Page 72 of What a Widow Wants

“I need rooms for myself, my wife, and child.”

A thrill shot through Fanny, bringing her wide awake. He’d called her his wife. Suddenly and overpoweringly she wished that were true. She wanted nothing more than to remain at this man’s side for the rest of her life.

The woman nodded. “This way, my lord. I’ve a parlor and bedroom available, though it overlooks the courtyard. I’m Mrs. Jameson. My husband’s from home at the moment, but we can still do for you.” The woman unhooked a large key from a small brass hook, one of only two such remaining in a row of empty hooks hung behind a desk. “This way if you please. I’ll wake Betsy and send her up with warm washing water for you.”

“Send her later in the morning.” Matthew shifted Ella, and they started up the stairs behind the innkeeper. “I fear we are too weary at the moment to want more than a bed.”

The parlor proved well appointed, though Fanny barely glanced at it. She gazed longingly at the door to the bedroom, weariness seeping into every part of her. If she didn’t lie down soon, she would drop where she stood.

Quickly stepping forward, Mrs. Jameson lit a lamp, then led them into the bedroom.

The large comfortable bed drew Fanny’s full attention. Was it big enough for the three of them? “Ella will have to sleep between us.”

“Nay, my lady.” Mrs. Jameson darted to the bed and drew out a trundle from beneath it. “The lass can sleep here. Leaves more room for the two of you.”

“Bless you, Mrs. Jameson. What a very well appointed inn you have. We’ll want breakfast late.” He shot a questioning look at Fanny.

She nodded and took Ella from his arms. She lay the child gently in the bed, then sat on the edge of the mattress to remove her dusty shoes.

“A mishap on the road has stranded my wife and child without conveyance. Do you have any sort of carriage that may be rented to take us to London later today?” Steering the woman back into the parlor, Matthew left her and Ella alone.

This afforded Fanny the privacy to remove their daughter’s clothes down to her chemise, and tuck her under the covers. The small face, so sweetly innocent in repose, looked the very picture of Matthew as he might have been when young. If all their children could look thus, she would be content. She prayed the horrific events of the day past had not distressed the child enough to cause her sweet nature harm.

Wearily, Fanny stood and stripped out of her clothes, dropping them in a puddle on the floor. Once in her shift alone, she crawled into the bed, pulled the covers over her, and sank into blissful unconsciousness.

A violent dipping of the bed woke her and she jerked upright out of her dreamless sleep with a cry.

“Shhh, it’s only me.” Matthew’s deep voice came from the near darkness right by her head.

“Thank God.” She eased back down under the covers. “I need no more villains in my life.”

The words brought back vividly the scene in the barn, the ruffian on top of her, his hands fumbling at her skirts. He’d run his rough hands over her thighs, and her skin crawled as though he still touched her. The memory of his open fall, the glimpse she’d had of his thick, eager manhood turned her stomach. At the thought of what might have happened had Matthew not arrived when he did, she turned away from him, shaking violently as tears trickled down her face.

“What is it, my love?” He put a tentative hand on her shoulder and she sobbed aloud.

“That man . . . he . . . he almost . . .” Tears choked her throat.

“Shhh. It’s all right. You are safe.” He slipped his arms around her, so strong. So secure.

She cried louder as he held her, crooning words of comfort softly in her ear, until her tears were spent and she panted to catch her breath.

Easing toward her until his chest and stomach pressed along her back, Matthew gathered her to him. “Do you feel better now?”

Nodding, she sighed and relaxed against him. “I feel like a fool. It is over and done with. He cannot hurt me now. Still, I remember—”

“Many feel fear but have the courage not to show it. As you did tonight. There is no shame in letting your fears and hurt go, however you do it.” He kissed her cheek. “It is truly over, my love. Try your best to forget it and think only of our life going forward.”

She turned toward him, though the darkness hid his face. “Our life?”

“I love you, Fanny. I will say it however many times it takes for you to accept it.” His voice softened and he grasped her hand. “I want us to spend our lives together, to see our children grow up together, to grow old alongside you, and in the end, to lie beside you forever into eternity.”

Any tiny doubt she may have had disappeared with those words. “I want those things too, my love.” She touched his cheek, his night beard prickly beneath her fingertips. “To live beside you, to lie in your arms every night, to bear your children proudly, and love you with all my heart forever.”

His body tensed like a great coiled spring. “Then you will marry me?”

“Yes, my love. Of course I will.”

“There has been no ‘of course’ about it at all. Oh, Fanny.” He grasped her head and found her mouth. Insistent, he pressed his lips to hers until she couldn’t tell where hers began and his ended. His tongue stole into her mouth, stroking and caressing her until she tingled all over. Their tongues tangled and she wanted to melt into the bed with happiness. A kiss of such passion and possession that the world disappeared, leaving only the two of them joined in the darkness together.