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NINETEEN
Stan set her on the bed. She lay still for a moment, before she started thrashing about, like a fresh-caught fish. Too late he realised she was trying to unfasten her scandalously small shirt.
"I'll go make you some tea," he mumbled, rushing out of the room.
He knew he'd found the kitchen, because there were plates and cups in a sink, and more in the cupboards above it, but it wasn't like any kitchen he'd ever seen before. In order to boil water, he needed to fire up the stove, but beneath the hotplates was only a cupboard full of pots – no space to light a fire at all. Nor was there wood or coal to burn.
There was a kettle, but it sat on the bench, tethered to the wall, beside a tea tin that contained paper pouches, instead of tea leaves.
He couldn't make tea.
But he had to make tea for Carline, because that was the civilised thing to do, and if he didn't do the right thing, she might not agree to be his bride and that's why he'd stolen her...
He would simply have to go to her and admit he did not know how to make tea in her strange kitchen. Surely she would give him some credit for wanting to do the right thing?
He trudged back to her bedchamber, only to find her curled up under the covers, fast asleep.
So she wouldn't be needing tea any time soon.
He sat down on the chair beneath the window and stared at her. He'd never seen her this close before, and she was more beautiful than he remembered. Her voice was more melodious, too. He'd only heard her speak once before, with her brother, when...
When William Steel said she'd killed him.
Carline had killed him.
Most men he knew would wrap their hands around her neck and choke the life out of her for that. Naught but self defence, really, if she'd tried to kill him.
But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Even if she had killed him, which made him...what? Not an angel. A demon, maybe, for he did not recall having wings and horns before he'd died.
A cunning man would ravish her as she slept, so she'd have no choice but to marry him, or be ruined. Then again, he had no need to even touch her – just his presence, alone with her in her bedchamber, would mean her ruin, should anyone know of it.
But he couldn't bring himself to ravish her, either. Some demon he was – weren't demons supposed to steal maidens' virtue, every chance they got? Or at least torment them?
This was not going at all like he'd imagined. He'd meant to steal her, and then when they were well away from her brother, he'd explain to her how much he loved her and how he meant to marry her. She'd come to love him as he loved her, and willingly invite him into her bed where he'd...well, ravish her.
Maybe that's what she'd been about to do, when she began undressing, only he'd left to make tea and...
God, he was a fool. Now it was too late to ask her, because she was asleep.
He'd just have to sit there and wait for her to wake, then. Nodding to himself, Stan resolved to do just that.
