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Closing his own, Joseph lowered his head and wiped a hand down his face. ’Twas only two weeks. Fourteen short days. Before he knew it, ’twould be over and he could once again put her out of his mind.
He growled. Out of his mind, perhaps. Out of his heart…
Joseph whirled and strode for the foundry, leaving the rest of his deriding thoughts to die in the frigid air, where they belonged.
* * *
Staring into the mirror atop her dressing table, Hannah sat, unmoving, as she had done since before the sun had begun to drain its light from the sky. A candle flickered in front of the mirror, lighting not only her small corner but also the thoughts that wavered before her.
The grave was as the major had promised. A proper sight, right beside Bea. Somehow she couldn’t quite clasp to the truth that Ensign was in fact gone, despite the gruesome reality that still played in her mind. She’d seen it, witnessed the act with her very eyes, wept over his grave, and yet here in this house, with the scents of his favorite coffee and hard soaps still lingering in the air, ’twas impossible to believe he was gone.
Hannah ran her hand across the smooth wood of her dressing table. Simpleton. She dropped her hand into her lap. Aye, she’d wanted to make them suffer for what they’d done—to beat them at the very game they thought to win, but what did she know of such work? Gathering intelligence from the enemy? Dear Lord, why had she offered it? Moments ago at his grave she’d felt strong, confident. But now…
She blinked, tracing her reflection with her gaze. How old she looked. Only eight and twenty, yet… Leaning forward, she touched the shadowed places under her eyes, then sat back in her chair with a sigh. What had happened to her youth? Where had it gone? Did Joseph see her as she saw herself? An old maid—a woman with far too many years behind her to make her appealing to any man? An audible groan left her mouth, and she rested her elbow on the table and her face in her hand. She didn’t care to appeal to anyone. Most certainly not to him.
Expelling an audible sigh, Hannah looked up as a sunrise of thought stretched its rays heavenward. And like the rising of the sun, the thought would not—could not be stopped—its ascent promising to bathe the earth in light no matter how much she longed for night. He loved me once. Perhaps…
A knock tapped on the door. “Hannah?”
She turned in her seat, her heart traitorously picking up its pace at the rich tones of Joseph’s voice. She tried to keep her own even. “Come in.”
The door opened, and he entered, leaving it ajar. “I thought you might be abed.”
Hand on the back of the chair where she sat, she shrugged a single shoulder. “I will soon be.”
He stepped nearer, narrowing the space between them when suddenly the air became so thin she could hardly take a breath. His gentle smile as he spoke did frightful things to her middle. “I shouldn’t have offered your services in the way I did earlier. Forgive me.”
“Services?” She prayed he couldn’t see the wild thump of her pulse in her neck.
He continued forward, then stopped halfway, as if an unseen bar restrained him. “To Stockton. For his laundering and meals.”
“I do not mind. And I believe…” She paused, calculating her response. “I believe ’tis a most fortuitous opportunity. As is yours.”
A slight grin tempted one side of his mouth. “I thought so as well.” He stared and shuffled a step forward, then halted. After a quick glance over his shoulder toward the door, he lowered his voice. “Hannah, I do not like the way Stockton looks at you.”
The memory made a worming sensation start in her chest. “You warned me of such.”
His jaw worked. “Do not allow yourself to be alone with him if it can be avoided. Your safety is paramount.”
“Mine is not any more important than yours.”
His chest rounded as he inhaled a long, deep breath. “Give me your word.”
He stepped forward, and as the distance between them closed, the pace of her heart grew ever quicker. She flashed a brief, assuring smile to her face. “You have it.”
Joseph took another step, when the sound of horses in the yard stopped him with a jerk. Vigilance chiseled into the slant of his jaw. “Keep your door latched.”
“I will.”
He took a step, and Hannah touched his arm. “Wait.” She stood and went to the trunk at the end of her bed. Opening it, she retrieved a large quilt and offered it to him. “’Tis a cold night.”
He turned, towering over her in silence. His gaze swept across her face before his velvety bass voice caressed her skin. “Thank you.”
Taking the quilt from her hands, his fingers dusted over hers, and a spark bolted up her arm. Unable to move, Hannah raised her eyes to his and feared perhaps her knees would no longer sustain her. Dearest heaven. That deep, tender longing she’d seen in his eyes when their love had once flourished now swelled, and the armament she’d employed dropped to her feet, exposing her heart in full. His gaze flicked to her lips, making her neck and cheeks burn like a kitchen fire in summer. If he leaned any closer…
With a blink he stepped back, the longing look in his eyes replaced with mere civility, leaving Hannah suspended over a chasm, grasping for anything to keep her from falling into the gaping pit below.
Swallowing, he stepped toward the exit and looked back over his shoulder. He gripped the handle, motionless for a moment. “Hannah…” The tenderness in his voice reached across the space between them to cradle the very heart in her chest. “You are a brave woman.”
