Then he was beside her in the bed, kissing her deep and long, his bigger body stretching out sinuously next to hers. These kisses were different. Slow and drugging. Not as wild and desperate as before. These kisses were leisurely. As though they had endless time. As though it were only the two of them in the whole of the world. As though they would never have to leave this room.
It was a lovely feeling.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mercy woke before Silas and slipped silently from their bed. Er, his bed. Dash it all—the bed belonged to neither one of them, but they had both enjoyed it together last night . . . and into the wee hours of the morn.
Her cheeks stung as she quietly dressed herself, pulling her hopelessly wrinkled nightgown on over her head. She did not know why her cheeks warmed. She did not think there could be anything left to embarrass her. Not after what had passed between them.
The barest purple tinges of dawn pressed around the edges of the drapes as she crept from his room and returned to the room she shared with her sister. Or rather, the room she should have shared with her sister.
She slipped back into bed with Grace without a sound. It was early yet. She could probably sleep for another hour, but she doubted that was possible. She felt too awake, too alert, her senses still too heightened, her body too alive, her mind too busy with thoughts and questions—the images from last night looping through her head.
She was wrong, however. Within moments of rejoining her sister, she was dead to the world in a dreamless sleep.
She was jarred awake much too soon though.
In no time at all, her sister was shaking her.
“Come, Mercy. We must be on our way. Mr. Masters has already knocked at our door and is downstairs readying our horses. He said he will have the innkeeper pack us some food to eat for the road.”
Groaning, Mercy sat up, rubbing her achy eyes.
“Goodness, you were snoring.”
“I don’t snore,” Mercy denied.
“Oh, yes. You do,” Grace insisted, looking her over critically. “Perhaps you’re ill and that accounts for your snoring. You don’t look well.”
“Thank you,” she replied mockingly, wincing as she adjusted herself on the bed, feeling rather sore. She supposed last night’s activities had been vigorous, but she did not recall feeling this sore the first time they were together.
Grace continued to survey her. “Are you certain you are well?”
Mercy wished they did not have to rush home and they could take their time, but she knew they were under a cloud of urgency. They needed to catch up to Blankenship.
“I am well,” she muttered, scooting from the bed even though she did not feel like freeing herself from its cozy warmth. By some miracle, Silas could manage to be up and about on much too little sleep—perpetually, it seemed. She could manage, too.
She got to her feet and staggered behind the screen to the chamber pot to relieve herself, marveling how she could have gone to feeling so poorly so suddenly. She had felt splendid only hours before.
The answer presented itself instantly. She gasped before she could catch and contain the sound.
“Mercy,” Grace called, her steps drawing nearer to the curtain. “Is everything—oh,” her voice faded as she peeked around the curtain and looked down to where Mercy crouched.
They both stared at the nightgown Mercy had just removed, the fabric wadded in her hands, the blood stains standing out in stark relief against the cream-colored fabric.
“Well, that explains why you look so poorly. Your menses arrived.”
Nodding, Mercy stepped forward and reached for her dressing robe. “It appears that way,” she said tightly, the words thick and heavy in her mouth. She rolled her soiled nightgown into a ball and set it aside.
“Do you need me to fetch you anything?” Grace asked.
“Would you bring me my valise, please?”
Nodding, Grace disappeared, granting her some much-desired privacy.
Mercy swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat, gripping the table upon which a fresh pitcher of water and basin sat.
She was not with child.
She had predicted as much. She had told Silas there would be no baby. And there was not. There was no baby. No tangible bond between them.
Her sister returned, passing her valise to her. Mercy accepted it with a murmur of thanks and quickly set about putting herself to rights.
She was not with child. Silas could leave. He could go. Return to his life.
She would not be forced into an untenable situation as a kept woman, ruined for good society. She could go about life with no threat of scandal hanging over her head.
So why did it feel like her heart was breaking?
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was dark when they arrived home.
Mercy did not think she had seen a sweeter sight than the whitewashed walls of her house in the moonlight, the smoke curling softly from its chimney, a white plume against the night sky. The home fires burned and she had never felt so welcomed. No matter what happened, she would always find comfort here.
Grace slid off her mount and leaned against the horse for a long moment as though her legs needed the support.
Silas dismounted and grasped her sister’s reins, nodding toward the house. “I’ll take care of the horses. Why don’t you go inside and get something to eat?” His gaze shifted to Mercy. “You, too.”
She descended to the ground, watching as her sister made for the house.
Silas reached for her reins and she shook her head. “I have this.”
He held her gaze a moment and then shrugged. Turning, he led his and Grace’s mounts toward the stables. Mercy followed.
The stables smelled of fresh hay and horses. He deposited both horses in empty stalls and then reached for Mercy’s reins, leading her docile mare to a stall as well.
“I’ll rub them down and give them feed. Then I’ll take a fresh mount to Shropshire to speak with Blankenship.”
“This late?” she inquired. “Won’t you come inside and get something to eat first?”
“I would rather see to this. The sooner this is done, the better. I can eat when I get back.”
She nodded, appreciating his dedication to righting things for her family—and yet she had the sense that he wanted to be gone . . . that he was using the trip into Shropshire so that he could be free of her company. Not that he needed that as an excuse anymore. He was free. Free to go forever and never look back. The thing keeping him here was no longer a factor anymore. Only he did not know that. Yet.
“You think I should leave the task until morning?” he asked, clearly sensing her thoughts on the matter of him riding to Shropshire right now.
She winced. “No. I suppose not.” He was right. The quicker he got hold of Blankenship the better, and they both knew that.
She watched him for some moments as he worked on the horses, mesmerized by the play of his strong hands moving and gliding over the horses, remembering how they had felt moving over her only the night before.
She knew what she had to do. She had been thinking about it all day. It had to be done, of course.
She moistened her lips. “I have some news.”
He arched an eyebrow. Doubtlessly, he wondered what news she could have. They had been together all day and the day before.