Joseph’s insides swirled, and a shot of masculine satisfaction rose over him. The depth of color in her face, her hurried breath wasn’t for naught—and it thrilled him.
Despite her obvious upset, he knew her well enough to know he could go further. “Do not blame yourself. I am a man of many charms, and if you didn’t fall prey to them, I should be ashamed.”
At this, that delightful display of color drained from her face, and she turned away.
Devil’s spit. He had taken it too far. Idiot.
Removing the last of the dishes from the table, he stood by her, drying what she’d washed. Silence sat before them, bemused, he imagined, like a wily cherub waiting for either of them to talk. But they didn’t. On and on they went, she scrubbing and he blotting away the rivulets of water on the freshly cleaned glass.
The longer they worked, the more ease replaced anxiety, until soon it almost seemed the rhythm they found felt familiar, practiced, right. Here, enjoying the peaceful mundane actions of family life, it seemed as if they had been married these ten years, not separated and hardly knowing if the other still thought of their past at all. Is this what their lives might have been like? A rip started deep and continued to tear even deeper. If only…
He braved a sideways look, instantly regretting the action. She was so close, her arm almost touching his as she rubbed and sloshed in the water, heedless of the drops that splashed on her sleeves. That curl at her ear…it needed tucking.
She offered another glass, and he took it, grateful he had a useful occupation for his hands.
He glanced at the clock through the parlor, squinting to make out the time. Stockton had been gone nearly three quarters of an hour already. If Joseph were to ask the questions he wanted to—nay, needed to—before Stockton returned, he had better act quickly.
Keeping as unaffected a tone as possible, he spoke the words he wished he needn’t. “I didn’t know you were being courted. Is he from Plymouth?”
Her motion stopped. Resting the plate in the water, she kept her hands at the edge of the basin. Head bowed, she sighed, then tilted her head to him. “No one is courting me, Joseph.” She started up again, scrubbing the helpless plate more vigorously. “I said that in hopes of keeping Stockton at a more reasonable distance.”
A cool breeze rushed through his muscles, and his shoulders eased. So she was not being courted? Such a thrill should not be entertained, but he allowed it to bask in the pleasant light of revelation a moment longer before moving to the waiting question in line. “Then why accept to be his scribe?” The next came too quickly and too curt. “Being that close to him, Hannah, I do not like it.”
Her face shot toward him. “He is not a man to be denied, Joseph. Consider, if we are to gain what information we seek, how can I not do it? We must learn where they plan to engage, mustn’t we?” She thrust him the plate. “I must do things I might otherwise prefer not. What does it say about the strength of my convictions if I am not willing to sacrifice for them? I believe in this cause, Joseph. I do it for Ensign, aye. But also, I do it for liberty.”
Each of her words slashed through him, tiny blades of humility cutting him to his knees. How could he ever have felt anything but admiration? She had not been impetuous, rather wise, selfless. His heart swelled, and had he not a dripping plate in his hands, he might be helpless to pull her against him and twine his arms around her back, rest his cheek atop her hair.
“You will attend the ball with him then?”
A pained look tugged at the corners of her eyes and mouth. “How can I not?” Dunking the last plate in the basin, she shook her head slightly. “I will be grateful indeed when these two weeks are past.”
His gut pinched. Would she be? He breathed away the discomfort. Of course she would, as he would as well. That was understood. He would join his friends and ready himself to face the greatest battle of his life.
Greatest battle? The irony almost made him laugh aloud. Nay. The greatest battle he fought was here, standing beside him in the kitchen. No weapon but the slant of her smile, no danger but that of her touch, no risk to his life—nay, but to his heart.
* * *
Hannah reached for the towel and dried her hands, wishing there were more items to clean. Standing beside Joseph, talking so easy, ’twas a sensation she’d not ever imagined she’d feel. A safeness, a serenity and rightness she’d known only in her dreams. The longing to look up and study his face ached through her neck and shoulders, but somehow she resisted. Did he feel it too? Or was she the only one who suffered this blissful malady?
Gathering her bravery, she walked to the parlor. His steady footfall followed, and the urge to slow and walk beside him, knit her fingers in his, became so strong she hurried her step lest she act out the fantasies her brain and heart seemed intent on savoring.
“I…” At the fireplace, she glanced down at her fingers, rubbing the chapped knuckle of her forefinger. “I hadn’t the chance to thank you.”
Hannah turned her back to the warmth of the fire. Joseph went to the lowboy, pouring himself a drink. Gifting her only a slight look over his shoulder, he questioned her with his eyes.
She shrugged and swallowed. “For…for helping me the other day.”
He replaced the cask and came to stand beside her, facing the fire while she faced away. He held his glass as if the mulberry color of the wine fascinated him, though she knew his thoughts went far deeper.
Body still, ’twas only his face that turned to her. His eyes were rich, his voice tiptoeing across the inches between them to caress her heart. “I would do anything for you.”
Dearest heaven.
Longing, the kind that only the fullest love begets, bloomed in his eyes. But with an exhale it vanished, and his attention was once again on his drink. He took a sip. ?
?I fear if not for some unearthly intervention, I may have done more than just…” His jaw ticked. “In my estimation they got far less than they deserved. I cannot bear the knowledge that a man has done harm to any woman.”
Any woman.