Page 47 of Magic Touch
With a twist, he rolls so he's half covering me. His thigh drapes between mine and awakens desire there. Intense blue eyes stare at me, and I brush his hair back from his forehead. He draws a long breath. "I wouldn't be here with you if I were engaged or married. If I had made vows, I would keep them."
Ashamed, I nod. "Of course, you would. I'm sorry. I was only joking."
"I know." His tone lightens. "I was engaged once. I was quite young, as was my fiancée. We were to marry when I got back from the war."
"What happened?" My heart is lodged in my throat.
Pushing up, he sits against the headboard and drags me into his lap. His lips press against my collarbone before he rests his head against me. "I was away a long time." He sighs. "At first, Melody wrote to me every day. Then it was every week. After a year, the letters stopped coming. I wrote to her every week, despite her lack of response. I felt it my duty to correspond. Eighteen months into my deployment in France, I received a note informing me that her affections had shifted to another. While she wished me well, she hoped I would understand that she was nearly twenty now and could not afford to wait forever."
I want to scratch Melody's eyes out on William's behalf. "Good lord, what did you say?"
His shoulders lift in a shrug. "What could I say? I wished her joy and released her from her contract with me."
"You should have called the other man out." My voice is harsh, and I hurt as if the injustice had been done to me rather than him.
William shakes his head. "She didn't love me, and if I'm honest, I didn't love her either. This was a blessing. Even if it was hard to see that at the time. At the moment, I can't imagine I ever wanted to marry Melody."
His lips press to mine, and I open for him. Our tongues touch, and my exhaustion flees as if it never existed.
Chapter
Thirteen
WILLIAM
Each Wednesday, we bring Prudence to the village, where she heals small ailments and gives advice. Today Pauline Mercer brings her newborn child to see the great mother for a blessing.
I have no true purpose beyond making certain Prudence doesn't overextend herself.
Esme is busy healing many of the more serious ailments.
At the sight of the infant, Prudence brightens, even after the long day has worn her out. "Oh, what a sweet boy you have brought to me, Pauline. I remember when your own good mother brought you in for a blessing."
Pauline blushes. "Mother is too ill to come and see you. She bade me give her regrets."
As if she hasn’t heard, Prudence holds the child close and says a few words in blessing before handing the babe back to his mother. "What ails your mother?"
"It is her stomach, Great Mother. She suffers mightily, but the doctor has done all he can." A tear rolls down Pauline's round cheek.
Frowning, Prudence stands. "If memory serves, your mother lives at the other end of town."
Jumping to her feet despite the burden of holding her baby, Pauline says, "Yes. In the very house where I was raised."
Prudence brushes out her skirts and turns to Esme. "Miss O'Dwyer will continue here in my stead." Once Esme nods, she continues. "Sir William, will you accompany me to Mrs. Kyle's home? Clair is an old friend. If she cannot come to me, then I shall go to her."
"As you wish, Great Mother." I offer my arm, which Prudence takes.
"Will you bring my bag, Sir William?" She points to the satchel with herbs and brews for healing.
I do as I'm told.
Once we are in the street, I ask Pauline, "How far is the walk, madam. Shall I call the carriage?"
Pulling me forward with more force than I would have thought possible, Prudence scoffs. "I'm not so old that a little stroll in the fresh air won't do me good. Don't fuss so."
I share a brief smile with Pauline and walk faster so I can at least continue to offer my arm.
At the end of the village, we stop before a small house, whitewashed and in good condition. The only sign anything is amiss are the dead flowers in the window box. Likely the heat, an unwell Mrs. Kyle, and her daughter recently giving birth are to blame for the poor, sad blooms.
