Again, the figure pressed his distorted gauzy face against the panes. Vile creature! Maddy’s arms tightened around the small, shaking bodies.
Mr. Rider fired into the wood stacked beside the fireplace. Thebang!was so loud Maddy nearly jumped out of her skin. There was a sudden silence, then the sound of running feet.
“Is he gone, Maddy?” Lucy sobbed. Maddy flew down the stairs and flung open the door, peering out into the darkness to see if she could recognize the fleeing man. But he was just a dark, robed shape, racing up the hill in the moonlight.
She closed the door and bolted it again.
The children crept downstairs, needing to make sure the terror was over. John and Henry searched the woodpile for the spent ball. Jane, Susan, and Lucy huddled in front of the fire in the blanket while Maddy warmed some milk. The man on the bed quietly cleaned his gun. Observing.
The children drank their milk, pelting Maddy with questions, but answers—real answers—eluded her. The children were satisfied enough with “a bad man”—the bogeyman of every childhood.
Maddy didn’t believe in bogeymen. There had to be a reason.
“I can’t imagine why,” she told Mr. Rider as she climbed back into the bed. “He doesn’t seem to want to break in. The first time he came there wasn’t even a proper lock on the door, just a latch. One good shove and it would have flown right open. But he didn’t even try.”
He pulled the covers up around her shoulders. “He must want something.”
“Yes, but what? We have no money and very few possessions. We don’t even own the cottage. What can possibly be gained by frightening a lone woman and five small children?”
“Satisfaction?” he suggested. “There are bullies in this world who enjoy such things.”
She considered it. “I haven’t offended anyone that I can think of.” Except Mr. Harris, the estate manager, she thought suddenly, though all she’d done was argue about the rental agreement with Sir Jasper.
“How many times has this happened?”
“This is the fourth occasion in the last two weeks.” And in the last two weeks, Mr. Harris had come around demanding an increased rent.
“There’s nothing to be done about it now, so close your eyes and get some sleep,” he said, pulling her back against him. “We’ll work out what to do about it in the morning.”
That “we” was very comforting, she thought as she slowly relaxed. As was the warmth of him spooned against her.
It was only as she was drifting off that she realized Hadrian’s Wall was gone, but she was too tired and too sleepy to worry about it.
Eight
The steady rhythm of her breathing altered. She was waking.
He’d woken a few minutes earlier, breathing in the fragrance of her, the scent of her skin where his mouth just touched the nape of her neck, the fragrance of her newly washed hair, soft against his cheek, smelling faintly of . . . something enticing.
Slowly he realized that the warm weight in his hand was her breast, that he was spooned around her, along the length of her spine, his knee cradled between her soft thighs, bare inches from her cleft.
His body was fully aroused. Aching with desire.
He ought to release her, turn away. He’d given her his word as a gentleman.
But their bodies had arranged themselves thus in sleep; it wasn’t a deliberate attempt at seduction.
And he couldn’t make himself move.
Besides, he wanted to see how she would react. Was she, like him, torn between temptation and good sense?
As far as he was concerned, propriety wasn’t even a question. They’d shared a bed for three nights now. Or was it four? He couldn’t tell; whole days and nights were lost to him.
But propriety was mostly about what other people thought. What they didn’t know couldn’t offend them.
Common sense was another matter.
Common sense dictated that neither of them took action that might have unwanted consequences. Common sense reminded him that he didn’t know who he was. He could be married. He’d be a fool to act without knowing the risk.
