Western Widows

"You have no money. You are taking in sewing work that will not support you, even meagerly. The ladies of the church have been providing you meals." I clenched my jaw as I said the last. "The men have been eyeing you, although hopefully that has tapered."

She eyed me suspiciously, then awareness dawned, her pale eyes widening. "It was you. All of it." She took a deep breath, pointed her finger at my chest. Poked it. "You had Mrs. Adams approach me with the sewing. You had the women provide me with food. You steered the men away from me. What did you do, drive them out of town?"

"Yes," I answered plainly. I'd taken whatever action was required to keep her safe.

"You've been following me, watching me. For months." Color bloomed in her cheeks, her eyes alight with her anger. She was more beautiful than ever riled as she was. "Why?"

"I promised Richard I would take care of his wife if something ever happened to him." It was an agreement we'd made and I didn't intend to back out of it. I'd kept my distance while they were wed, for she was his, but his untimely death had changed that.

"You've been doing that quite well so far, so why marry me? Isn't that extreme?"

"As I said, I promised him I'd take care of his wife. This pact came before you'd married, before he even knew you were to be his. I could continue to do so as agreed, keeping you safe from afar, however, I want to marry. I want to marry you."

My words gave her pause. She blinked several times as if trying to assimilate. "Me?"

"When Richard brought you to town, just wed, it was obvious it was not a love match. The way you interacted, the way he spoke of you with fondness, but only that, was indication to this."

Her honey colored brows rose. "Are you saying it would be different between us?"

I took a step toward her, took hold of her upper arms. Her floral scent swirled up around us and intoxicated me. I had to make her see reason, and now. I was at the very end of my tether, as if the strings had slowly unraveled, one by one, ever since Richard's death. Touching her, even innocently, for the first time, had my control, my patience snap. "I'm not marrying you to save you."

"Then why?"

"Because I want to fuck you."

She gasped and tried to pull from my hold, but I wouldn't release her. I leaned forward so I was at eye level with her.

"Because I've wanted you ever since the first time I met you. I want to learn what makes you hot, to hear the sounds you make when you come. To wake up next to you in the morning and pull you in close. To know your fingers aren't pricked and calloused from overwork. To remove the frown of worry on your brow." I lifted my hand and brushed my thumb over the little crease between her eyes. "To fill your belly with my seed and make a baby."

Her cheeks turned a deep scarlet, and I watched her pupils dilate, the pale color all but disappearing. She was not unaffected. Her gaze roved over my face, met and held mine. "If you truly wanted me, you would not say such things," she hissed, looking at me with disdain.

I shook my head. "No. Only a man who truly wants would tell a woman such."

"You speak as if I'm a whore you've purchased for the hour."

I ran a hand through my hair. What an exasperating woman! I wanted to prove to her the passion I knew would be between us, but I would not touch her in such a way until we were wed. "You might think that, but I would never treat you as such. I might fuck you hard, to claim you in ways you've never imagined, but it would be between a man and a wife. My intentions, however impure, are honorable."

When she only continued to look at me, more confused now than angry, I continued. "Have I done anything untoward to make you think otherwise?"

Instead of answering my question, she asked one of her own. "If you wanted me so much, why did you wait so long?" She gestured wildly with her hands. "It's been months since Richard died." She tugged against my hold, and this time, I let her go. She turned away from me, her light hair glinting in the light through the window. My fingers itched to tug the pins out, watch the thick tresses fall over her shoulders and down her back.

"I needed to be sure you didn't mourn." She glanced at me over her shoulder. "No, don't look like that. You should feel no shame that your heart does not bleed for him. You were only married six weeks and practically strangers." Her gaze had dropped to the floor. "I know you feel it, too. What's between us."

She turned to face me fully, her mouth open in surprise. "How? But..."

I couldn't help but grin. "Your cheeks flush whenever you see me, your eyes brighten, your breathing accelerates."

She shook her head. "How can you know that?"

"Because I love looking at your breasts and the way they rise and fall when you are aroused."

"Liam," she whispered. The breathy way she said my name had my cock stirring.

It was only then that I knew, without any doubt, that I'd been correct. I wasn't Mr. Anderson any longer.

"Marry me, Charlotte. You're mine. You've been mine all along, you just didn't know it."

CHAPTER THREE