measurements and prepare a wardrobe for you, madam.”
“A w-wardrobe?”
Madame Moreau swept into the room, directed her daughters to lay their burdens across the bed. “Let’s get a look at you.”
Bethie didn’t know what to do or say. “B-but my baby is sleepin’.”
“We shall be quiet as mice,n’est-ce pas?”
