Practical Widow to Passionate Mistress Read Online Free PDF Page A

open the door.’ So she had decided on sweet reason, had she? Ross grimaced. He was not used to having a woman underfoot, certainly not a halfway respectable one. The women in his life were for one purpose only, were paid well enough for that and then left.
    His body stirred at the thought of those purposes. No need to frighten the poor woman with the evidence of what she was sharing a cabin with, although she did not seem alarmed by the sight of him. He limped back, got on to the bunk under the sheet and reached out to pull the wedge out of the latch.
    ‘You’ve been out of bed,’ she accused the moment she was inside, balancing a precarious assortment of objects. For some reason the bossiness amused him. A bottle fell on to the bunk and Ross scooped it up: claret.
    Mrs Halgate put down a small pail with a lid, a bundle that looked loaf-shaped, a flagon and two beakers, then turned and twitched the bottle out of his lax grasp while he studied the seal. Perhaps bossiness was not so amusing. ‘Tomorrow, if you have no fever. Ale now, and stew and bread. You deserve to have a fever,’ she added, peering at him. ‘I told you to stay in bed.’
    ‘I needed to shave.’ She continued to stare, probably wondering if he looked any better without stubble or perhaps she thought she could cow him into apologising. Hah! Still, it gave him a chance to study her. Oval face, tanned, with freckles across her nose that should send any lady into despair. Dark brows and lashes—darker that the heavy plait of medium brown hair that lay across her shoulder or the sun-lightened curls that softened her forehead. A firm, determined mouth that betrayed strong will and courage. Candid blue-grey eyes that seemed to reflect her changing mood. A lance of lust had him hardening all over again.
    ‘Where did the hot water come from? And where has the dirty water I used gone?’
    ‘I have hired a cabin boy. His name is Johnny, I’mpaying him three pence a day and don’t be cozened out of any more.’
    ‘I could have done all that.’ She dished up the food, managing it neatly in the confined space. There was a vertical line furrowed between her brows and she glanced again at the pile of worn shirts.
    ‘Just because I do not choose to spend my money on linen does not mean I cannot afford to pay a servant,’ he observed, seeing the colour touch her cheeks when she realised her thoughts had been so obvious. She was used to making ends meet, it seemed.
    ‘I beg your pardon.’
    ‘And it ill befits the wife of a major to be carrying the slops,’ he added, interested to see if he could provoke her.
    ‘Yes, of course,’ she agreed gravely. ‘We must preserve your dignity at all costs. James was a mere lieutenant, so I must be more aware of your status.’
    Ouch. That was a nasty dig. ‘I was thinking more of yours, Mrs Brandon ,’ Ross said, then remembered that if she was his wife, she would not be plain Mrs at all. He really was going to have to get used to the title and life awaiting him in England, now it appeared that Fate was not going to drown him in the Gironde or allow a French sniper to kill him. He could stop worrying about whether his leg was ever going to work properly again: he wasn’t going back to the army, however much he might try to forget the fact.
    The darkness deepened in the major’s eyes, turning them black. Best not to answer back, perhaps. Just because he had not savaged her with his tongue or the back of his hand yet did not mean he was not capable of either. There was something beyond his wound thatwas troubling him and whatever it was, it was hurting him deeply. And in her experience men who were hurt, in body or mind, were more than likely to lash out.
    Was it as simple as the fact that he would no longer be fit enough to serve in the Rifle Brigade and had lost his occupation? But he was a gentleman, however impossible it was to imagine him in a London drawing room. Did he need the employment?
    Speculation was