Petals on the River (20 page)

"Why not, may I ask?" Gage questioned curtly.
 
When he had no other

purpose in mind but to help her, he could find little sympathy for her

views on propriety.
 
"Your wrists and ankles need attention, Shemaine,

and putting this salve on them isn't going to jeopardize your virtue in

the least.
 
Believe me, girl, you'll know it if I ever set my mind on

compromising your modesty, because I won't start with your wrists or

your ankles." His eyes dipped to her tautly garbed bosom, as if

pointedly denoting the place where he'd begin, and then just as quickly

rose to meet her astonished stare.

Shemaine closed her mouth, realizing it had sagged open.
 
It certainly

didn't help her composure to feel a scalding heat creeping into her

cheeks.
 
Self-consciously she crossed her arms in front of her, wishing

the gown wasn't so tight.
 
Though her protest wasn't exactly the truth,

she declared it as such.
 
"I-I c-can assure you, Mr.

Thornton, that concern for my virtue was the farthest thing from my

mind!"

A brief twitch served as substitute for a skeptical smile.
 
"Then you're

far different than most of the young women I've come in contact with in

this area.
 
There are many who think a widower is in such dire straits

that he's liable to throw up the nearest skirt and have his way with a

maid, by force if need be." Gage noticed her cheeks were now flaming and

wondered if she was offended by his rather crude statement or if his

needling had touched upon the truth.
 
"Believe me, Shemaine, I'm a

little more selective than that."

"So am I, sir!" Shemaine raised her chin in an obstinate huff. "And if

I'm permitted to object to being likened to the other women you've met

here, I can promise you that I'm an individual, sir, not prone to

falling prostrate at any man's feet.
 
Believe me, I'll be quite content

to live out my days of service to you as an unsullied spinster.
 
And

I'll keep my wrists and ankles to myself, if you don't mind!"

An angry quirk tightened the corners of Gage's mouth as he stretched out

a hand and settled the jar in her grasp.
 
"If you should decide

otherwise, Shemaine, I'll be happy to accommodate you...
 
without

compromising your virginity."

Pivoting about-face, he strode from the room and went out through the

back entrance, causing Shemaine to jump as the door slammed loudly

behind him.
 
Of a sudden, her anger fled, to be replaced by an

overwhelming sense of dread and worry.
 
She could have acted more

wisely, she chided herself.
 
She didn't have to make it so clear to the

man that she was afraid of him touching her with those nice, lean,

beautiful hands.

Andrew began to whimper in the next room, perhaps having been awakened

by the banging of the door.
 
Shemaine hurried to the bedroom door,

pushed it carefully open, and looked in.
 
The boy was curled on his side

in the middle of the four-poster with a coverlet spread over him.
 
His

eyes were closed, but a frown puckered his little brows.
 
The corners of

his mouth were downturned as he issued a soft, dejected mewl.
 
Tiptoeing

to the bed, she leaned across and slowly stroked the boy's face as she

began to sing an Irish lullaby.
 
The frown faded almost instantly, and

his breathing deepened.
 
Then with a serene sigh he sprawled on his back

and drifted soundly off to sleep.
 
Humming softly, Shemaine covered the

boy again and then turned to leave Her heart leapt nearly out of her

bosom when her eyes fell on the darkly garbed form framed in the

doorway.
 
Gage stood there in a relaxed mode with a shoulder braced

against the jamb, looking for all the world as if he had been watching

her for some time.
 
The idea brought the heat rushing back into her

cheeks as she tried to recall her actions over the last several moments.

Unable to imagine what had compelled him to observe her without making

his presence known, she hurried to the portal, intending to leave him to

the privacy of his bedroom, but to her dismay, he made no move to

retreat.

Finding her path completely blocked by his tall, broad-shouldered frame,

Shemaine lifted her eyes to his, totally aware of how puny her strength

was compared to his.
 
If he decided to exert his will upon her, she knew

well enough how it would end.
 
With thumping heart she waited until he

backed around into the parlor, finally allowing her an avenue of escape.

Relief flooded through her as she stepped through the door.

Aware of his proximity, she would have slipped quickly away, but as she

passed he caught her arm, sending a multitude of anxious emotions

catapulting through her.
 
Now that the son was asleep, Shemaine was

instantly alert to the possibility that the father might consider the

moment favorable for launching an assault upon her person, which would

force her to defend herself by whatever meager means were at her

disposal.
 
Though his grip was gentle, it was tantamount to being snared

by a dreaded gaoler who had power to take her life or to free her.

Fearing the worst, she braced herself as she cautiously met his gaze.

"Did you want something of me, Mr.
 
Thornton?"

Gage leaned behind her, causing her to stiffen apprehensively, but he

only pulled the bedroom door gently closed.
 
"I came back to apologize,"

he said quietly as he straightened.
 
"I know that you've been through a

lot, and that Captain Fitch had a yearning to buy you and make you his

mistress behind his wife's back, but not all men are like that.
 
I

shouldn't have baited you as I did, Shemaine.
 
I'm sorry."

Shemaine stared at him in amazement.
 
That's all he wanted to do? To

apologize?
 
Didn't he know he came nigh to frightening a full score of

years off her life?

Shemaine smiled with difficulty, somewhat embarrassed because she had

panicked and, without provocation, imagined that he had wanted to bed

down with her, as if he might have found her irresistible.
 
As he had

already indicated, the fact that he was a widower didn't necessarily

mean that he was also a lecher.
 
Besides, he had said he thought her

much too thin.

As her heart eased its frantic beating and her reasoning slowly re

turned, Shemaine was able to comprehend more fully what he had actually

said to her and was somewhat surprised by his keen perception.
 
Captain

Fitch had thought himself shrewd in his efforts to arrange a tryst, but

here was a total stranger who had detected his plan right away. Perhaps

Gertrude Fitch was not as astute as she had imagined herself to be.

Still struggling with a copious measure of chagrin, Shemaine lowered her

gaze as she responded demurely to his apology.
 
"It doesn't make me feel

any better knowing you had probable cause to take offense at my

childishness, Mr.
 
Thornton.
 
All I was concerned about was how

inappropriate it was for an unmarried gentleman like yourself to tend a

lady's wrists and ankles.
 
I realize now that you only meant to help

me."

And not to rape me!
 
she added mutely, mentally chiding herself.

"I'd like to," Gage reassured her gently, snatching her gaze upward as

his reply intruded on the very heels of her whimsical thought.
 
By dint

of will, Shemaine curbed her unruly fantasies and disciplined herself to

be more attentive to what her master was saying, lest she fall prey to

her own illusions.
 
His voice was strong, yet cajoling.
 
"I believe the

salve will soothe away much of the redness."

"Then you may." With that calmly spoken commitment, Shemaine released

her breath in a wavering sigh, braving a smile.
 
"But do be careful

about my ankles.
 
Jacob Potts yanked me off my feet today, and I'm not

sure which is more bruised, my backside or my ankles."

The barest hint of a grin defied that prevalently somber visage. "I'd be

happy to massage both areas if you'd like."

No sooner had Shemaine managed to gain control of her wandering

imagination than he dashed her efforts to smithereens.
 
It was no wonder

she found herself susceptible to thinking the worst!
 
His unpredictable

humor encouraged such imprudent speculations!

The green eyes fixed a blatantly suspicious stare upon the handsome man

as she dared to test the precise depth of his mettle.
 
"If I were to

guess the origin of those brief glimpses I've seen of your humor, Mr.

Thornton, I'd be of a mind to swear that you were stolen away as a wee

babe by the little people, who took great delight in training you to

tease the warts off a toad."

Her farfetched conjecture drew a genuine chuckle from the man. "And here

I was thinking it was the stone I had kissed at Lord Blarney's castle,"

he countered, and swept a hand to indicate the rocking chair in front of

the hearth.
 
"Sit there, Shemaine, and I'll rub this concoction into

your skin."

"I don't know if I'll be able to stand myself when you're through," she

mumbled through an exaggerated groan.
 
"The stench is enough to turn my

stomach." Suddenly suspicious of his motives, she peered at him sharply.

"You're not trying to make a fool of me with that stuff, are you?"

His eyes sparkled tantalizingly.
 
"I'd certainly be able to sniff you

out if you decided to run away."

Shemaine turned promptly about, intending to make good her escape right

then and there, but with an evanescent chuckle, Gage caught her wrist

and tugged her back.

"Come, Shemaine.
 
I'm only doing what the wee little people taught me to

do so well.
 
Being as Irish as you are, do you not ken when a body is

teasing you?"

She tossed her head in rampant distrust.
 
"At various times I've been

able to understand why the English hate the Irish so much, for surely