hope, then, the crime was not that of falling from a mule to strike burden to your path.”
He had startled her. He saw it with the widening of her eyes and heard it with her intake of breath. “No,” she said after a pause. “I don’t suppose it was. And a mule! What a thing to say of a fine steed.”
She surprised him again. “You know horses?”
“I can see his breeding, yes. And despite your outcries, your Willard is neither brute nor oaf, but a well-mannered sire.”
Henry assessed her, reveling in every new thing he learned. A woman who faced the morn by donning her marriage bonnet without regard to her falsehood was one in whom he saw strength. Whatever the cause of her husband’s dispatch, she held his respect. It was a rare woman who feared not a stranger in the night, even extending her hand and her home when she might easily have fled. Moreover, she was nuanced enough to recognize the value of horseflesh and held a natural wit he found engaging. He knew not her value as a physician, but if it matched the quality of her bedside manner, he would see fit to languish with ailments until she relegated him to the paddock with his horse.
She caught him looking at her, though fear was not the most pronounced of her emotions. Dare he hope that quiet glimmer in her eye to be interest? He gathered himself. “Do you suppose I am still in need of examination?”
She rewarded him with a lovely smile. “Is that the rum talking or are you feeling dire?”
“Perhaps the rum gives me courage.”
She tilted her head. Her eyes shone in the firelight that danced over her skin. “You are not accustomed to requesting your needs.”
Her assessment gave him pause. He had made no case of his wealth on his travels, as the type of information he sought would not come easily to an outsider, let alone one of means. Here he had hoped only to avoid a row from being too forward, and she had looked past his words into the heart of him. A whit of understanding flitted through as he realized how dire the consequence of her own confession.
“I hoped not to make it known, but you are right. Am I spoiled?”
“No,” she said in the softest of tones. “You are quite abashed by your need for assistance.”
Her words were not at all what he expected. “That is a curious conclusion.”
“And it is a fine trait within you.”
He took a deep breath, finding it pained him greatly. “I am appreciative to find myself in your graces, but I hope you will keep knowledge of my resources to yourself. Exposure would complicate my cause.”
“It seems we have something in common, then.” She spoke without hesitation.
Understanding settled between them. Though the Goodwoman could not possibly know the importance of her privilege, he felt she could be trusted. And now, whether or not she realized it, she had something crucial with which to tether his confidence in her own admission.
“There,” he said. “As that is now settled, may I ask for your inspection?”
“Of course. What are your pains?” She seemed to exude a fresh energy, as if the change of subject lifted her. She moved to his side and lay open his outerwear.
When her fingers pressed at his shirt, he wanted for the touch to be upon his skin. She’d taken her lip between her teeth and appeared deep in concentration as she toured his torso. He hissed only once, and he was so enthralled with her movements the noise startled even him.
The worry etched on her face nearly melted the last of the cold. “What is the pain?”
“Just the surface. Took a hoof from that well-mannered clod, no doubt.”
She winced on his behalf. “May I look further?”
Oh, he owed Willard one now. Henry might be sore as the dickens, but the price was small for the much anticipated touch of her fingers against his skin.
She seemed nowhere as flustered as he as she extracted his shirt from his breeches, but the very act of this woman undressing him sent desire coursing astray. Though new
He had startled her. He saw it with the widening of her eyes and heard it with her intake of breath. “No,” she said after a pause. “I don’t suppose it was. And a mule! What a thing to say of a fine steed.”
She surprised him again. “You know horses?”
“I can see his breeding, yes. And despite your outcries, your Willard is neither brute nor oaf, but a well-mannered sire.”
Henry assessed her, reveling in every new thing he learned. A woman who faced the morn by donning her marriage bonnet without regard to her falsehood was one in whom he saw strength. Whatever the cause of her husband’s dispatch, she held his respect. It was a rare woman who feared not a stranger in the night, even extending her hand and her home when she might easily have fled. Moreover, she was nuanced enough to recognize the value of horseflesh and held a natural wit he found engaging. He knew not her value as a physician, but if it matched the quality of her bedside manner, he would see fit to languish with ailments until she relegated him to the paddock with his horse.
She caught him looking at her, though fear was not the most pronounced of her emotions. Dare he hope that quiet glimmer in her eye to be interest? He gathered himself. “Do you suppose I am still in need of examination?”
She rewarded him with a lovely smile. “Is that the rum talking or are you feeling dire?”
“Perhaps the rum gives me courage.”
She tilted her head. Her eyes shone in the firelight that danced over her skin. “You are not accustomed to requesting your needs.”
Her assessment gave him pause. He had made no case of his wealth on his travels, as the type of information he sought would not come easily to an outsider, let alone one of means. Here he had hoped only to avoid a row from being too forward, and she had looked past his words into the heart of him. A whit of understanding flitted through as he realized how dire the consequence of her own confession.
“I hoped not to make it known, but you are right. Am I spoiled?”
“No,” she said in the softest of tones. “You are quite abashed by your need for assistance.”
Her words were not at all what he expected. “That is a curious conclusion.”
“And it is a fine trait within you.”
He took a deep breath, finding it pained him greatly. “I am appreciative to find myself in your graces, but I hope you will keep knowledge of my resources to yourself. Exposure would complicate my cause.”
“It seems we have something in common, then.” She spoke without hesitation.
Understanding settled between them. Though the Goodwoman could not possibly know the importance of her privilege, he felt she could be trusted. And now, whether or not she realized it, she had something crucial with which to tether his confidence in her own admission.
“There,” he said. “As that is now settled, may I ask for your inspection?”
“Of course. What are your pains?” She seemed to exude a fresh energy, as if the change of subject lifted her. She moved to his side and lay open his outerwear.
When her fingers pressed at his shirt, he wanted for the touch to be upon his skin. She’d taken her lip between her teeth and appeared deep in concentration as she toured his torso. He hissed only once, and he was so enthralled with her movements the noise startled even him.
The worry etched on her face nearly melted the last of the cold. “What is the pain?”
“Just the surface. Took a hoof from that well-mannered clod, no doubt.”
She winced on his behalf. “May I look further?”
Oh, he owed Willard one now. Henry might be sore as the dickens, but the price was small for the much anticipated touch of her fingers against his skin.
She seemed nowhere as flustered as he as she extracted his shirt from his breeches, but the very act of this woman undressing him sent desire coursing astray. Though new