last time they'd made love? How she straddled him, brushed by only candlelight and his hands, and took his hard shaft inside her?
'Tell me how ill Andy is.' How rough his voice sounded, low and intimate. Aye, he was thinking of it, too. 'Then we'll see what comes next between us.'
He stepped away, and the ache for him low in her belly grew heavier. She craved him, like air and water and sleep. She wanted to make love to this man who'd given her not just a home and a place to belong, but his love. 'Twas all she had wished for, prayed for, dreamed of.
Tessa drew the chair up to the bed and set the burning taper on the nearby stand. Light washed Andy's face, slack and younger looking in sleep. A slight blush pinkened his cheeks. The color was high, near his eyes, and a faint trace of it painted his brow.
'He doesn't feel overly warm, but the fever has begun.'
So, there would be no pleasure this night. She would do all she could to help Andy fight the fever, which like Thankful Bowman, struck more swiftly than with the colonel. 'Twas why she feared it would be all the more dangerous. 'I'll need another candle, Jonah. And wood for the fire.'
A muscle jumped in his jaw. His beautiful shoulders tensed. 'As you wish, my lady.' He kissed her brow, tenderly this time, so infinitely tender.
'Twas going to be a long night.
He heard the outside door close down below, for the kitchen was beneath Andy's room. The fire burned low, in need of more wood, its orange-red glow lashing the fine cut of Tessa's back and the slender shape of her shoulders. The back of her neck, bent over her work, looked vulnerable. Dark curls that had escaped her braid gathered there, ebony silk against creamy satin.
'What do you need from the kitchen?'
'I could use more clean dish towels.'
'I'll be right back.' He pressed a kiss to her forehead. A warm feeling beat in his chest as he stepped away. She returned to her work, checking the poultice smeared on Andy's chest.
The hallway was cool, the parlor damp and cold. Spring came stubbornly this year, holding back its warmth. 'Thomas, is that you?'
'Aye. I've brought in more wood.'
Jonah studied his brother, face lined and brow furrowed, and recognized that dark brooding look. 'I thought you had gone to bed.'
'Andy is my brother, too.' Thomas knelt before the wood box, instead of nosily dumping his armload, and quietly filled the copper tub stick by stick.
'You looked troubled. Is it Andy? The fever is a serious one.' Jonah bent to help.
'Aye, Andy's illness does worry me, but something else also troubles me.' He set the last chunk of maple into the box, then dusted the slivers of wood, bark, and moss from his gloves and jacket. 'Do you know what Tessa did today?'
'She did many things.' Jonah turned to sort through the shelves beneath the work counter.
'She thanked me.'
'Thanked you?' He spied the towels and grabbed a couple. 'Pray, tell me 'tisn't so! It must have tortured you. What did you do to deserve such treatment?'
'Offered to take medicine to Mistress Briers for her, because of the storm.' Thomas walked to the window just as lightning split the sky, flashing behind the curtain. Thunder rolled overhead, angry and ear splitting. 'But that wasn't all she thanked me for. She's grateful for how well we treat her. For how I treat her.'
'So, you feel guilty, is that it? Do you feel bad for wagering Andy five pounds over my choice in a wife?'
'Do not tease, brother. I'm not proud of myself. I only meant to jest. Why, Tessa is an honest woman, but there isn't one man in all of Connecticut Colony who could see the Tessa Bradford you married. I have come to like her, and I respect her for what she does.'
'As do I.'
'She brought our father back to us, when the surgeon had no hope. And now Andy is ill, and she is up there right now at his side, no matter that 'tis midnight and she's had little sleep to call her own.'
'You're telling me what I already know.'
Lightning flashed, thunder rattled the windowpanes. Thomas hefted the curtain away from the glass and stared out at the black sheets of rain. 'She thinks we treat her well, and my conscience bothers me. How it bothers me. But what troubles me more is that my brother, the great heroic Major Hunter, reported to save innocent colonists from marauding Indians, is using this good-hearted woman.'
'I am
'Then what do you call it? You should have hired a nurse, Jonah. Not married that poor woman. She thinks you love her,' Thomas scolded over the raging thunder.
'I do happen to care about her.' Jonah tossed down the towels to clench his hands. 'She's my wife, and none of your concern.'
'What goes on in front of my nose is my concern.' Thomas spun from the window, and a single bayberry candle illuminated the fight in his eyes. 'She has done naught but care for every member in this family since she arrived here. Aye, and she even cares for a penniless servant. She believes you love her, Jonah, and new dresses and decent treatment do not excuse how you lie to her and deceive her. She thinks she has your heart.'
'Aye, but how can I say such a thing to her?' Troubled, Jonah faced the window, studying the night-black windowpanes and his own reflection within. 'It would hurt her terribly, and that is why she can't know. I may have chosen to marry her because she could take care of Father, but that's not why I want her to stay. I-'
Something clattered to the floor behind him. A silence settled on the room. Not even the thunder above dared to intrude. Jonah felt her presence like a touch to his back, like a mark on his conscience.
'Look how clumsy I am.' She knelt to the floor, retrieving the fallen bowl. She turned away so that the nighttime shadows cloaked her face. Her hands worked quickly. 'Jonah, you took so long for the towels. Tis time to take the paste off Andy's chest.'
Her hands shook as she set the bowl on the counter.
Damn his stupid tongue. 'Tessa.' He stepped forward.
She sidestepped. 'I need only a bit of wash water.' She poured water from the lukewarm kettle into her shallow bowl. Her voice sounded thick with unshed tears. 'Whilst there is still no fever, 'tis best to be cautious.'
'Tessa, you misunderstand. I did not mean those words the way they sounded.' He had only wanted to keep her from hurting, to protect her caring heart.
Tessa was a person, his wife, with feelings deep and true, and he had been wrong to think an unwanted spinster who worked for a roof over her head would be merely glad to live in a big house and have a life of ease. She had dreams and needs and a heart large enough to spend her days and nights caring for those in the village who were ill or dying. Many accepted her help only to tease her or judge her when it suited, and all without payment, without reward.
She was a woman who had offered to care for his dying father out of gratitude, out of a kindness Father had shown to her mother many years ago.
Those were not sensible actions, but deeds of a deeply feeling heart.
'Tessa, let me explain.' He could make this right, he knew he could. He was not using her. Not for his pleasures in bed, not as a nurse for his family. Tessa was his wife and he was both proud and pleased with her. He would give her more-his whole heart-if he had it to give.
But she scooped up the towels and the basin and hurried off, her gait efficient and sensible.
'I don't think she will forgive you,' Thomas predicted.
As if in agreement, lightning split the shadowed light between them and thunder shattered the night.
Her hands trembled as she cleaned the dried mash of onions and herbs from Andy's chest. He woke with a murmur, then went back to sleep. Not yet sick, but a fever on the way. She dried his chest and covered him well. She could do no more for now.
