The Stonemason and the Lady by Elizabeth McGlone

Author:Elizabeth McGlone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: pregnancy, historical fiction, historical romance, regency, georgian

They left the brickyard, the heat and noise of the afternoon gradually fading, replaced by a salt tinged breeze that lashed against their faces. The weather had shifted. Gray clouds, heavy with the promise of rain, rolled across the horizon.

Instead of following the road south back to Boston, Tom turned toward a shaded path that led into a thick stand of pine trees edging the water. The salt smell intensified until, like the piercing of heavy clouds by the sun, they broke through the trees onto a deserted cove. Thick white sand stretched to the water, bisected by deep rivulets where the tide made its way back to the sea.

The horse was tied beneath a tree where it could graze among the tall grasses. After helping Katie down from the cart, Tom took her hand and led her to the water where a pine tree had fallen, its leaves only memories cherished by a dry husk. He motioned at the trunk, where a natural depression formed a seat in the smooth driftwood.

“I must wash,” he said. “Wait here, I-”

“Let me do that,” Katie said, delighted that there was something she could help with. David’s mother had been one of the washerwomen at Price Hall, and Katie had spent lovely afternoons there with her hands immersed in kettles filled with soapy water. “Give me your shirt.”

There was a sweet graveness to Tom’s expression while he unlaced his shirt. When the neck was loosened, he reached behind and pulled the back collar over his head. The muscles of his shoulders bunched and then smoothed, and Tom emerged bare chested, hands holding the shirt like an offering.

The breath Katie had been holding emerged on a gasp, quickly muffled. She had seen bare chested men before. Chepstow had been a fishing village, after all, and work in the fields was often done without shirts, the articles too precious to be repeatedly soiled during labor. None of the men she had spied at work could compare to Tom. She had seen marble likenesses that possessed a similar perfection of feature that was his face, but their bodies had been too sculpted, too perfect to be truly masculine. Tom possessed layers of strength; hard, rugged muscle that sheathed his chest beneath the faint brushing of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his breeches. The arms holding his shirt were as large as her thighs, and they looked as sinewy and strong as tree branches.

“You’re beautiful,” Katie whispered, and touched a finger to his chest. The flesh was warm, like the bricks just emerging from the kiln.

She could not yet meet his eyes, but from the movement of his neck she thought he grinned. With a flick of his finger he sent her hat from her head. “You are the beautiful one, Katie. Just look at you.” He ran his hand along the curling loops of her hair, bright gold in the summer sunshine.

The tension made Katie’s stomach roll threateningly. It was not that she feared she might vomit again; the biscuits had settled her stomach sufficiently.

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