Bethie stood as if under a spell, her mind beyond fear or reason. And although some part of her knew what she was doing was wrong and sinful, she could not make herself turn away. Never would she have imagined that she could find a man beautiful. Yet beautiful he was.
Time was measured in heartbeats as she stood, watched.
And then it happened. She could not say when, but suddenly she became aware that he was looking straight at her.
Blue eyes.
Even at this distance, they pierced her.
She felt naked. And although she knew she should turn away, apologize, leave him in peace, she continued to stare. Against her will, her gaze dropped from his bonny face to his broad chest, with its sprinkling of dark hair and wine-dark nipples tight from the chilly water. Then, as if by some deviltry, her gaze was drawn down along a trail of hair to his rippled belly and then, farther still, to his sex.
Bethie felt her womb clench.
Bereft of thought, of breath, she stared at what she had never seen in the light before. To her eyes, he seemed huge, his shaft thick and heavy, his stones full and nestled in dark curls.
Heat and heaviness seemed to spread through her belly, a new sensation and more than a little frightening. She meant to look away, tried to look away, but his raw maleness enticed her, called to her.
And some unknown part of her answered.
Her gaze moved up his body again—and she saw them.
Countless scars.
Ridges and rings of pinched, puckered skin, they dotted his belly and chest, reached around his side. They looked like burns long-healed. And spread in a pattern as they were, they could not be the result of an accident.
Someone had done this to him. Someone had hurt him terribly.
The horror of it broke the spell.
She gasped. Shame flooded her, and she lifted her gaze to meet his impenetrable stare.
“I’m sorry! Forgi’e me!”
She took two steps backward, then turned and ran back to the cabin.
***
Nicholas shut the barn door, leaned against it, looked up at the clear night sky. A thousand points of silver light spread across the black velvet heavens. But their beauty held no comfort for him tonight.
He ought to have expected it. Women were repulsed by his scars. He knew that. Even the most baseborn whore stared at his body with loathing. He had learned long ago not to care.
Why, then, had Bethie’s reaction cut him to the quick?
Because he’d seen desire in her eyes, and like a fool he had dared to hope.
He hadn’t heard her approach—itself an oddity. He’d turned to find her staring at him as if she’d never seen a naked man before, a look of feminine need blatant upon her face. Only the chilly water had kept him from becoming hard as granite.
Her gaze had traveled over every inch of him in seemingly innocent appraisal, her eyes growing wide at the sight of his penis. He might have preferred that her first sight of him come elsewhere, out of the icy stream, which tended to humble and wither a man. Still, he’d seen appreciation on her face.
It had been so long since a woman had gazed upon him with anything other than revulsion. Raw hunger for her had surged through his veins, and for a moment he’d considered going to her, ripping away her gown, and pleasuring her right there on the damp moss. He’d known he could not take her in the normal way, as she was still healing. But there were many ways to please a woman, many ways he could find release with her. And he’d been willing to use them all. Hell, he’d have been happy to forgo his own orgasm for the sheer pleasure of watching her face as she climaxed.
But even as he’d been about to take a step toward her, the passion had fled her face and was replaced by a look of horror. And she had turned away from him and run.
She had avoided him all day and into the afternoon, unable to look him in the eye. She’d barely spoken as they’d eaten their evening meal, had seemed nervous, uneasy, her cheeks stained with color. Perhaps she was simply embarrassed to have come upon him when he was unclothed. Or perhaps the record of violence, carved into his flesh, frightened and sickened her.
Why did it matter? As soon as he delivered her to her family, he’d bid her farewell and ride into the west. He’d never see her or Belle again. What she thought of him would not matter then, so it should not matter now.
That was what he told himself, but that was not how he felt. And he cursed himself again for his irrational thoughts. His desire for her was clouding his mind. It was time he began making serious plans for taking Bethie back to her family, not only for her sake and that of her baby, but for his own, as well.
