Her Rags-to-Riches Christmas by Laura Martin

Author:Laura Martin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2019-09-05T19:04:38+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

George felt his whole body tense as Alice rubbed against him. They were nearly in Sydney now, the road was growing busier despite the heat of the day and there was plenty that should be able to distract him, but all he could think of was the woman next to him.

He’d seen how she had watched him as he swam, seen the naked desire in her eyes and wished he could sweep her from the bank and into the lake. He would strip off every item of her clothing until she was naked under the water, then lift her on to the shore to dry in the sunshine.

His mind had been imagining similar the entire journey. Two hours of wonderful torture, of images of things that could never be, but that he wanted so much. A kiss, a touch, a night of pleasure.

Glancing at her, he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the glorious images that had plagued him the past couple of hours. For a moment he wondered about how she looked at him. The affection he saw growing in her eyes day by day and the attraction, the desire. It was at odds with her determination not to be touched by a man again. He knew the memories of what she’d endured on the transport ship and since arriving in Australia would torment her for a long time to come, but he wondered if she was realising not all men were the same. Not all men would abuse their power and their strength. And if she was, what did that mean for him?

George was distracted from his thoughts by a shout from somewhere to his left, and a smile sprang to his lips as he saw Ben Crawford cantering towards them on horseback, his shirt billowing out behind him. Following at a more sedate pace was his wife, Francesca—a woman George had grown to respect and like during their stay in London.

‘Fitzgerald,’ Crawford called, leaning down and clapping him on the back when he reached the cart. ‘And Miss Alice.’

George felt the warmth he always did when he was with Crawford or Robertson.

‘Living the life of a simple farmer, I see,’ Crawford said, motioning to the cart.

‘Aye. Simple folk, simple times, simple cart,’ Fitzgerald said, putting on his best country accent.

Bowing as best he could from his position on the cart, he greeted Francesca.

‘Mrs Crawford, it is a pleasure to see you again.’

She waved away his formality, instead leaning down from horseback and kissing him on the cheek. ‘I’m so happy to see you again,’ she said, her eyes shining. ‘And you must call me Francesca, everyone does.’

She looked very different from the poised and formal widow of a viscount he’d known in London. Her eyes shone with happiness and there was a healthy glow on her cheeks and a hint of a tan on her arms. Her dress skimmed out over the swelling of her belly and one of her hands rested protectively on the bump.

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