“We’ll have to stay a few days after, just to keep an eye on things until the group disperses, but at that point you’ll be free to return here.”
Samuel held his mouth together and the muscles in his jaw twitched as he sat back down. This can’t be happening. I’ve already wasted enough time!
Curtis stood in front of the fire and reached for the warmth that radiated from the flames. “I’ve already received authorization. We leave at first light.”
Samuel gripped the arms of the chair, fighting the urge to stand and launch it into the fire.
“We’ll be ready,” he croaked.
Samuel looked up at the ceiling and groaned. He lived for the day he would hold Eliza against him and beg her forgiveness for not finding her sooner. He could only hope she would understand how hard he’d tried to save her.
Even more, he lived to move Thomas from this blessed world into the brimstone of hell where he belonged.
Thomas slammed his axe into another helpless log.
CRACK!
Chips flew and the severed pieces tumbled to the ground. He grabbed another, then another and continued releasing his pent up emotions into the innocent wood.
Since coming to Sandwich it seemed all he was good for was chopping wood and building fires. He was near to going mad—for more reasons than one. Though, when he allowed his true feelings to emerge, this place was lodging in his heart, and his memories of Boston were becoming just that—simply memories.
What could Boston or even his beloved press ever mean to him without Eliza in his life? This home and his memories with her in it were beginning to overshadow every other thought. Sharing the same dwelling with her was nothing but torture. Never had he experienced such a rush of passion. Not only did her beauty lure him in, her desire for truth and learning—those attributes, along with her humble and teachable nature acted like a Siren song to his lost and lonely spirit.
He bashed his blade into another thick stump. Inside she waited for him to begin their new nightly ritual of discussing politics and other such topics in front of the warm evening fire. They’d done so since the infamous “reading” almost two weeks before, and it was both his favorite and most loathed activity of the day.
Torture. Pure torture. Having to sit across from her, remembering the feel of her soft cheek, smelling the rose perfume lifting from her, hearing the melody of her voice and yet not being able to touch her. It was too much. He had to keep his distance or he would lose focus on what really mattered. Eliza needed him, he had to remember that, and not allow himself to get distracted. One more touch, one more kiss and his heart would be hers forever. That was something that he could never allow. Not when she was planning to return to Boston and the life she’d left there.
He smacked the last log in half with an additional rush of strength and gathered the pieces in his arms, before tromping in the house through the back door.
The conflicting thoughts and feelings that swarmed in his chest as he entered the main room moved up to fog his brain. He kept his gaze averted from the pretty woman in the upholstered chair, dropped the logs onto the floor, and took long inhales to calm his thumping heartbeat.
“Gracious, Thomas,” Eliza said, her soothing laugh only making him more unhinged. “You chopped an entire tree, did you not?”
She pushed up from her seat and knelt beside him. “Here, let me help you.”
Thomas clenched his jaw and shook his head. He turned to her, intent on telling her she needn’t help him. Mistake. Her warm eyes thawed the self-placed wall of protective ice around his heart. She was so close he could pull her to him and . . . he shook his head and turned away, saying nothing.
Silence enveloped the room, and she must have sensed his reserve because she lowered her gaze and rose to her feet.
He peered at her from the corner of his eye. A blush painted her cheeks and she swallowed as if his quiet had wounded her.
“Of course you don’t need my help. How silly of me.” She took her seat again and picked up the apron she’d been mending, working feverishly with the needle.
Once the logs were stacked in their usual manner against the wall, Thomas stood and brushed his hands across his thighs. He exhaled a hard sigh and took his seat opposite Eliza.
“Where’s Kitty this evening?” he asked, grabbing Robert’s Cicero off the table that stood dutifully between the chairs.
Eliza didn’t look at him. “She says she’s tired of listening to our political conversations. She’s taken the Shakespeare book upstairs. I imagine she’ll have more fun reading romance and tragedy than hearing us discuss our views on government.”
Thomas removed his jacket and laid it over the back of his chair before sitting. He crossed one ankle over his knee and tried his best to smooth his ruffled will. No touching, Thomas. Don’t even get close.
“Well,” he said flipping through the book in his hands. “What would you like to discuss first?”
She rested the mending on the floor beside her chair and scooted to the edge of her seat with her hands in her lap.
Thomas relished in the feel of the enormous grin that flooded his face. Her enthusiasm and excitement never ceased to amaze him.
“I’d like to talk more about the Tea Act.”