The Virtuous Widow by Anne Gracie

The Virtuous Widow by Anne Gracie

Author:Anne Gracie [Anne Gracie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9781408904381
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2008-08-28T04:00:00+00:00


Chapter Three

Ellie swept out the ash and charcoal from last night’s fire and began to set a new one, her hands moving mechanically, her mind reliving the wondrously delicious sensations she had experienced at his hands a few moments earlier. His hands… She felt herself blush, again, thinking of where his hands had been, so big and capable… touching her with such tenderness…and creating such sensations. She had never felt anything so…so…

It made her want to weep again, at the beauty of it…and the frustration.

The wood shavings which remained from his whittling smouldered, then smoked. She blew on them gently and flames licked at the wood. He’d built a fire inside her, a fire which still smouldered within her. She watched curl after curl of wood smoulder, then burst into brilliant flame. A moment of splendour, then each one crumbled into grey ash. Was that what it would be like to be possessed by him? One moment of glory, followed by a lifetime of regret? Or would it build into a more permanent fire, one with deep hot coals?

She filled the big black kettle with water and swung it on to the lowest hook. Hastily, because he might come down at any minute, she washed herself with soap and cold water and dressed before the fire. The kettle soon began to steam and she set the porridge to cook, stirring it rhythmically, her mind dreamily recalling the sensation of waking up in his arms.

Rat-tat-tat!

Ellie jumped. Someone at the door at this hour of the morning? Her eye fell on the hare skins hung up to dry on a hook near the door. Of course. Ned with the milk. She flung open the door, a smile of welcome on her face.

It froze there. “Sq…Squire Hammet.”

A large burly man dressed more to suit a London afternoon promenade than a rural Northumberland morning pushed past her. His gaze raked her intimately.

Ellie shrivelled inside and braced herself. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“You’ve had a man here, missy!” The squire’s angry gaze probed the small room.

“Why do you say that?” Ellie prayed that the floorboards overhead would not squeak.

“A man was seen on your roof yesterday.” The squire thrust his red face at her. The scent of expensive pomade emanated from him, as did the faint scent of soiled linen. Like his friend, her late husband, the squire favoured expensive clothing, but disdained bathing.

Ellie turned away, trying to hide her fear and disgust. “There was a man here yesterday. He fixed the leaking roof for me.”

“It’s my blasted cottage! I say who fixes the roof or not! So, you have a secret fancy man do you, Miss-Prim-and-Proper?” His face was mottled with anger. “Too high and mighty to give the time of day to me, who lent you this house out of the kindness of my heart, and now I find you’ve let some filthy peasant come sniffing around your skirts.”

“You are disgusting!”

“Who was it, dammit—I want to know the fellow’s name!”

Ellie turned angrily.



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