She laughed deliciously. “Of course, mostly due to you ain’t being one, but maybe you need to be, to be taken care of. Or maybe you need a wife to watch over you.”
That comment struck a nerve inside him, one that irritated him, as if it was something he was avoiding. “Now, see here, missy.”
He tried to rise, all intention to take her in his arms…
His eyes popped open at the sound of the door slam. It was dark in the room, the glow of the embers in the fireplace barely visible. Blinking hard, trying to focus, he sat up when a pain sliced into his foot. Grimacing, he berated himself for forgetting his injury. That almost made him laugh. As if he’d forgotten. His thinking was muddled.
The door propped open slowly and he discerned a cloaked form sliding in. Ada. She went straight to the pegs on the wall and hung her bonnet and cloak. She hadn’t noticed him, so he took the time to drink her in, focusing on her and not his throbbing injury. She yanked a hairpin out of the coiled bun at the nape of her neck and a cascade of bronze locks fell down her back. In the minor glow from the embers, the strands shimmered.
Hunger slammed into him hard, snaking down to his manhood, which twitched at the mere thought. When she poured herself a glass of wine from the decanter on the bureau, his gaze was glued to her every movement. Her downing it, all at once, like a man would do, she dipped her head back making her mane loosen and it was so inviting. The vision of her leaning back, the motion of her swallowing, made his mouth go dry. In fact, it distracted him so, he didn’t catch himself from knocking over the cane that he had propped next to the bed. It crashed to the floor.
He leapt to try to catch it right as he saw her snap her head around in his direction. It stopped him in his tracks, halfway off the bed.
“Good evening,” he drawled, trying to give her a half a grin.
She stood perfectly still, the glare she shot him was hot. Unsure what he’d done this time, he determined she was never going to like him. She saw him as the enemy, and from the snarl she gave him over slavery, she most likely fell into that abolitionist trap. Even now, he could see how her shoulders were locked, and the twitch in her jawline. She was ready to fight and this time, he had no clue as to why.
“Evening.”
The reply to his salutation was cut short on purpose. Whatever had riled her didn’t dissipate. She grabbed a carpetbag and started throwing clothes into it.
“Are we going somewhere?” The moment the question came out, he expected her to throw something at him and he braced.
Ada stopped her mad packing, her hand frozen over the bag’s opening with a rolled pair of stockings clutched in her fingers. Inside her head, she still debated her line of action. Will had left her without much choice, unless she chose to dig herself out of this mess.
In that second, she decided. She would turn this bastard in to the authorities. The mere thought settled part of her nerves yet she couldn’t look at him. If he wasn’t so handsome, it’d be so much easier, she thought.
“We aren’t going anywhere.” She went back to packing.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him slowly slide off the mattress—a comfort she’d given to her ‘husband’, leaving her with the settee. Another wave of anger rolled through her. Slowly he stood, but she chose to ignore him.
Crash!
She spun around. The man was on the floor, spitting out curse words as he rolled in pain.
“What did you just do to yourself?” she asked, racing to his side.
“What the hell do you care? Damn!”
Ada bit her bottom lip, ignoring his cursing. She went to the table, got her medical bag, and placed it on the bedside table. Offering her hand, she said, “Come on. Let’s get you off that floor.”
He took her hand and she felt a tug, as if he wanted her to fall as well, but the pressure stopped immediately. She looked at him, a frown on her brow when she tried to pull him up, only to have him suddenly weigh like a horse she couldn’t budge.
“Here,” she handed him the cane that had fallen.
It took a minute for him to adjust his weight to the cane for her to help get him upright and back on the bed. She noticed he favored the wounded foot.
“Would you care to tell me what happened?”
This time, he only stared. Rude Southerner!
“I might, if you explain why you’re planning on leaving me.”
That caught her off guard. Refusing to show him her surprise, she went on with her exam as if he hadn’t spoken. She pushed the drawer legging up. The injured ankle and heel were swollen, red and hot to the touch.
“Thought I told you to rest today, not go drilling.” She gave him an attempted smile, prodding his military background, drowning her concern in her tone. If the wound was inflamed due to infection, she feared he might lose it. Amputation was never good in the first place, let alone this long after the initial shock. She cringed inwardly, knowing survival, especially at this point, dropped dramatically from the seventy percent chance of recovery if they’d done it right away. No, she was determined to give him a chance to keep the appendage, even if that meant keeping him with her longer than she’d hoped for.
His reply didn’t return the favor. “I tried that, but it’s dull to boring here. So I tested out walking on it again, though this time, without the boot. Found
