Her Wicked Sin Read Free

felt it rooted innately to his character, for no man could entertain such kindness in his compromised state without being pure at heart.
    Henry tasted the drink with a sip, then finished it with a swallow. “Thank you again.”
    Lydia studied his movement, intentionally leaving him to reach the reclining position without help. Though he did not react as if he felt sudden pain, she had not forgotten the toil of his uncooperative leg.
    Suddenly bashful, she sought her voice. “Perhaps I should look at you.”
    “I would delight in that,” he said with coy cheer. “But should your husband enter in the midst of your inspection, I do not wish to have another accident tonight.”
    “You need not worry about his return,” she told him. “He will not be back this eve.”
    He looked at her a very long time before responding. Then, gently, quietly, he said, “While I would think that favorable if I am to enjoy your ministrations, I fear what my presence here will do for your reputation.”
    “I am a physician tending a patient. Nothing more.” As if to ascertain her point, she approached and parted his coats. Though she would do well to check his bruises, the thought of undressing the traveler left her nervous and unsure. As it were, she felt through his fine linen shirt, finding nothing obviously out of place but her own curiosity…until Henry’s hand came to rest on her arm.
    “Tell me, Lydia, why you do not speak the truth.”
    Startled, she drew back. “What do you mean?”
    “Forgive me, but there is no husband who lives here.”
    Lydia followed Henry’s assessment to the four corners of the room—each one just as absent of a man’s belongings as the last—with her mistake dawning further with every turn. Perhaps she could have maintained her story had she not been so taken aback by the strange feelings evoked by this man, but she felt certain by the way he studied her he must see the lie on her countenance. But what of it? He was her guest; propriety dictated he accept her story for what it was. But something about this man drew from her the desire to confide.
    She had been alone so very long.
    Genuine compassion shone in his eyes. “If you are worried I will hurt you—”
    “No.” And she trusted him not for his temporary weakness, but for an inner quality she could not name. For what he had awakened in her.
    Fearing not enough for the miscue of her admission, she found her refuge in his steady gaze and braced against words until now unspoken. “My husband is dead.”

Chapter Two
    Henry stared at the Goodwoman, surprised by her confession. There was a degree of security in leading him to believe her husband could return at any moment. Why would she make herself vulnerable in such a way? Perhaps he had pushed too hard. Certainly his afflictions lessened his threat to her, but the door she opened could never be closed. Guilt hounded him for pressing her. “There was an accident?”
    Hesitation filled her pale blue eyes. Their shocking shade struck him, adding refinement to a face already made beautiful by the loveliest features he’d ever admired on a woman. She wanted not to make her admission, but her pause made it nonetheless.
    She looked to her skirts and shook her head. Strands of light blond hair escaped the bonnet that marked her as a married woman, instilling in him the rather forward desire to tuck it back to neatness. Or rather to remove the cap altogether to see her hair fall at her back like the finest silk, for it could be no less. Though he knew not why she purported the mistruth, his inner being ached for her trust.
    Her quiet lasted but a moment. She squared her shoulders and met his eyes with determination. “He was not a good man. His death was earned.”
    For all of her bravado, she seemed to tremble within the words. Though whatever led her to dismiss her husband’s life in such a way could be no laughing matter, he wanted desperately to bring a smile back to her lips. “I can only