Her Wicked Sin Read Online Free Page A

could deserve worse.”
    He wanted not to consider the impropriety of her next to him on the bed, but once he realized whereupon they sat, joined in touch, he could think of little else. Someone had hurt this woman, and every part of him ached to right that wrong. Were he not in such a useless state, he would take that as a cue to straddle his horse and gallop until he thought of her no more, but he could not change the circumstance any more than he could change the cerulean blue of her eyes.
    Even if she granted permission—which he expected not—she was not a woman he could merely use for his pleasure. He admired her in a way he had not thought possible. Already she held him captive as no woman before, and as much as he longed for a taste, he would do nothing to hurt her. For a purportedly married woman, a casual meeting with a stranger could do no less.
    With reluctance, he released her arm, but she did not move away as he expected. With only inches between them, his resolve deteriorated at an alarming rate.
    She cleared her throat. “The hour is late, or early, as it were. You should rest.”
    “I should,” he said. He reached for her face and traced a finger over the soft skin of her cheek. “And what of you?”
    “I am not courting your injuries. I—”
    A bang at the door sent it flying open with a rush of cold wind.
    “Lydia!” A woman burst past the threshold. “Oh… forgive me!”
    Lydia stiffened, but did not jump away. He admired her restraint, for he would have been prone to leaping apart had he any leaping left in him.
    “What is it?” Lydia asked, rising gently from the bed to meet the stranger crossways.
    The other woman’s eyes had grown exceptionally round. Even across the modest room in the unsteady flicker of firelight her surprise was visible.
    “You are seeing…a man?”
    “He is injured,” Lydia said. Only when she spoke in this cool, soothing tone did he realize how she had shed that vocal with him. Their conversation had turned intimate, and he had been too lost in her eyes to thoroughly enjoy the warmth of her voice.
    And now this Goodwoman stared at them as if she had just walked upon the next great scandal. A married woman in bed with a stranger.
    I do not want to bring questions here.
    Whether or not Lydia could see it, their position could do nothing but.
    The Goodwoman had taken to whispering, but so loudly Henry thought sure Willard could hear every word from the paddock. “Liberties with a stranger, Lydia! What of your husband? Adultery is a serious offense. You will be whipped. Put to death!”
    Henry did not put to mention their state of full dress, though he wished with desperation Lydia would. She, however, had apparently been driven to speechlessness. Despair rose like bile in his throat. The blame for her predicament lay fully at his feet, and no amount of denial would stop tongues from wagging.
    There was but one way to stop the gossip, and that was to derail it.
    Henry coughed to draw their attention. “Please, my dear. Introduce me to your friend so we may put her distress to rest.”
    Both women turned to him, one just as startled in appearance as the next. Lydia’s lovely countenance had strained with fright.
    He bore his best smile and a fervent hope Lydia would not render him further useless when the opportunity arose. Addressing the visitor woman, he said, “Speak not of adultery, Goodwoman, for Lydia is my wife.”

Chapter Three
    Lydia could scarcely believe Henry’s words. He , her husband? Though it mattered not, for the words, once spoken, could not be returned to their source. All at once she was extremely grateful she had never spoken to her neighbors details of her missing husband, for now no contradictions could exist. He had simply been gone, and now returned.
    But Henry! The mere thought made her flush. And what of his departure? She thought his injury temporary—nothing that wouldn’t heal with a short rest. Would she next fall to disgrace in