'Aye. I just need to grab my cloak downstairs.'
'Then go on down. I will follow with the trunk.' He somehow molded his big body against the wall so she could pass.
'You did not need to come. I could have managed-'
'You are family now. The Hunters help their own.' His words were cold, but his dark gaze was kind when he looked at her. Then he flicked his head upward to stare harshly at Violet.
'Mr. Hunter.' Violet primped her lustrous curls with one soft hand. 'How magnificent to have such an esteemed member of the community in our very own house.'
' 'Tis a dubious honor at best.'
Violet's flirting sagged, and she blinked several times, her jaw slackening.
Turning to climb down the rickety ladder, Tessa tried to hide her smile. She hurried out of Violet's way, who was barreling down after her, her anger at Thomas' insult barely disguised.
'Tessa.' A deep bass welcomed from the parlor, proving Violet wrong.
'Jonah.' He'd come. Every muscle in her body tensed. The air caught sideways in her throat.
He stood smack in the middle of the room, broad shoulders set, booted feet braced apart. Untamed black hair, windblown and lashed by the rain, framed his strong cut face. A black waistcoat draped his solidly planed chest, and dark breeches hugged his well-muscled thighs.
Fire licked to life inside Tessa's chest. Why was it this man who sent shivers down her spine and heat through her veins? 'I did not think to see you before the ceremony.'
'Surprise.' His gaze raked hers boldly and a brazen grin stretched his mouth, not full-fledged, but just a hint of one, and she had no doubt he was remembering how he'd kissed her and caressed her breasts in the faint light of the moon.
She tingled deep inside at the memory, at the knowledge that he was thinking of it too. And grinning.
'Your grandfather and I have come to an agreement concerning your dowry.'
'I didn't know you were expecting one.' She flashed her gaze to Grandfather, who stood grave and dour-faced near the parlor's crackling hearth. 'Surely there is not much to offer…'
Charity made a gasping sound in the corner, where Violet now huddled beside her. 'A much-used bride is worth naught, I can tell you.'
A much-used bride. Tessa closed her eyes, willing down the anger before it erupted. Let them think what they wanted. She knew the truth. And so did Jonah. She was a virgin still, yet her stepgrandmother's words did pierce like a well-sharpened edge of a blade.
'I am well enough satisfied,' Grandfather grunted, arms crossed over his chest. Despite his unhappy expression, she saw the glint of greed in his eyes, a mostly veiled look of contentment. 'All I want is for you to get out of my house before your reckless ways and evil tongue tarnish our good family's name for eternity.'
'Amen to that.' Charity's shrill voice rang with contempt. 'We have Violet's reputation to think of. How many eligible bachelors have refused even to consider her because she is related to you?'
Tessa's stomach roiled at Charity and Violet's accusing gazes. Did they blame her because Jonah did not propose to Violet? She suspected they did.
'Now, Mistress Bradford, a gentle tongue is more becoming than a forked one.' Jonah purred the insult so that it sounded less offensive, but all the more effective.
Charity's mouth snapped shut with a click of teeth.
Tessa's chest filled as he extended his hand to her, palm up, powerful and yet infinitely tender. His big fingers curled around hers and gently guided her close to him, not touching, but close enough so that she could smell the wondrous woodland scent of him and see the dark flecks of black in his spellbinding eyes. Anger sizzled there, controlled but definite.
'Come, the good reverend will be at our house in one hour.'
'What? You're not marrying in the meetinghouse?' Charity sounded appalled.
'Nay, my father is too ill to leave his bed, and he wishes to see the ceremony.' With a half-grin, half-frown shaping his face, he stalked to the front door.
Thomas clomped down the narrow staircase from the second story, after apparently successfully negotiating the attic ladder, her small trunk balanced easily on one capable shoulder.
Jonah jerked open the door and held it for her. She snatched her cloak from the peg, and her heart soared at the tug of his hands on the garment, helping her into it. The way he treated her in front of her family made her want to run out into the yard and shriek for joy.
She was finally rid of those people who had caused her an unrelenting unhappiness, who had been so cruel to her mother.
And yet, as Jonah followed her out into the cold rain and the mess of mud and melting snow, she had to wonder. Was she trading one kind of unhappiness for another?
She'd vowed long ago only to marry for love, and even then always to keep her independence, for she would never forget her mother's unhappiness or the lessons of her death.
As Jonah placed both big hands at her waist to boost her up into his wagon, she could not meet his gaze, could not bear to look at his handsome face. Her body reacted to his touch, swift and hard, and heat spilled into her veins and spread through her abdomen.
She was making a grave mistake. She knew it with an unerring certainty as she settled her skirts on the seat. And yet there was no mistaking how Jonah cared for her.
Love you, he'd said, low and barely audible, and his remembered words melted her heart.
Panic mounted with each step of the horse. When he arrived home, they would marry, he and Tessa. Marry. Damn, how that set his heart a-beating. He fought the urge to toss down the reins and run.
Be reasonable, he told himself. Surely this is a logical reaction to impending matrimony. All men must feel the same way, like a coward, wanting to flee after realizing the permanency of such an act.
Tessa sat beside him, her face bowed against the rain. He could see little of it for the brim of her old hat, but the tight curve of her clenched jaw told him she was having fears too.
He didn't fool himself. He'd feel this way about marrying any female. Love was a ridiculous emotion, one that could not exist in a heart lost long ago on a bloody battlefield. He had seen the true nature of life, of death and brutality, and he ought to take comfort that his bride was no green girl, head full of silly and romantic notions. Tessa was a woman of duty.
Aye, there was a small squeeze to his heart when he looked at her. Thomas had told him of the small chamber she lived in, tucked beneath the roof, as cold and damp as a chicken hut, barely large enough to hold a small pallet and her old trunk. The poor woman had no real bed.
The burning anger in his chest flickered to life again. Ely was a squinty-eyed weasel. And the money Jonah had handed over to appease both him and Horace Walling made him sick inside. Not at the loss of such a substantial chunk of coin, but because the old man had acted as if Tessa was a cow to be sold.
The house loomed up ahead, a gray shape in the gloom of the unrelenting rain. 'Are you thinking of running off the minute I stop this wagon?'
She nodded, turning just enough toward him so that he could see the luminous depth of her eyes, filled with worry, pinched with fear. 'Aye. It did cross my mind.'
'Mine, too.' It comforted him that she was as uncertain as he. That showed she had sense, that he had not judged wrongly. She knew marriage was duty, not romance for starry-eyed lovers. 'I told Father the news this morning when he asked why you hadn't come to tend him.'
'Jonah, I should have come.'
' 'Twas best this way. I had time alone with him, as I've been wanting, and you needed to pack. You shall never return to that household again.'
Something bright and wondrous gleamed in Tessa's eyes, so compelling he could not look away. 'Thank you, Jonah. You don't know what that means to me.'
Complaints and heartache, even anger, went unspoken. Rain tapped steadily between them, the sound multiplied a thousand times across the yard as Jonah halted the wagon. One of the horses exhaled loudly, mayhap protesting the weather.
'Here we are.' Jonah handed the reins to his brother, who had already agreed to tend to the horses so that he
