Abigail?"
Turning, she offered him a towel. "Not at all, Colonel Coally. You have a tit and I have a twat."
Eyes glinting with laughter, he took the towel that she offered, stepped one foot at a time out of the tub as he dried off. Then he blotted dry her hair, her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, worked his way down to a pair of elegant, narrow feet.
"Time to eat," he murmured into the jointure of her thighs, deliberately breathing into the soft nest of damp brown curls there.
Her legs quivered.
Grinning, he jumped up. "Real food this time, Miss Abigail. If I am to satisfy more fantasies, I have to keep up my strength."
Used as he was to field rations, the basket contained a veritable feast. Cold mutton. Cheese. Hard-boiled eggs. A loaf of bread still warm from the oven.
There was more than enough for two.
Abigail ate daintily but with a definite appetite. When her eyelids drooped, he repacked the food and carried her to bed.
He had never before slept with a woman until Abigail. Had never before experienced the simple joy of having a woman's spine curve to fit his abdomen and her butt snuggle into the flatness of his groin. Had never imagined this closeness that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the woman in his arms.
The reality of Abigail far surpassed his fantasies.
Sighing, he buried his face into her damp hair.
A blast of cannon fire woke him.
Jesus God,
he had fallen asleep during battle. Boneless flesh curved to fit his bodya corpse, already stripped by the natives, body still warm.
Heart pounding, his fingers tightened around the butt of his rifleonly to sink into giving flesh.
And he remembered.
The storm. The burning need that had driven him out into it. The light in the cottage and the woman named Abigail.
He gently soothed the breast he had abused.
Abigail stirred. "Robert?"
"Why are you here, Abigail?"
The boneless spine stiffened.
He refused to let her go, pressing her more firmly into the curve of his body while he braced his chin on the top of her head. "Tell me."
"I told you." Her heart pounded against the palm of his hand. "In three weeks I turn thirty."
"Every secondsomewhere in the worlda woman turns thirty."
"But not every woman is a spinster."
"By your choice, Abigail."
"But I
don't
want to be a spinster, Robert." He strained to hear her over the steady drum of rain. "I
don't
want to be passed between my brother and sisters. I
don't
want to bealone."
Robert braced himself against the pain in her voice.
"So why are you here, then, with only your books for company?" he persisted, determined to solve the mystery that was Abigail.
For long seconds he didn't think she was going to reply, then
She sighed. "I came to say good-bye."
Fear pumped though his veins. Along with images of death her death now instead of his. Immediately he thrust the images away. "Who did you come to say good-bye to?"
"My dreams, Robert. I got tired of wanting things that could never be. I brought my books and journals with me here because I planned on leaving them behind. In the hope that without them, perhaps I could find ... a little peace."
Peace.
Hardened soldiers like himself sought peace, not gently bred ladies who had never faced death and chosen life. But the same loneliness was there, the utter aloneness that was the price paid for stepping outside the rules that bind societies together. Robert had killedin duty; Abigail had indulged her desires with forbid den eroticain secrecy. And had been passed from brother to sister
"What about your parents?"
"Dead. I have one brother and three sisters of whom I am very fond. But I am still the spinster sister. And I am the youngest, so of course they know what is best for me."
He rubbed her nipple in gentle consolation. "Not this."
"No." A hint of laughter lightened her voice. "I think William would die of an apoplectic fit if he ever discovered my chest of books."
"Tell me about your brother and sisters."
Abigail cupped her hand over his. "My brother and sisters
Turning, she offered him a towel. "Not at all, Colonel Coally. You have a tit and I have a twat."
Eyes glinting with laughter, he took the towel that she offered, stepped one foot at a time out of the tub as he dried off. Then he blotted dry her hair, her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, worked his way down to a pair of elegant, narrow feet.
"Time to eat," he murmured into the jointure of her thighs, deliberately breathing into the soft nest of damp brown curls there.
Her legs quivered.
Grinning, he jumped up. "Real food this time, Miss Abigail. If I am to satisfy more fantasies, I have to keep up my strength."
Used as he was to field rations, the basket contained a veritable feast. Cold mutton. Cheese. Hard-boiled eggs. A loaf of bread still warm from the oven.
There was more than enough for two.
Abigail ate daintily but with a definite appetite. When her eyelids drooped, he repacked the food and carried her to bed.
He had never before slept with a woman until Abigail. Had never before experienced the simple joy of having a woman's spine curve to fit his abdomen and her butt snuggle into the flatness of his groin. Had never imagined this closeness that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the woman in his arms.
The reality of Abigail far surpassed his fantasies.
Sighing, he buried his face into her damp hair.
A blast of cannon fire woke him.
Jesus God,
he had fallen asleep during battle. Boneless flesh curved to fit his bodya corpse, already stripped by the natives, body still warm.
Heart pounding, his fingers tightened around the butt of his rifleonly to sink into giving flesh.
And he remembered.
The storm. The burning need that had driven him out into it. The light in the cottage and the woman named Abigail.
He gently soothed the breast he had abused.
Abigail stirred. "Robert?"
"Why are you here, Abigail?"
The boneless spine stiffened.
He refused to let her go, pressing her more firmly into the curve of his body while he braced his chin on the top of her head. "Tell me."
"I told you." Her heart pounded against the palm of his hand. "In three weeks I turn thirty."
"Every secondsomewhere in the worlda woman turns thirty."
"But not every woman is a spinster."
"By your choice, Abigail."
"But I
don't
want to be a spinster, Robert." He strained to hear her over the steady drum of rain. "I
don't
want to be passed between my brother and sisters. I
don't
want to bealone."
Robert braced himself against the pain in her voice.
"So why are you here, then, with only your books for company?" he persisted, determined to solve the mystery that was Abigail.
For long seconds he didn't think she was going to reply, then
She sighed. "I came to say good-bye."
Fear pumped though his veins. Along with images of death her death now instead of his. Immediately he thrust the images away. "Who did you come to say good-bye to?"
"My dreams, Robert. I got tired of wanting things that could never be. I brought my books and journals with me here because I planned on leaving them behind. In the hope that without them, perhaps I could find ... a little peace."
Peace.
Hardened soldiers like himself sought peace, not gently bred ladies who had never faced death and chosen life. But the same loneliness was there, the utter aloneness that was the price paid for stepping outside the rules that bind societies together. Robert had killedin duty; Abigail had indulged her desires with forbid den eroticain secrecy. And had been passed from brother to sister
"What about your parents?"
"Dead. I have one brother and three sisters of whom I am very fond. But I am still the spinster sister. And I am the youngest, so of course they know what is best for me."
He rubbed her nipple in gentle consolation. "Not this."
"No." A hint of laughter lightened her voice. "I think William would die of an apoplectic fit if he ever discovered my chest of books."
"Tell me about your brother and sisters."
Abigail cupped her hand over his. "My brother and sisters
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