pitcher standing on the ground next to the chair where Rufus bathed the previous evening yielded water. She poured half of it into a copper basin and scrubbed her clothing. The soap cake was probably still lying on the ground next to the stream.
Without the benefit of soap, she worked the fabric against itself, rubbing vigorously.
Jacq felt like a fool. Rufus had been right. He’d warned her not to leave the security he offered here in his tent. She wasn’t in Georgia anymore and these people didn’t play by the same rules of society she had always taken for granted. Her arrogance had ruled her intellect again.
Never, in her entire life, had she felt vulnerable to a man. Yet twice in the space of an hour, two men had proved she wasn’t as invincible as she’d always believed.
Her cheeks burned as she remembered just how vulnerable she had been when Rufus rescued her. Twenty men gawking at her in her birthday suit had been bad enough. That Rufus had witnessed her predicament only managed to amplify her mortification. She wanted him to see her as strong—she wanted his respect.
Perversely, she wondered if he had liked what he saw, or if the pike in his pants would have been there for any woman running around buck-naked.
Why should she care? The man was an overbearing, self-righteous brute. But she couldn’t help herself. She cared what he thought. After traveling over eight hundred years to finally meet the man who made her aware of herself as a woman, she wondered if she had anywhere near the same effect on him. She wasn’t even sure she liked him—hell, she didn’t really know him. But she trusted him. Deep inside she’d known he wouldn’t force her, as Percival surely would have.
The fear she felt lying trapped beneath him on his cot, had been mixed with equal parts of excitement and desire. What was it about him that attracted her? He wasn’t the most beautiful man she’d ever seen—the perfidious Percival was the epitome of most women’s fantasies.
57
Delilah Devlin & Myla Jackson
However, Rufus was the most blatantly masculine man she had ever encountered.
From his heavily muscled body, to his hard-edged face and take-charge manner, he made her aware of his strength. Even subtle things, like the natural scent of his skin and breath…surprisingly fresh given the times and the lack of personal hygiene products…pleased her.
Blast and damn! She would have to guard her heart. Wouldn’t her life be just dandy if she managed to fall for the creep? She didn’t belong here, and she’d be leaving on the first train out of Dodge, as soon as she found her ticket.
In the meantime, she couldn’t just sit here and twiddle her thumbs all day. When she’d managed to get the mud out of the fabric, she wrung the garments out and hung them along a rope. Then she rifled among Rufus’ clothing for a shirt to slip on beneath her gown. Dry and clothed, she paced the inside of the tent. What was she expected to do with her time?
With the intent of finding her jailor to ask him just that, she flipped back the tent flap and strode out. Before she cleared the opening, a behemoth of a man stepped directly in her path. Startled, she drew back and crouched in a defensive position.
The man was the ugliest son-of-a-bitch she’d ever seen. He gave the term neckless a new meaning. The hair hanging to his shoulders looked as if it hadn’t known a comb since the day he was born, and he could have lived off the food in his beard for weeks—
and the smell! She held her breath and scooted backward before she disgraced herself by losing the meager contents of her stomach all over him. Not that he’d notice.
The man hadn’t even spoken a word, yet was able to evoke horror with just a scowl from his butt-ugly face.
Jacq straightened her shoulders. She was no fainthearted miss herself, and she wasn’t stupid. With a deep breath she stepped back out of the tent. “Excuse me, sir.
Please stand aside so I may
Without the benefit of soap, she worked the fabric against itself, rubbing vigorously.
Jacq felt like a fool. Rufus had been right. He’d warned her not to leave the security he offered here in his tent. She wasn’t in Georgia anymore and these people didn’t play by the same rules of society she had always taken for granted. Her arrogance had ruled her intellect again.
Never, in her entire life, had she felt vulnerable to a man. Yet twice in the space of an hour, two men had proved she wasn’t as invincible as she’d always believed.
Her cheeks burned as she remembered just how vulnerable she had been when Rufus rescued her. Twenty men gawking at her in her birthday suit had been bad enough. That Rufus had witnessed her predicament only managed to amplify her mortification. She wanted him to see her as strong—she wanted his respect.
Perversely, she wondered if he had liked what he saw, or if the pike in his pants would have been there for any woman running around buck-naked.
Why should she care? The man was an overbearing, self-righteous brute. But she couldn’t help herself. She cared what he thought. After traveling over eight hundred years to finally meet the man who made her aware of herself as a woman, she wondered if she had anywhere near the same effect on him. She wasn’t even sure she liked him—hell, she didn’t really know him. But she trusted him. Deep inside she’d known he wouldn’t force her, as Percival surely would have.
The fear she felt lying trapped beneath him on his cot, had been mixed with equal parts of excitement and desire. What was it about him that attracted her? He wasn’t the most beautiful man she’d ever seen—the perfidious Percival was the epitome of most women’s fantasies.
57
Delilah Devlin & Myla Jackson
However, Rufus was the most blatantly masculine man she had ever encountered.
From his heavily muscled body, to his hard-edged face and take-charge manner, he made her aware of his strength. Even subtle things, like the natural scent of his skin and breath…surprisingly fresh given the times and the lack of personal hygiene products…pleased her.
Blast and damn! She would have to guard her heart. Wouldn’t her life be just dandy if she managed to fall for the creep? She didn’t belong here, and she’d be leaving on the first train out of Dodge, as soon as she found her ticket.
In the meantime, she couldn’t just sit here and twiddle her thumbs all day. When she’d managed to get the mud out of the fabric, she wrung the garments out and hung them along a rope. Then she rifled among Rufus’ clothing for a shirt to slip on beneath her gown. Dry and clothed, she paced the inside of the tent. What was she expected to do with her time?
With the intent of finding her jailor to ask him just that, she flipped back the tent flap and strode out. Before she cleared the opening, a behemoth of a man stepped directly in her path. Startled, she drew back and crouched in a defensive position.
The man was the ugliest son-of-a-bitch she’d ever seen. He gave the term neckless a new meaning. The hair hanging to his shoulders looked as if it hadn’t known a comb since the day he was born, and he could have lived off the food in his beard for weeks—
and the smell! She held her breath and scooted backward before she disgraced herself by losing the meager contents of her stomach all over him. Not that he’d notice.
The man hadn’t even spoken a word, yet was able to evoke horror with just a scowl from his butt-ugly face.
Jacq straightened her shoulders. She was no fainthearted miss herself, and she wasn’t stupid. With a deep breath she stepped back out of the tent. “Excuse me, sir.
Please stand aside so I may
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