“A mile and a half.”
The sun blazed against her hair, the black tendrils shimmering. He lengthened his stride, for standing beside her made it more difficult to study her profile and the perfect way her small ears framed her head. Any allowance he made in that arena—memorizing her—would only fashion problems he would later regret.
Once again at the garden, she lifted her chin as she gazed at the house. “’Tis a far better house than I could have asked for.”
William stalled. Did she speak in truth? “I am pleased you approve.”
She continued past, tossing him a blithe but reserved expression. “I should like to see more of the inside now, if I may.”
“Of course.”
After a quick tour of the one large room below stairs and the loft above, William stumbled upon the glaring absence of a second bed. He’d not noticed before, but now, the thought consumed him. After sleeping side by side and not having touched more than the lace of her sleeves, he began to wonder if he could endure sharing a bed—and nothing more. He shook his head. It made perfect sense that they hadn’t been together, seeing as they’d had little privacy at the Watson’s. But now that they had their own home, did she expect it? Certainly not.
The circle of questions made him dizzy. Physical attraction was no worry where he was concerned—he’d rarely met anyone so lovely—but such a union should be enjoyed only when both parties were wanting. Though they were clearly civil with one another, intimacy was a different realm entirely. He could never force such a thing upon their relationship.
Suddenly he couldn’t feel his limbs. He needed space and a wealth of fresh air.
“I’ll let you have a moment while I make sure we’ve enough wood for the fire.”
He started for the door when she called for him.
“William?”
He stopped in the doorway, half of him wanting to return to the painful but bewitching thoughts, the other wanting nothing more than to run to higher ground. “Aye?”
“Do you think…do you think we will be safe here?”
Like a flood, every other worry escaped in his next breath, replaced by the sting of shame. These were the thoughts that consumed her. How selfish could he be?
Fighting the instant battle to stay by the door, or risk nearness by comforting her, he remained motionless. He ground his teeth. He should go to her, take her hand at least and speak the reassuring words at her side.
But he couldn’t.
“We shall be,” he said from the safety of the doorway. “I promise.”
The answer brought a smile to her face and loosed the tight knot of her fingers that clutched her skirt, if only a little. “Thank you.”
He nodded and escaped the house before the warning drums could beat him into submission. He’d let the lie live.
For he knew, as well as he knew the sun would rise in the morning, they would be found. It wasn’t a matter of if—it was a matter of when.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Captain Stockton?”
The call came from behind and Paul pivoted away from the soldier beside him to see a young errand boy hurrying toward him. His boyish cheeks were red from heat. Sweat dotted his forehead. “Major Stockton has asked for you, sir.”
Paul returned the musket to the new recruit he’d been assisting and turned to the adolescent.
“I’m sorry?” He must have misheard. Ezra was traveling to Boston and not expected back within the month. “You must have me mistaken with someone else.”
“Forgive me, sir, but I know exactly who you are, and who your father is.” The boy, far more confident than Paul had been at his age, motioned behind him. “He’s waiting in the drawing room of the officer’s quarters.”
Blast it. A low, guttural groan rumbled in Paul’s throat. “I’ll be there presently.”
The boy hustled away, wiping his sleeve against his hairline as he rounded the corner. Paul leaned his head back and gazed heavenward. Of all the times to be discovered. When Richards had requested he stay on another two weeks to train the new arrivals from England, he’d been only too pleased to assist him and procrastinate his transport to Virginia. Paul rested his palm against the sword at his side and intentionally slowed his step. The heat in his chest matched the heat of the early-autumn sun. If only he’d had a few more days. The woman he’d hired to carry the message had surely made it to Barrik by now. He need only wait a few days longer.
Paul swore under his breath as he turned the knob and went into the house. To the right, the drawing room—and his fate. The boy looked in the direction of the open door and motioned with his eyes for Paul to enter. His spine went rigid as it did every time he was forced to encounter the man whose name he carried.