Chapter 18 #2
Aunt Margaret’s hand rubbed up and down on her arm, as if she might soothe her angst by touch alone. “If Henry Russell is half the man I suspect he is, he will respect your repentance and match it with forgiveness. But the first step is for you to take, my dear. The question is will you?”
She bit her lip, the tea in her belly churning at the thought of facing him again after such heat, such intimacy … such a blow. Her head sank even lower. “I suppose I owe him that much.”
Hah. What an understatement.
She owed him her life.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Henry blew out a long breath.
Stars and thunder! He was tired, not to mention practically cross-eyed.
The varied and minute details on the customs and excise forms were enough to drive a man insane.
But if he didn’t fill in all the proper information, his father’s shipment would be delayed at port, resulting in fines, or worse …
confiscation. Which would never do. He would not fail his father. Not again.
He leaned back in his chair, fighting against a flicker of memory that nudged him. How easily his father had forgiven him years ago. Forgiven what Henry had never quite forgiven himself for.
Bah! He shoved the thought aside. It had no bearing now.
Not when he was failing his sister in exposing her tormentor.
And especially not when he’d failed Juliet as he had last night.
He glanced towards the hearth, unable to keep his eyes off the spot where he’d held her in his arms and kissed those sweet lips of hers.
Blast! What a cad he was. She’d had every right to strike him.
If any man had taken such a liberty with his sister, he’d have run the scoundrel through with a sword.
He’d gone to her room at first light to tell her as much and apologize, but she’d not answered his knock or his pleas through the shut door.
So, he’d buried himself in here the moment Dr. Branch had arrived, desperately seeking to forget Charity’s feverish face and the fire in Juliet’s eyes last evening.
But he would never—ever—forget that kiss.
A light rap tapped on the doorframe, drawing his attention. Juliet stood on the threshold, looking so lovely it hollowed out something deep inside him. She gripped a basket filled with bottles and brown-paper packets, her doe eyes blinking warily. “May I have a moment?”
Was this it? Would she leave the basket with him and say goodbye forever? He rose slowly, unsure if any words would make it past the ache in his throat. “Of course. Come in.”
She took the seat in front of his desk, her blue gown a summer sky against the deep brown leather. But she did not hand over the basket. She clutched it in her lap like a barrier between them.
He sat on the edge of his chair, tense beyond measure. “I—em—I was wondering if we were still on speaking terms. Apparently we are … unless you have come to tell me goodbye?”
Her shoulders squared. “Is that what you would like me to do?”
“No!” The word flew out like a cannonball, and she flinched. Pah! Why could he never maintain control around this woman?
Kneading the back of his neck, he softened his tone. “No, it is not what I want.”
For a few breaths she said nothing, just sat there hugging the basket all the tighter. Then, something steeled in her, as if she’d come to a hard-won decision. “I wish to say I am sorry for striking you last night, and I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Forgive her?
He sucked in a breath. He’d been the one to pull her body against his, claim her lips as if he had some sort of right. Yet she sought his forgiveness? Unbelievable.
Once again he rose, driven to kneel at her feet, to take her hands and rub small circles into the softness of her palms, but that would be a mistake.
Instead, he crossed to the front of his desk and planted his hands behind him against the tabletop.
Better that than make a fool of himself again.
“I am the one who should be apologizing to you, Juliet. I never should have taken such a rude advantage, and I am sorry I kissed you.”
“I am not.” Rosy red flared on her cheeks, but she did not look away.
He swallowed—hard—trying not to gape. First an apology and now an admission she’d welcomed his advances?
He would never understand women! Even so, a slow smile lifted one side of his mouth as he ran his knuckles over the very cheek she’d so thoroughly walloped.
“You certainly have a singular way of showing your affirmation.”
Her lips quirked. “My aunt calls me impetuous.”
I call you beautiful.
He clenched his teeth lest those words spill. Too much too soon would scare her off. Better to take small steps than plow her over with the full force of the passion pounding in his chest.
“So,” he drawled. “How do you wish to navigate”—he waved his hand between them—“whatever this apparent connection is?”
Her teeth toyed with her lower lip for a moment. Only God knew what went on behind those sage eyes of hers. Silently, she rose and circled the chair, resting her basket on the rise of the back.
“For the time being,” she began, “I suggest we continue our employer-employee relationship. I came here because of your sister, making a promise to you—and myself—that I would help you find whoever it is that torments her. And now, especially with Charity having taken ill, I think she should be foremost in both of our minds. If whatever feelings you and I have are real, time will not diminish them.”
He clutched the edge of the desk, grateful for the support behind him, for the sacrificial sentiment behind her words knocked him quite off balance. Slowly, he shook his head. “You are a remarkable woman, Juliet Finch.”
She blushed again, maddeningly adorable. “Well, you have given me three days to improve your sister’s health, so I had best be about my business.” She whirled, skirts swishing as she strode to the door.
“Juliet?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Is your aunt certain those medicinals will help Charity?” He nodded towards the basket.
“As certain as one can be. But I know you are a man of faith, so a little prayer would be welcome as well.”
And just like that she was gone, leaving behind her ever-present scent of rosemary and crushed leaves.
Henry rounded his desk and dropped into his chair, spent. Had he done the right thing in allowing her to administer such tonics and powders to his sister? Dr. Branch certainly hadn’t agreed with him. The man’s righteous indignation at being asked to pause his ministrations still burned his ears.
Yet if he could not trust Juliet—the extraordinary woman who’d snared his heart so thoroughly—then what future could they possibly have?