Jayne Fresina by Once a Rogue

his father died he’d worked hard to reform his wild ways. He certainly didn’t have time for women like this one. Not now. He didn’t have much time for any woman, in fact, unless she made herself useful on the farm. Knowing he must marry one day, at thirty he was in no particular hurry. Alice Croft would surely wait for him. She wasn’t going anywhere, was she? So he kept putting it off, this idea of settling down with one woman, of having babes, growing fat, losing his teeth and his hair, getting aches in his knee on damp days…
    In that moment, his thoughts were even less inclined to settling down and growing old with Alice Croft, because the cart bumped over another rut and Nathaniel’s Friday wench slid helplessly along the seat again, the side of her leg inadvertently pressed to his. He thought transiently of slowing the horse and giving her a chance to sit upright. Instead, betaken with a mischievous desire to watch her struggle, he drove the horse onward even faster, until she was obliged to grip his arm, just to stay in her seat.
    He thought there was a quiet murmur of protest, but since he was whistling loudly he couldn’t be sure and he didn’t bother pausing his tune to find out.
    Friday winch (on loan–handle at own risk)
    The ‘handle at risk’ part he understood, but did that mean she was on loan to Nathaniel, or on loan to him?
    * * * *
    Curling her fingers slyly in the damp linen of his shirt sleeve, Lucy pressed her nose to it, briefly, just to inhale his scent. Her heart skipped a beat. At once she slid away again, putting a safer distance between them.
    Lucy Collyer , she admonished herself briskly, you’re a very wicked, wanton woman to have used this poor man. It’s a good thing he doesn’t remember you!
    “Why don’t you slow down?” she called out anxiously, teeth rattling.
    “Can’t,” he bellowed back, quite inexplicably.
    Another bump sent her several inches into the air and it was lucky he had quick reflexes. He grabbed her arm, jerking her back onto the seat, almost into his lap. “Hold onto me,” he shouted. “You’ve no weight to you, that’s your problem.” And he clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head.
    There was nothing else for it but to hold his arm. He would make no gentlemanly allowances for his passenger, it seemed. She changed her tentative grip to a bruising hold, but he made no complaint, as if he barely felt it.
    The rain stopped at last and the sun, finally recognizing it was summer, struggled to peer out through leaden clouds.
    “Is it much further?” she asked.
    “A fair distance.”
    Good. The further the better. Not having much knowledge of geography, when she first ran away she’d had the hazy idea of going to Scotland, but with Captain Downing’s kind help, she’d managed to hide away without going too far among savages. She’d written to Lance in London, only to let him know she was safe, giving no clue as to her whereabouts.
    “It is a farm then, where you live, John Carver?”
    “Aye, Lucy Friday.”
    Good. No one would look for her on a farm. “Do you live alone?
    “With my mother.”
    Slight pause. Her heart thumped heavily. She felt it even in her fingertips as they pressed into his thick arm. “No wife then?”
    “None.”
    She exhaled with relief.
    “What are you smiling at?” he demanded curtly.
    “My thoughts.”
    “And what are they?”
    She shook her head. “A lady’s thoughts are her own.”
    He disagreed, plainly, surveying her with a vexed, peevish countenance. “How long have you known my cousin?”
    “Not long.”
    “Months, years, weeks….days?”
    She sighed. “Does it matter?”
    “Suppose not.” And then he added gruffly, “But you’re too young for Nate.”
    “Too young?”
    “I’m surprised he has the will at his age, but then again he always was easily tempted and had eyes bigger than his belly, as my mother would say.”
    “And you’re not easily tempted?”
    He wouldn’t look