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Hands still hovering over his abdomen, she looked up, the striking green of her eyes deepening to a dark forest of longing.
The arm he’d raised for her to continue the wrapping, he lowered, circling it around her back to hold her against him. A thrill of pleasure sparked to life as her breath caught and her neck corded.
Gaze darting to his, Hannah’s dainty hands splayed across the bandage over his abdomen, the cold tips of her fingers brushing his skin and setting fire to his chest.
His mind struggled to work, the pulse of his heart stealing all the function his body could muster. Swallowing, he leaned forward for a bandage, then turned to dip it in a nearby pitcher.
“Let me clean your face.”
Hannah’s throat bobbed, but she didn’t protest—didn’t speak, hardly even took a breath, for her chest was almost still.
Cupping her chin in one hand, he dotted gently beneath her nose and around her mouth. The flow had stopped, thank the Lord. When all the red had been dabbed away, he went to one last place above her lip, and the soft, warm breath of her nose tickled his fingers. Joseph froze, cloth hovering just above her mouth. Her eyes, vast fields of green, were round and laced with a desire his soul had yearned to feel from her for so long.
He lowered his hand and rested the cloth at his side. Unable to stop his gaze from dropping to her freshly cleaned and slightly parted lips, he felt his head drooping closer. Smoothing his hand from her chin and over her ear, he cupped the back of her head—wishing, wanting, hoping to be taken exactly where he knew he ought never to go.
* * *
Mercy.
Hannah stared up, Joseph’s hooded eyes studying the shape of her mouth. They shouldn’t be here like this. Any moment Stockton could enter, and if he saw them…
She tried to move, tried to find the strength to pull away, but her frame was intoxicated with the feel of him, utterly heedless of the tiny timorous warning that chimed somewhere in the back of her mind. Ten years she had thought of him, longed to tell him all she’d endured, prayed for the chance to see him again despite the endless preaching of such folly. Her father’s words tried to save her. He told me, Hannah. He’s never loved you.
A dozen times in the next fleeting seconds she reminded herself of what she knew. But what she knew of the past and what held her helpless in his arms collided, raining over her like tiny flecks of gold. From the way his firm chest pumped, the way his hooded eyes roamed her face and his fingers rubbed through her hair—it could not mean nothing.
His head inclined, slightly at first, his body moving closer to hers. Her lungs raced, trying to meet the matchless pace of her heart. She must move away. Yet she could not. Her body was not her own. ’Twas owned by something far more powerful. A small kiss would hurt naught. Perhaps it would prove away the girlish imaginings she’d unwisely harbored for so long. Hannah closed her eyes, willing the rest of her to move away from the edge of the black cavern, despite the promise that the bottom was near and soft.
Calloused but tender, a finger curled around her chin and nudged her face upward. Slowly she opened her eyes, and her gaze married with his, her heart leaping into the beautiful darkness. His hands at her cheeks, Joseph’s nose dusted against hers, tempting her face to rise ever so slightly and bring her lips closer to his. She blinked her eyes shut, savoring the fresh scent and warm feel of his soft breath as his lips brushed over hers.
He whispered her name, and she raised a hand to his stubbled jaw, when the door burst open. She jumped back with a gasp and whirled toward the parlor.
“Miss Young? Are you here?”
Stockton.
Hannah’s body went rigid. Had they been seen? Joseph’s mouth was partway open, his eyes still upon her.
“Miss Young?”
Strong footsteps beat across the parlor floor and stopped hard when Stockton’s frame shadowed the doorway of the kitchen.
In an instant Stockton’s face flared the same shade of crimson as his coat. “Dear God, what’s happened?” His gaze flew from her face to Joseph and the bandage around his waist. The last measure of ease fled his expression, and his shoulders went back. “Who has done this?”
Hannah’s mouth was stuck open, no words forming.
Joseph answered, pulling his torn shirt back over his head. “She was attacked on the road.”
Stockton’s expression flashed white before an even deeper shade of red consumed his face. “Who?”
“Stockton!” Greene burst into the parlor, hobbling. “Arrest that man!”
The major pivoted, looking back and forth between the two men whose glares reached across the room, fighting already across the distance.
“I have a feeling I won’t get an accurate report from you, Lieutenant.” He turned to Hannah, strained eyes studying the wound on her face. “What happened, my dear?”
Her fingers quivered. Knitting them tight at her middle, she answered in truth. “I was on the road when…” Tempted to lower her gaze, she slayed the weakness, meeting her assailant’s venomous gaze as she condemned him. “When I was assaulted by Lieutenant Greene and another solider.”
“What?” Stockton spun, his coat flying on the air as he moved. “How dare you!”
