arm around her. “You must be black and blue under that dress.”
“And as I said before, it will not be the first time. Let’s just go.”
He felt her body stiffen and a change in her demeanor after the exchange. Once he had her in the saddle in front of him and the blanket wrapped around her, the group continued on to their destination. They were thirty minutes down the road before she finally relaxed against him. Once again that feeling of déjà vu swept over him. What spooked him the most was how right she felt in his arms. He had never experience that before with any other woman. Aimée was just someone he could slake his lust with. That’s all women had ever been to him. Why her? Why now?
“Why do I feel like I’ve had you in my arms before?” he asked the question aloud. She immediately stiffened.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Really?” he queried, picking up on her agitation.
“I think you need to focus on the road.”
“‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks,’” he quoted from Shakespeare’s Hamlet .
“You think so? If I am, tell me where it happened. Can you do that?” There was a pregnant pause. “That’s what I thought. Now, can we stop talking?”
“Whatever you wish,” Thorn said. The couple shared not one word the remainder of the trip to London.
Chapter 7
The twins were settled in their new rooms, and Rebekah escaped into hers as soon as they had drifted off to sleep. She had passed a maid and several footmen leaving her room as she entered and saw their efforts in front of the cheery fire. Although it was the middle of summer, a cold front had moved in the last part of their journey, bringing with it a cold rain and leaving her even more miserable. She studied the lock on the door for a long while, thinking about the twins in the nursery. What if they woke during the middle of the night? Then her thoughts drifted to Thorn, her husband, who was somewhere in this house. She locked the door.
Rebekah turned and began stripping out of her sodden clothes. She left a trail of clothes to the bath before crawling into the steaming water. Rebekah inspected her body and saw grotesque purple and blue bruises developing on her left side. She lowered her hands to her flat stomach, remembering that other time. She forcefully lifted her hands and watched as the water dripped from her fingertips, before tightly gripping the lip of the bath. Rebekah forced the memories away, refusing to let them encroach.
Why had Thorn asked her about being in his arms? She shivered wondering if he had begun to remember. “No,” she said aloud.
“No, what?”
Rebekah sat upright, sloshing water all over the floor. She grabbed a towel off a low stool near the bathtub and draped it across her breasts and brought her knees in close to her body. “How did you get in here?”
He nodded to a door on a wall perpendicular to the hall wall and the door she had locked. “You forgot the connecting door.”
“Get out,” she growled.
“Not before I check that knot on your head.”
“My head is fine.”
“I’ll be the one to judge that.” He strode the rest of the way across the room.
“Stay away from me, or I’ll scream.”
“No, you won’t. And you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”
“Not mine, you haven’t.”
“Lean forward,” he instructed, ignoring her. He met her glare and held it until she relented and did as he said.
“I despise you.”
“Hmph. You have a lot of bruises.”
“Do you think I can’t feel them and see them?” she asked incredulously. “That hurts,” she snapped as he prodded her tender head.
“The bump seems not to have gotten any larger.” He pulled his hand away. “It is still bleeding a bit. Be careful if you decide to wash your hair.”
“Quit telling me what to
“And as I said before, it will not be the first time. Let’s just go.”
He felt her body stiffen and a change in her demeanor after the exchange. Once he had her in the saddle in front of him and the blanket wrapped around her, the group continued on to their destination. They were thirty minutes down the road before she finally relaxed against him. Once again that feeling of déjà vu swept over him. What spooked him the most was how right she felt in his arms. He had never experience that before with any other woman. Aimée was just someone he could slake his lust with. That’s all women had ever been to him. Why her? Why now?
“Why do I feel like I’ve had you in my arms before?” he asked the question aloud. She immediately stiffened.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Really?” he queried, picking up on her agitation.
“I think you need to focus on the road.”
“‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks,’” he quoted from Shakespeare’s Hamlet .
“You think so? If I am, tell me where it happened. Can you do that?” There was a pregnant pause. “That’s what I thought. Now, can we stop talking?”
“Whatever you wish,” Thorn said. The couple shared not one word the remainder of the trip to London.
Chapter 7
The twins were settled in their new rooms, and Rebekah escaped into hers as soon as they had drifted off to sleep. She had passed a maid and several footmen leaving her room as she entered and saw their efforts in front of the cheery fire. Although it was the middle of summer, a cold front had moved in the last part of their journey, bringing with it a cold rain and leaving her even more miserable. She studied the lock on the door for a long while, thinking about the twins in the nursery. What if they woke during the middle of the night? Then her thoughts drifted to Thorn, her husband, who was somewhere in this house. She locked the door.
Rebekah turned and began stripping out of her sodden clothes. She left a trail of clothes to the bath before crawling into the steaming water. Rebekah inspected her body and saw grotesque purple and blue bruises developing on her left side. She lowered her hands to her flat stomach, remembering that other time. She forcefully lifted her hands and watched as the water dripped from her fingertips, before tightly gripping the lip of the bath. Rebekah forced the memories away, refusing to let them encroach.
Why had Thorn asked her about being in his arms? She shivered wondering if he had begun to remember. “No,” she said aloud.
“No, what?”
Rebekah sat upright, sloshing water all over the floor. She grabbed a towel off a low stool near the bathtub and draped it across her breasts and brought her knees in close to her body. “How did you get in here?”
He nodded to a door on a wall perpendicular to the hall wall and the door she had locked. “You forgot the connecting door.”
“Get out,” she growled.
“Not before I check that knot on your head.”
“My head is fine.”
“I’ll be the one to judge that.” He strode the rest of the way across the room.
“Stay away from me, or I’ll scream.”
“No, you won’t. And you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”
“Not mine, you haven’t.”
“Lean forward,” he instructed, ignoring her. He met her glare and held it until she relented and did as he said.
“I despise you.”
“Hmph. You have a lot of bruises.”
“Do you think I can’t feel them and see them?” she asked incredulously. “That hurts,” she snapped as he prodded her tender head.
“The bump seems not to have gotten any larger.” He pulled his hand away. “It is still bleeding a bit. Be careful if you decide to wash your hair.”
“Quit telling me what to
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