ANCY KNELT BEFORE H ERSHEL’S CAGE AND PUSHED A dish of fresh water through the little door, along with a handful of lettuce leaves. She tried not to think about what had happened in this very barn only hours before, but the effort was useless. Never, no matter where she went, what she did, or how old she got, would she forget the magic that had been revealed to her here.
One tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away angrily, forcing herself to square her shoulders and lift her chin. She’d made a mistake, a terrible mistake, but sitting about crying over it would change nothing. No, the only thing she could do now was leave before matters got any worse.
With a sigh, she latched Hershel’s cage door and rose to her feet, dusting straw from the skirts of her gray dress as she straightened. When she turned to leave thebarn again, though, she found herself face to face with Jeff Corbin himself.
Though she was distraught, Fancy’s heart leaped within her and then fell into place again, spinning. She glared at Jeff in despairing anger. Why hadn’t he left her alone? If he had, she would have been able to stay.
But she was wrong to blame him completely, and she knew it. She had been every bit as selfish and irresponsible as he had.
“What do you think of Amelie?” he asked, crossing his arms across his broad chest and leaning indolently against the gate of a nearby stall.
Fancy’s shoulders lifted in a deceptively nonchalant shrug. “Is my opinion important?” she countered.
Jeff grinned. “I guess not. Still, I’d like to know what it is.”
“I like Amelie,” Fancy said truthfully, trying to avoid those discerning indigo eyes.
“So do I.”
“But?” urged Fancy, though the answer really wouldn’t matter much to her, one way or the other. At the moment, she was feeling frazzled and just a bit sorry for herself.
“I don’t think she has enough spirit for Keith,” Jeff observed. He’d brushed his hair and changed his clothes for dinner—the first meal he’d taken outside his room in months, according to Alva—and he looked so handsome that Fancy ached to touch him.
Of course, she refrained. “How much ‘spirit’ does a minister’s wife need?” she replied, a little annoyed.
“I have no idea,” Jeff responded, “but I know how much spirit a Corbin’s wife needs.”
“Keith is different than you.”
Jeff chuckled appreciatively. “You innocent. He’s a man, not a saint.”
“He’s also a minister!”
“That will be small comfort in his marriage bed. He should wait for some infuriating snippet to come crashing into his life—the way Banner came into Adam’s.” He paused, but when he went on, his voice was very soft. “The way you came into mine.”
Color climbed up Fancy’s cheekbones. She stood still, her heart lodged in her throat and pounding there like a huge drum.
Jeff came closer, tangled an index finger in a curled tendril at her temple.
Fancy leaped backward as though burned by his touch. “Don’t—please—I can’t bear it—”
He sighed and his hands came to rest gently on the sides of her waist. “Fancy, I’m sorry. Not for making love to you—I can’t say I regret that. But I do apologize for the way you’re feeling right now.”
Fancy’s chin shot upward; pride was the only defense she had left. “And how is that?” she snapped.
“Used, I think. Maybe slightly taken-advantage-of.”
“Slightly?” Every muscle in Fancy’s small, trim body seemed to contract. “Slightly? Tell me, when and if I should marry, what am I to say to my husband? That losing my virtue was part of my job?”
“Fancy—”
“Damn you, don’t you dare try to reassure me! You’re a rich man, used to getting what you want, and nothing else matters to you—including the effect this could have on the rest of my life!”
His hands left her waist for her shoulders, gripping them gently. “Will you listen to me?” he pleaded, in such earnest tones that Fancy
One tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away angrily, forcing herself to square her shoulders and lift her chin. She’d made a mistake, a terrible mistake, but sitting about crying over it would change nothing. No, the only thing she could do now was leave before matters got any worse.
With a sigh, she latched Hershel’s cage door and rose to her feet, dusting straw from the skirts of her gray dress as she straightened. When she turned to leave thebarn again, though, she found herself face to face with Jeff Corbin himself.
Though she was distraught, Fancy’s heart leaped within her and then fell into place again, spinning. She glared at Jeff in despairing anger. Why hadn’t he left her alone? If he had, she would have been able to stay.
But she was wrong to blame him completely, and she knew it. She had been every bit as selfish and irresponsible as he had.
“What do you think of Amelie?” he asked, crossing his arms across his broad chest and leaning indolently against the gate of a nearby stall.
Fancy’s shoulders lifted in a deceptively nonchalant shrug. “Is my opinion important?” she countered.
Jeff grinned. “I guess not. Still, I’d like to know what it is.”
“I like Amelie,” Fancy said truthfully, trying to avoid those discerning indigo eyes.
“So do I.”
“But?” urged Fancy, though the answer really wouldn’t matter much to her, one way or the other. At the moment, she was feeling frazzled and just a bit sorry for herself.
“I don’t think she has enough spirit for Keith,” Jeff observed. He’d brushed his hair and changed his clothes for dinner—the first meal he’d taken outside his room in months, according to Alva—and he looked so handsome that Fancy ached to touch him.
Of course, she refrained. “How much ‘spirit’ does a minister’s wife need?” she replied, a little annoyed.
“I have no idea,” Jeff responded, “but I know how much spirit a Corbin’s wife needs.”
“Keith is different than you.”
Jeff chuckled appreciatively. “You innocent. He’s a man, not a saint.”
“He’s also a minister!”
“That will be small comfort in his marriage bed. He should wait for some infuriating snippet to come crashing into his life—the way Banner came into Adam’s.” He paused, but when he went on, his voice was very soft. “The way you came into mine.”
Color climbed up Fancy’s cheekbones. She stood still, her heart lodged in her throat and pounding there like a huge drum.
Jeff came closer, tangled an index finger in a curled tendril at her temple.
Fancy leaped backward as though burned by his touch. “Don’t—please—I can’t bear it—”
He sighed and his hands came to rest gently on the sides of her waist. “Fancy, I’m sorry. Not for making love to you—I can’t say I regret that. But I do apologize for the way you’re feeling right now.”
Fancy’s chin shot upward; pride was the only defense she had left. “And how is that?” she snapped.
“Used, I think. Maybe slightly taken-advantage-of.”
“Slightly?” Every muscle in Fancy’s small, trim body seemed to contract. “Slightly? Tell me, when and if I should marry, what am I to say to my husband? That losing my virtue was part of my job?”
“Fancy—”
“Damn you, don’t you dare try to reassure me! You’re a rich man, used to getting what you want, and nothing else matters to you—including the effect this could have on the rest of my life!”
His hands left her waist for her shoulders, gripping them gently. “Will you listen to me?” he pleaded, in such earnest tones that Fancy
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