Trapped by Scandal by Jane Feather Page B

britches and shook them off her feet with a sigh of relief. She’d been sleeping in her clothes for days. She tugged her coarse linen shirt down her hips, deciding it made a decent enough covering while she was in bed, and gingerly settled onto the straw mattress of the truckle bed. A coarse sheet covered the mattress, and there was a flat pillow of sorts. The quilts were thick, and her limbs slowly relaxed into the growing warmth. She could hear her companion’s deep, rhythmic breathing above her, and a feeling of security washed over her. Her eyes closed.

    She awoke bewildered in full daylight and lay for a moment with her eyes still closed, trying to remember where she was. She was snug and warm in her nest, her limbs feeling deliciously leaden, and she could hear sounds like water splashing, the scuffle of bare feet on wooden floorboards. Memory returned in full flood, and she opened her eyes slowly. A naked man stood shaving with his back to her in front of a washstand against the wall. He dipped the cutthroat razor into a basin and tilted his head back, drawing the sharp blade up under his chin.
    Hero gazed sleepily at the long, muscled back, the tight buttocks, the length of his thighs and powerfully muscled calves. His short chestnut hair was wet as if he’d just washed it, and drops of water glistened on his shoulders.
    â€œI thought you still asleep.” William spoke into the silence. “Forgive me if I’ve shocked your maidenly modesty, my lady.”
    Hero propped herself on an elbow and heard herself say, “I haven’t had any to shock for two years.” Why on earth was she confiding such an intimate detail to this naked man?
    â€œAh,” he responded, wiping his face with a towel. He wrapped a second towel around his loins as he turned to face her. “You have a paramour?”
    â€œI had a fiancé,” she returned. It didn’t seem either possible or pointful to stop sharing her intimate past at this point. “He was killed last year at sea.” She tried to keep her eyes from following the line of dark hair that curled down his belly, disappearing into the skimpy towel.
    â€œI’m sorry.” He leaned back against the washstand, rubbing his wet head with the hand towel. “You anticipated the marital bed?”
    Hero smiled in reminiscence. “Many times.”
    William chuckled. “I can’t say it surprises me. I gather you found it pleasurable.”
    â€œOh, yes,” she responded with a grin. “Very.” Then her smile dimmed as the old sorrow flooded her again. She had almost mastered her grief after all these months, but at times, the thought of Tom’s life cut so short, of the life they had planned together now merely a dream, threatened to overwhelm her anew.
    â€œHow was he killed?” William asked. He could almost see the black shadow of her sadness hovering around her and was prepared for her to rebuff his questions if she felt them intrusive.
    â€œHe was a lieutenant in the navy. His ship had a skirmish with pirates off the coast of Spain, or at least that was what I was told. He was wounded, and the wound festered.” She blinked back tears. “It was such a waste. Tom was so young, so vital. We were to be married when that tour ended. He would have made captain on his next voyage, and I would have gone with him.” It was almost a relief to speak of it to this man, who to all intents and purposes was a complete stranger . . . except that they had shared a prison cell and he was standing there naked but for a skimpy towel as casually as if they were in full dress in a London salon. He didn’t feel in the least like a stranger.
    William made no further comment. He went to a chest and began to rummage through its contents, pulling out various garments. “Turn your back,” he instructed.
    Obediently, Hero rolled onto her other side.
    After a few minutes, he said, “If