All About Seduction(77)

She probably hadn’t been concerned about him at all. His room had been a safe place to go while pretending to follow her husband’s bizarre request—order—whatever it was.

The man probably wanted proof that she was following his dictates this time. The space between the shadows darkened, as if Broadhurst had leaned his ear against the door.

Jack groaned and shifted on the bed. He twisted until he could brace his foot on the floor and rocked the bed until it responded with a rhythmic squeak and thump of the headboard against the wall.

Mrs. Broadhurst gasped. Ignoring her, Jack forced the bed to produce a steady beat. The solid bed took a lot of work to move. Doubtful that any man could trowel so hard into a woman, but he made the bed hit the wall, doing all he could to make it sound as if Mrs. Broadhurst was getting dipped.

He moaned louder and hoped he sounded more like a man in the throes of passion rather than in pain. He didn’t dare murmur sweet nothings for fear Broadhurst might be able to identify his voice, but who could tell one man’s moans from another?

“He’s gone.” Her whisper cut through the night.

Jack gave one final push and tried to catch his breath. He was thoroughly exhausted and disgusted with himself. If he were a whole man, he’d march down the hall and beat the living daylights out of Mr. Broadhurst for sending his wife out like a cock bawd sends out his whores.

Only the idea that if he stayed he could persuade her to let a lowly mill worker get her with child trumped any real desire to punish Mr. Broadhurst. And with that thought he’d sunk to a new low.

She slid out of the bed but left the cover over him. He cursed the darkness that prevented him from seeing her.

“You should stay under the covers.” You should let me hold you.

She stopped moving.

Then, inexorably, the noises of her shuffling started again. Slowly, she rounded the bed. She patted the bedside table until she found the candle, and then crept away.

He had to stop thinking she saw him as anything more than a safe refuge. Even though she seemed like a woman who yearned for babies—the way she’d picked up Mattie in the mill, and her interaction with Beth, and her concerns about the young children working instead of being in school, all pointed to a woman who wanted a family—she’d never given any indication that she might consider him a possible candidate for fatherhood. Every time he tried to touch her, she’d jerked away as if he were scalding her.

She scrabbled on the mantel and then was back by his side. He stared into the darkness, wishing to see more than the thin white outline against the overcast midnight darkness. Where was the moon when it was needed?

The clicking next to him must be her teeth chattering.

The rasp of a match and the sudden flare had him throwing his hand over his eyes. He wanted to see her, not have his eyeballs burned. He squinted and shaded his eyes, but the flash of the match was imprinted in the center of his vision.

From what he could see, Mrs. Broadhurst was shaking like the last autumn leaf in a stiff breeze. He desperately wanted to make out her form under the nightgown, and in the corners of his vision the dark shadow at the juncture of her legs drew him, just before she wadded the material in front of her. Damn, if she didn’t want him to look, why had she lit the candle?

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to blot out the stain from the fire.

He didn’t dare reach for her again.

She shook so much the flame wavered. Then just as his eyes were beginning to function properly again, she twisted away. It wasn’t soon enough. Her nipples showed as rosy shadows. Her curves were outlined. Even the slight darkening that marked her navel drew him to want to dip his tongue there. Pings of excitement bounced through him and his mouth watered.

But she was chilled. He lifted the coverlet. “Take this,” he rasped.

“Keep under the covers, I don’t want you getting a fever now. I’ll light the fire.” Her voice was high and wavering, not the low tones of a seductress.

Damn. He didn’t need the covers. He was burning. The room was chill around him, but only seemed to magnify the heat of his skin. A low energy thrummed in him as she knelt in front of the fireplace with the candle in front of her.

She was the one who needed warmth, and it would take a bit of time to get the coal burning in the grate. Had she ever lit a fire before?

He swung to slide off the bed. “I’ll do it.”

She cast a tense look over her shoulder. “Stay there. You should rest before we have to get you back downstairs.”