Linda Castle - Abbie's Child

“I would’ve cleaned your room today, Mr. Tremain, but when I peeked in you were sleeping,” she said tautly when she served him.

Willem met her shy gaze, and the playful woman he’d witnessed earlier shimmered before him, like a half-remembered dream. The thought of Mrs. Cooprel in his bedroom—alone—with him sent a burning lancet of need through his loins. He wished he’d not been asleep when she entered his room…He quickly chastised himself. After all he was a married man.

“I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you by not letting you know, Mrs. Cooprel. I usually don’t fall asleep so easily.”

“I—I only mentioned it because I told you about my schedule, Mr. Tremain.” A crimson flush climbed her cheeks. “I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t giving you the service I promised.”

Her stammering words sent his temperature rising. She had stumbled over words that made his blood boil with double meaning. He knew she felt his passion, which had to be why she acted so nervous around him. He didn’t want to frighten her—never wanted to frighten any woman ever again—yet it was obvious she was afraid. Will searched for some way to make her understand she didn’t have to fear him. No matter how desperately he burned for her he would never make a move in her direction. He had promised himself to Moira till death parted them. And even though she had chosen to flee from him, he still believed in those vows.

“Mrs. Cooprel?”

“Yes, Mr. Tremain?” Her voice was soft. She looked at him like a trapped doe before dropping her lashes over eyes gone wide and luminous.

“Would you please call me Will?” He felt the same charged energy surround him and prayed she could not sense it. He fairly rocked from the impact. He watched her bottom lip tremble. When she glanced up at him he caught the alarm in her blue-green eyes.

“If—if you wish.” She swallowed hard.

He hoped she would understand he meant her no harm. He would never violate his promise, no matter what. Willem heard her sharp intake of breath. He saw her knuckles blanch while she held the pan of cobbler between them like a wall of protection from his lust. Watching Abigail confirmed his suspicion—she flitted among the men in her house like a little ruby-throated hummingbird, but got close to none of them.

“And may I call you—Abigail?” He stumbled over her name and it left a taste of sweet forbidden fruit in his mouth. He saw her glance once at Matthew’s expectant face. Something like pain filled her eyes in that moment.

“Certainly, Mr. Tremain—I mean Willem—that would be only fair,” she finally said in a tight voice. She glanced at him one last time, and he was sure he saw resentment and fear controlling every constricted line bracketing her mouth.

He instantly regretted what he’d asked of her. It had not made her fear him less—in fact, it seemed she trembled more—and he could feel the hostility growing between them. Willem sighed in frustration. Instead of worrying about Abigail Cooprel he should be concentrating on finding Moira and his child. He would do well to remember that.

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