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The clock in the parlor struck the nooning hour. Twelve chimes, each one louder than the last. From her place by the laundering she’d just begun, Hannah glanced through the kitchen window to the foundry. She cursed herself for the countless times she’d peered through the frosted panes, secretly pining for a view of him. Scrubbing the shirt harder in the basin, she wished she could as easily scour away the longing that held like an old stain.
Up to her elbows in hot water, Hannah rubbed the linen between her hands, the conversation of hours past still struggling to find a comfortable position in her mind. But it would not, she knew, until she told Joseph. A thrill beat through her. She now had a chance to move forward in their mission more quickly than she’d anticipated. ’Twas so simple, it seemed almost too good to be true.
All that remained was to tell Joseph and to pray he wouldn’t be upset.
Hannah noted a fraying spot on the collar of one of his shirts and rubbed more carefully, making a mental reminder to mend it. She continued to wash the shirt more carefully, pondering how she would explain her opportunity to Joseph. Surely once she explained how innocuous it truly was, he would be understanding and allow it—how could he not? Removing the shirt and wringing the water free, she hung the damp fabric near the kitchen fire.
Just then the door flung open behind her, and she whirled. “Oh!” She pressed a wet hand to her chest. “Joseph, you startled me.”
He shut the door, cutting off the blast of chilled air. His half smile did dangerously delightful things to her middle.
“Hard at work, I see.”
Hannah reached for the nearest cloth to dry her hands and find occupation for her sudden nerves. “’Tis noon. You must be hungry.” Of course he was. He’d hardly eaten anything. She should have thought to bring a basket out to the foundry. Ensign had always liked that. “Let me fix you a—”
“Perhaps later.” His grin lingered a moment, fading only when his vision shifted to his musket over the mantel. “I’m off to town.”
She stalled, hands still clutching the towel. “To town?”
Caution knit through his expression, mouth tight, brow creased. The silent message roared from his expression.
“Oh.” She knew the parlor was empty but glanced there anyway. Stepping forward, she came to the edge of the table. “You’ve already a missive to send? Will they not find it strange to have you leave when the work has just begun?”
Joseph grunted his reply as he lifted his musket from the mantel and slipped the powder horn across his chest. “I’ve discovered I miscalculated a few supplies, so a trip to town is necessary. A fortunate happenstance.”
He spun toward the door, but Hannah halted him with a touch on his sleeve. “Joseph, wait.” She yanked her hand back. How could she touch him so carelessly? Her body tensed, and she curled her fingers. The complexities of their strained familiarity battled so hard she feared she might slip into those comfortable habits that seemed to return with frightening ease. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
The instant tenderness in the lines of his face, the way his thick muscles flexed under his greatcoat as he faced her, made pleasant tingles spray through her chest.
His voice was a deep, peaceful river. “Anything.”
Anything?
At that single word, the kitchen faded. The warmth of the fire behind her, the scents of freshly laundered cloth, the snapping sound of the logs in the hearth softened as if the sun were setting, stealing with its waning light all she’d thought she would say, leaving behind only the things she longed to.
Lowering her gaze, she allowed her eyes to study the swirled etchings on the center platter of the table. If only—
“Hannah?”
All the blood had fled her limbs in an attempt to help her heart keep its sudden, wild pulse in check. She hadn’t the strength to lift her head in response, hadn’t the voice to answer. She closed her eyes, hoping she could rip her mind from the trance of him that her soul submitted to so willingly.
Rough fingers brushed against her elbow. “What is it?”
Her blood thundered in her ears. Why? Why was she so weak? How easy it would be to open her mouth and tell him all the truths that pined for revelation. I waited for you for so many years, Joseph. I bore our son…
“Hannah.” Smooth and warm, the sound of her name was like a whispered prayer.
Eyes still closed against the sight of him, she drew a quiet breath. Cold knuckles brushed her cheek, and she pulled back, eyes flinging open and instantly colliding with his.
His hand hovered away from her cheek. He swallowed, slowly dropping his hand but not his gaze. A small apologetic smile flashed over his mouth before he stepped back. “What had you wanted to tell me?”
Hannah stared, blinking to try to snip away the strings of the tender, bewitching moment. A pleasurab
le burn singed her skin where his fingers had touched her. What had she planned to tell him?
After a quick inhale the last tie was cut, and she was able at last to form the words she’d forgotten, though her voice seemed as if she spoke from afar. “Stockton has asked me to be his—”
