Abigail’s mouth opened. Closed. “As I said, marrying Stephen enabled me to—”
“Go to some dashy insti-somethin’,” Jack interrupted, waving her hand in the air. “But if you’resosmart, I bet ye could have figured out a way to do that without gettin’ hitched.”
“It was Columbia College Medical School,” Abigail corrected automatically, “and you...”
. . .are right, she realized dimly.
Jack was right.
She could have found another way. It wouldn’t have been easy, but it would have been possible. Instead, she’d married Stephen. She had stood beside him in the small Manhattan church of her own free will. Afterward, it was simpler toconvince herself she’d been coerced. Or that she’d done it solely in pursuit of her medical career. But it wasn’t true. It had never been true. Because there was a part of her that had wanted to marry Stephen purely for the way he’d made her feel when he’d kissed her in the snow. It was the same part of her that had almost gone with him that morning in Connecticut. And it was the same part of her that was tempted to stay with him now.
“I... what?” Jack asked, her foot giving an impatient tap on the floor. “What did I do?”
“You have given me much to consider. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is past time for me to take Mara’s daily objective measurements.” Abigail paused as a thought, no more than a random flicker, took root in the back of her mind. “Would you care to accompany me and observe?”
Jack shrugged. “I guess. Don’t got nothin’ better to do. By the way,” she said as they walked down the hallway together, “do ye know where yer husband keeps ’is silver? Not askin’ for any particular reason. Just curious...”
Chapter Fourteen
That night, Abigailfound sleep elusive. After tossing and turning for more than an hour, she climbed out of bed, pulled a robe over her white nightgown, and padded barefoot downstairs to the library where she soon lost herself in the pages of a book on the practical applications of herbal remedies.
Outside, a bright half-moon reflected a silvery crescent trail across freshly fallen snow while within the shadowed confines of the library the fire cast a warm, orangey glow. It was blissfully silent, a distinct contrast from the loud dinner that had taken place only a few hours before with Kitty, Mara, and Jack dominating much of the boisterous conversation.
A log fell in the hearth, shooting out a series of crackling sparks that disguised the sound of a doorknob turning. Her attention devoted solely to the pages of the thick, leatherbound tome resting on her lap, Abigail failed to detect a second presence in the room until she saw a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. On a gasp, her head shot up, the book nearly tumbling to the floor when Stephen prowled into view.
His hair was disheveled and a grainy layer of bristle clung to the sharp outline of his jaw, indicating that he, too, had found sleep to be an improbable notion. He must have been in short supply of robes, however, because the only clothes on his person were a pair of cotton breeches that rode sinfully low on his navel,leaving his chiseled abdomen, broad chest, and muscular arms on full display.
Her gasp turning into a squeak, Abigail raised the heavy book in front of her face. “What... ah... what are you doing here?”
“What am I doing? In my own house? Enjoying the quiet that seems to be in rare supply these days,” he said dryly. “What are you doing? It’s a bit late for research.”
“This isn’t research,” she said, her voice muffled. “I’m reading for my own enjoyment.”
“Ancient Herbal Remedies and Their Practical Modern Usesis enjoyable?”
“Very. Did you know that chamomile, when boiled, can ease a variety of symptoms including poor digestion, anxieties, and inflammation?” She spoke quickly, each word tumbling over the last as she struggled to keep her focus on the words right in front of her and away from the half-naked husband ten feet away from her.
“I can think of another way to reduce inflammation.”
“Yes, turmeric, when ground, is very useful—”
“I wasn’t talking about turmeric.” His shadow rippled across the shelves as he came closer and her breath lodged in her throat when he gently pried the book from her trembling hands. A frown caught in the corners of his mouth. “Are you cold? You’re shaking.”
“No,” she said softly, her gaze pinned to the golden firelight dancing across the rigid plane of his stomach. “I’m not cold.”
If anything, she was too hot. A simmering heat that erupted into a blaze when he grasped her chin while simultaneously pressing his knee on the velvet seat of the chaise longue she’d selected specifically in the event she became drowsy and fell asleep... not considering theotheractivity that could be conducted on such a long, wide piece of furniture.
She waited for him to say something.
But what else was there to be said, except...
“You should lock the door,” she whispered.
His eyes flashed a dark, deep copper before he abruptly turned and did exactly that, the loudclickof the lock sliding into place causing her nipples to harden even before she let her robe slip from her shoulders and the sudden rush of cool air raised the fine hairs on her arms.
“Goddess,” he said with somber reverence, unraveling a blush that stained her skin pink from the apples of her cheeks to the slant of her collarbones. Returning to the chaise longue, he grasped her calves, his hands sliding under the lace hem of her nightgown as he guided her legs onto the cushion, stretching her body out beneath him as if she were a sumptuous feast to be devoured... and he was a man half starved.
Crouching at the foot of the chaise longue, he helped her remove her nightgown before kissing his way up to her mouth, taking a leisurely path that skimmed his lips across her knee, up the side of her thigh, onto the curve of her hip, and to the ticklish bars of her ribs that elicited a breathless giggle before taking a detour at her breasts, turning her laughter into a moan when he drew a taut peak into his mouth and swirled his tongue in a slow, tantalizing circle.
