Jonah's Bride

was the right one.

Besides, she'd worked harder making soups and teas and gruel for Father, changing his sheets, washing him, fearing over his fever, and going without sleep than all the women combined with their breads and puddings and pastries.

Duty. He repeated the word until he felt fortified.

Tears shimmered in her eyes. He realized she'd been staring at him silent for an entire minute. Silent. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps the problem with Tessa Bradford was that she was unhappy and overworked. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

Even if he felt damn awkward, he held out the package. The cloak he offered her earlier. 'I want you to have this.'

Her lower lip trembled. 'Why are you teasing me like this?'

'What?' Jonah shook his head. Something wasn't working properly in his brain. He thought she'd said-'Teasing you?'

Her soft face crumpled, and she looked so heartbroken he had no idea what to do-or what he'd done.

'You.' Tears spilled down her cheeks. 'You think this is funny? That you can play a joke like this?'

She thought this was a joke? 'Tessa, I-'

'You are a heartless, cruel cad, Jonah Hunter, and I will hate you to the end of my days.' She swiped at those tears, but they came faster now. 'You know darn well what my fate is. Do you think I want to marry Horace? Don't you think I'm terrified? How dare you-'

A sob wracked her slim body, shaking her like a young tree in the wind.

Jonah stared down at the carefully wrapped cloak, uncertain what he'd done to make her think- Where was she going?

He looked up to see the flap of her skirts and the stiff set of her narrow back. Anger punctuated her fast steps, and he could tell she was still swiping at her tears.

Jonah took off after her, dashing across uneven ground. 'Tessa. Wait a minute.'

She broke into a run.

Damn, she was fast, too. He raced after her. Cold air beat at his face. Confusion pulsed through him. He only knew he'd hurt her. She thought he'd been teasing her.

'Tessa.' His free hand closed around her elbow.

'Leave me alone. You've had your fun.' A sob twisted her last word, leaving him feeling big and foolish and helpless.

Damn, just what he didn't expect from her.

'Tessa.' He pulled her to a stop, swung her around to face him. 'Listen to me.'

Tears silvered her eyes. Her lower lip quivered. Another sob broke through her.

'Tessa, I'm sorry.' Damn it, he didn't know what to do. He was used to working with soldiers, and they sure as hell didn't cry. She looked vulnerable, felt so small. His entire hand fit easily around her elbow.

'I shall never forgive you.' Another wobbly sob.

Contrite. Confused. Hell, he wasn't handling this the right way. 'Tessa, I hope-'

He stopped. She was crying and he didn't know what to do, how to make her stop. Tears kept spilling down her face, one after another, silent and sorrowful.

It was so simple to reach out and brush at those tears with his fingertips. More tears came, but this time her gaze met his, so full of hurt he didn't know what to say.

Propose to her. Remember your duty. Father. Procreation.

At least he liked the prospect of procreating with her. His groin ached at the thought of her in his bed, those dark tangles of curls fanning across his pillow and clutched in his hands as she surrendered her body to him.

'I want to marry you.'

She blinked, spilling more tears. 'You d-don't.' She sniffed, and even that seemed vulnerable. 'Stop saying that'

She didn't believe him. Confused, he stared down at her, his heart pounding like Indian war drums. At least he knew she didn't covet his possessions, didn't want him for his money. 'Twas a good start.

'Tessa.' He released his hold on her and began unwrapping the bundle he carried. The thinning daylight revealed the length of fine folded wool.

'I have to go,' she whispered. 'I have supper to prepare for Grandfather's family.'

'Don't go.' He meant it as an order, but it came out like a request. He shook out the cloak.

She drew in a shaky breath. 'I'll be back to tend your father. I shouldn't be gone more than two hours.'

She wasn't ever going to slave for that ungrateful family again. Jonah laid the cloak across her thin shoulders, so close he could smell the faint scent of wild roses in her hair. His guts clenched. Blood drummed through unmentionable parts of his body.

'You said a cloak this fine should go to my wife, the wife I've come home to marry.' She deserved a little kindness. He'd hurt her feelings. Had he been so thoughtless to her? Shame filled him. He'd proposed, and she was so unsure of him she mistakenly believed he would hurt her cruelly. Now, what did she believe?

'I can't be your wife, Jonah.' Another sniff. More tears vibrating in her eyes, so dark and drawing he could not look away.

'Forget Horace Walling. You will not be marrying him.' '

When he expected a smile, maybe a thank you and her undying gratitude for saving her from such a fate, Tessa shrugged off the cloak. Her slim fingers held the garment as if it were made of pure gold.

Her chin went up. Her entire body stiffened. 'Why would you want to marry me?'

'Well, I-' Duty. He stopped before the explanation passed his lips. He didn't need to explain. She'd lived a lifetime of duty caring for her mother and earning her keep with relatives who didn't want her. He knew without asking she would care for his father with the same sense of duty.

Besides, she was wise enough to know, unlike those foolish young girls, that marriage was an agreement. A contract. A simple physical coexistence.

Her gaze studied him with pointed intelligence, searching his eyes and his face. Then her face changed. A light warmed her eyes, unlike anything he'd ever seen. A sweetness that drew him, made him feel as if he'd done the right thing after all.

'You really want to marry me.'

So, she finally understood. Jonah's heart warmed. He reached out and took the cloak from her hands. Without a word, he held it out and she slipped into it, the fine wool curling over her shoulders as if she were made for it.

'What you're saying is that you love me.' A question wrinkled her brow, but the brightness in her eyes doubled. A warmth just for him that held him spellbound.

'Love you?' he repeated.

Another tear rolled down her cheek. 'Jonah, I never thought'

He didn't want to deceive her. He didn't want to use her. Jonah rubbed his brow, uncertain what to do next. How did he explain he would never love a woman, never give over the control of his heart the way his father had?

'I swore to myself long ago,' she began, head down, shimmering black curls hiding her face, 'when my mother suffered so married to my stepfather, that if it were in my power, I would only marry for love.'

Love. There was that word again. That empty word that meant a person thought they could use you. Romantic love was about power and control. And love was little different than the battlefield, casualties and fighting and all.

Jonah didn't want love. He wanted peaceable coexistence.

He opened his mouth, but he knew any explanation would bring back those tears of hurt. He could not do that to her, no matter his personal opinion of Tessa Bradford, because she cared so much for his father.

She lifted her face and he could see all the hope in those eyes and all the uncertainty. Her voice sounded brave when she whispered, 'I want to marry you.'

Chapter Eight