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Lips brushed against hers, at first with the lightest of touches, then becoming more insistent. Something rigid pressed against her stomach. Was there something between them? Her mind clawed its way to consciousness while her body fought to remain in the lovely, dreamlike state, reluctant to forgo the euphoric sensation enveloping her.
She opened her eyes. Timothy’s face pressed against hers in a deep, sensual kiss. This particular dream was unnervingly real.
A rooster crowed, and sunlight filtered through the curtains. In one horrific moment of clarity, she realized she was no longer dreaming.
With a sound shove, she pushed Timothy away and bolted upright. “What are you doing!?”
The devilish expression on his face appeared not at all contrite. “Kissing you.”
For his honest answer, he received a blistering slap. “You promised!”
He sat up and rubbed his cheek. “Ow, that stings. What precisely did I promise?”
“To be a gentleman.”
“You asked me to kiss you. As a gentleman, I simply obeyed your command.”
She scrambled from the bed, pulling the counterpane with her and clutching it to her breast. “And how did I get under the covers?”
She paced in a circle around the room, muttering more to herself than to him. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” She glanced over and pointed at the strange bulge rising from his breeches. “Andwhatisthat?”
He gazed down. “I can’t help what my body does. It’s morning, and you were especially enticing.”
Her throat tightened as the magnitude of the situation slammed into her. What if his condition was theanything? “Am I . . . will I . . .?”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
She crept a few steps closer and lowered her voice to a whisper, lest even the dust motes overhear the frightening news. “Am I with child?”
Timothy threw himself back onto the bed and ran a hand across his face. “God save me from uneducated women.”
CHAPTER 7—THE TANGLED WEB WE WEAVE
Timothy peeked through the gap in his fingers, worried Emma would throw a heavy object at his head. Although the boot she’d thrown at him the night before had missed him, it had been close, and the heel could have done serious damage had it struck him.
Emma glared down at him. “Well, am I?”
“No. Stop worrying. But please have your mother explain things to you in a little more detail before you marry your Mr. Netherborne. You’ll be doing yourself—and Mr. Netherborne—a favor.”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and, placing a minimum amount of weight on his injured ankle, stood. Thankfully, the swelling and pain had subsided.
Gingerly he made his way to the window and threw back the curtains. Bright sunlight flooded the room. “It appears the storm had ended. I need to check on the horse.”
Her eyes widened. "Will you . . . return?”
“Of course. I can take you home or wherever you wish.”
Color drained from her face. “To preserve our reputations, perhaps it would be best that you not take me all the way. If we go toward town, we could stop outside, and I could travel the rest of the way on foot.”
“Very well.” He tucked the crutch under his arm, hobbled from the room, and closed the door behind him.
After sliding his boots on, thankfully without too much trouble, he donned his coat, scarf, and hat. Snow had piled outside, and he braced his shoulder against the wooden door, giving a sound shove. Wind had blown drifts against the house, but there was less accumulation farther out. Light from the clear blue sky reflected off the white blanket before him, half blinding him. He raised his hand to shield his eyes. Thank goodness clouds no longer threatened to add to the remnants of the snowstorm.
He inched his way to the ramshackle stables where his horse had, hopefully, survived the night. A soft whinny greeted him as he approached, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Grateful the dull ache in his ankle had subsided to a mere twinge, he placed the crutch aside and tended to the horse, forking up a bit of hay left in the corner.
“There’s a good man,” Timothy said, brushing the horse’s brown coat. “We’ll be back on our way in no time. There will be a fine reward of oats and maybe an apple for you when we reach the nearest inn.”
With the horse contentedly munching on the hay, Timothy set about hoping to find eggs from any chickens that had escaped Emma’s clutches. He laughed to himself, remembering the sight of her and her grin of victory as she held the chicken aloft in triumph.
