carefully, sat down on her bed.
It didn’t help.
She groaned as every muscle in her body screamed in protest at the movement. She had been proud of clearing two rows of cabbages, but she had obviously used muscles she hadn’t known she had. The office job at the zoo combined with one measly hour of aerobics every week just didn’t provide sufficient exercise.
She had gradually stiffened up during dinner, until finally she excused herself early. She hadn’t wanted Rick to know how much she was hurting. He might feel bad that she was suffering becauseof the help she’d given him. She felt guilty enough after maneuvering him into agreeing to go to the regatta, although Lettice, when told, loved the idea. But this was her punishment, no doubt. The aspirins she had taken in the bathroom earlier had hardly had any effect. With only a soft bed and a cotton nightgown for comfort, she would be in terrible shape in the morning.
In spite of the agony, she felt strangely satisfied by her efforts. It had been good work for the most basic of needs—food to eat. The accomplishment had touched something deep inside her. No wonder Rick loved his manor. She was beginning to love all of it too. Too much. It was all so tempting—England … and Rick.
Jill took a deep breath, bearing the pain. To have worked beside him, though, was a mistake. She had gone out to persuade him, and instead had shared a part of his life. She had been like a helpmeet.
She shook her head to dispel the old-fashioned word for wife—and the insidious thought. She immediately yelped at the pain. When her body could tolerate movement again, she slowly took off her clothes and put on her nightgown, whimpering the entire time.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch …” she muttered, pulling back the covers and getting into bed.
A knock sounded on her door. “Jill? Are you okay?”
She closed her eyes, recognizing Rick’s voice. He must have ears sharper than George or Daisy.
“Yes,” she called out, feeling like a cornered fox with a dog breathing down her hiding place.
“What?”
“Yes! I’m okay!” She winced. Even her voice muscles hurt.
“Oh. Well, I got the …” His voice dropped off and the solid oak door effectively blocked the rest of his words.
“What? I can’t hear you?”
“Are you decent?”
“I hope so.”
He opened the door, just as she pulled the covers up to her chin. She forced herself to smile through the sharp twinges of protest. Her body wouldn’t win any Academy Awards for acting.
He gazed at her, silent for a moment. He looked great in a yellow oxford shirt and blue jeans, his American roots showing distinctly. She felt a twinge of another kind, a low pulsing warmth seeping through her system. Suddenly she realized they were alone in her room. She wished she’d recognized the implications of that before he’d opened the door.
Rick looked at home, unfortunately. That didn’t help her dissolving willpower.
“I was saying,” he began, “that I made a few calls and we’ve got tickets for the regatta next week.”
She smiled, determined to be as nonchalant as he. “Front-row seats. I knew you could do it.”
He shook his head and chuckled. “Lucky I’m a member. Henley’s been booked for months. Why are you lying flat on the bed?”
She stared up at him, her brain whirring for an answer. “It’s good for your circulation to lie flat as much as possible.”
“All the blood pools at your back.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And I just pulled in every favor I could to getyou to the regatta.” He eyed her speculatively. “You’re lying flat because something’s wrong.”
She knew she’d sound sillier if she continued to hide everything. She went for the unconcerned mode. “Just some sore muscles from today. A little rest and I’ll be fine.”
“I thought you were slowing up at dinner. How bad is it?”
“I already told you. Not bad.” She decided to sit up to prove it to him.
It was a big
It didn’t help.
She groaned as every muscle in her body screamed in protest at the movement. She had been proud of clearing two rows of cabbages, but she had obviously used muscles she hadn’t known she had. The office job at the zoo combined with one measly hour of aerobics every week just didn’t provide sufficient exercise.
She had gradually stiffened up during dinner, until finally she excused herself early. She hadn’t wanted Rick to know how much she was hurting. He might feel bad that she was suffering becauseof the help she’d given him. She felt guilty enough after maneuvering him into agreeing to go to the regatta, although Lettice, when told, loved the idea. But this was her punishment, no doubt. The aspirins she had taken in the bathroom earlier had hardly had any effect. With only a soft bed and a cotton nightgown for comfort, she would be in terrible shape in the morning.
In spite of the agony, she felt strangely satisfied by her efforts. It had been good work for the most basic of needs—food to eat. The accomplishment had touched something deep inside her. No wonder Rick loved his manor. She was beginning to love all of it too. Too much. It was all so tempting—England … and Rick.
Jill took a deep breath, bearing the pain. To have worked beside him, though, was a mistake. She had gone out to persuade him, and instead had shared a part of his life. She had been like a helpmeet.
She shook her head to dispel the old-fashioned word for wife—and the insidious thought. She immediately yelped at the pain. When her body could tolerate movement again, she slowly took off her clothes and put on her nightgown, whimpering the entire time.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch …” she muttered, pulling back the covers and getting into bed.
A knock sounded on her door. “Jill? Are you okay?”
She closed her eyes, recognizing Rick’s voice. He must have ears sharper than George or Daisy.
“Yes,” she called out, feeling like a cornered fox with a dog breathing down her hiding place.
“What?”
“Yes! I’m okay!” She winced. Even her voice muscles hurt.
“Oh. Well, I got the …” His voice dropped off and the solid oak door effectively blocked the rest of his words.
“What? I can’t hear you?”
“Are you decent?”
“I hope so.”
He opened the door, just as she pulled the covers up to her chin. She forced herself to smile through the sharp twinges of protest. Her body wouldn’t win any Academy Awards for acting.
He gazed at her, silent for a moment. He looked great in a yellow oxford shirt and blue jeans, his American roots showing distinctly. She felt a twinge of another kind, a low pulsing warmth seeping through her system. Suddenly she realized they were alone in her room. She wished she’d recognized the implications of that before he’d opened the door.
Rick looked at home, unfortunately. That didn’t help her dissolving willpower.
“I was saying,” he began, “that I made a few calls and we’ve got tickets for the regatta next week.”
She smiled, determined to be as nonchalant as he. “Front-row seats. I knew you could do it.”
He shook his head and chuckled. “Lucky I’m a member. Henley’s been booked for months. Why are you lying flat on the bed?”
She stared up at him, her brain whirring for an answer. “It’s good for your circulation to lie flat as much as possible.”
“All the blood pools at your back.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And I just pulled in every favor I could to getyou to the regatta.” He eyed her speculatively. “You’re lying flat because something’s wrong.”
She knew she’d sound sillier if she continued to hide everything. She went for the unconcerned mode. “Just some sore muscles from today. A little rest and I’ll be fine.”
“I thought you were slowing up at dinner. How bad is it?”
“I already told you. Not bad.” She decided to sit up to prove it to him.
It was a big
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