Romance: JADEN: An MMA Fighter Romance (Bad Boy Tattoo Romance) (New Adult Pregnancy Short Stories) (54 page)

It was Edward coming towards her. Rosaline feared for herself in that moment, feared for her virtue and her reputation. Edward set the candle down on the nightstand beside Rosaline’s bed and sat down on the bed, back facing Rosaline. She couldn’t help the small sound that came out of her at the foreign movement that was completely unexpected.

“Do not fear,” Edward said. His voice was smoky and distant, as if he were speaking to her through some mystical mirror that Mama had always told her existed. “I will not lay a finger on you if you do not wish it. I have learned much about you from our conversation over tea, and I know that you are not ready for any kind of physical interaction.”

Rosaline blinked several times, looking at Edward’s back. He was still garbed in his clothes he had been wearing during the day, and she briefly wondered what time it was. What had he been doing, and what had he figured out from Rosaline? She had kept her answers monosyllabic or little more than that in an attempt to stave off him knowing that she was already promised to another in heart and soul. This wouldn’t work if she couldn’t fake feelings for the man. But the things he was talking about, physical interaction as he put it, she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to stand.

“You love someone else, that much is clear.”

Rosaline sat up in bed, her modesty be damned. How had he known that? He didn’t turn to look at her, even though he would have felt the movement, much as she had felt the cant of the bed as he had sat down beside her. “Sir?” she finally managed to get out. Her voice was still logged with sleep, and she coughed delicately in order to clear it enough to not sound like a croaking frog when she spoke. “What do you mean?”

Edward paused, glancing over at her over his shoulder, a knowing smile twisting his lips up at the corners. He looked different in the flickering candle light. It was as if flesh had shifted to light and darkness. The hollow between his cheekbone caught her attention first. Had his cheekbones truly been that high the first time she had laid eyes upon him? For being twice her age, he was an attractive enough male, but she hadn’t realized just how attractive until now. His long nose that wasn’t long enough to be ugly was caught in light, the warm candle dancing off of the straight and sure swoop of flesh and bone. She blinked several more times. The sleep must have been clouding her judgment and her ability to make informed choices. She was not looking at him as she had looked at Adrian. There was only Adrian. She replaced his visage with Adrian’s dancing green eyes and dimples that she found completely enduring as he smiled at her, bearing teeth that were as white as Edward’s.

“It is quite easy to see,” Edward said, shattering the image she had put firmly in place. Curse it. She had wanted to avoid him speaking to her until she could rid herself of this strange ability to see his beauty. He reached out suddenly, and Rosaline drew in a breath that sounded akin to a scream. Edward hesitated, fingers a hairsbreadth from her wrist that lay on top of the blankets that had pooled somewhere around her lap. “I will not hurt you,” he murmured, grasping her wrist. His hands were cool and calloused from years of hard work, and Rosaline couldn’t help a shiver as he lifted her hand up to the light. It seemed much too intimate, though he was touching a part of her many strangers had ready access to at multiple times of the day. Past the scalloped edge of her nightgown hung the twisted ropes of the yarn that Adrian had given to her when they had first declared their love to each other.

“Why would a lady carry such a ratty old thing?” Edward mused. Rosaline felt a shock go through her. This man knew too much for his own good. He saw things that other people would miss. It was those eyes that could see straight through her and look directly at her soul as if it were no more than child’s play. “You fingered this constantly during tea, whenever I would ask you about home. I can only assume that you have a loved one back home. I planned this night from the moment I knew that you were coming. I would come to your room and offer that you come to mine, but now I see that you will not be able to fulfill my request.” He paused, letting her wrist drop. She let it, not even bothering to shift it away as the body part struck her thigh.

He sounded calm, but she held her breath all the same as he shifted so that he faced her. Would he hit her? Cast her out of his house in the dead of night? Perhaps it was good that she hadn’t unpacked her bag yet because the trunk was covered in a layer of dust and she needed to clean it before she could place anything inside. She tensed. “I do,” she admitted. It was best to be honest, and these quiet hours that were somewhere between dusk and dawn seemed to be the hours where secrets were readily explored and revealed. “His name is Adrian Ivaskov and I am here to pay for him to stay in the Americas.”

“Is he from Russia as well?” Edward asked.  “I assume by your surname and his surname that you knew each other from a very young age, perhaps emigrated from Russia together?”

“We met when we were twelve,” Rosaline said on an out breath. Why was she telling Edward this information? She held her breath once more as he reached forward again. This time, he grasped her left wrist, taking it up to the light. His fingers rested lightly against the beating pulse in her wrist. She could feel the raw power that was contained in his limbs. He could easily snap her wrist in half with just the power of his fingers if he desired to do so.

He didn’t apply any force, simply held her wrist so that they could both see the way her hand trembled in the light. “You have yet to wear a ring,” he murmured.

“We were not married before I left,” Rosaline admitted. Should she really be telling him all of this incriminating evidence that lay against her? He could easily take her back on claims that she had been deceitful.

His face was blank for several long moments in which Rosaline felt herself holding her breath, waiting for a blow that may or may not come. Then he smiled that disconcerting smile that looked all the more so in this light and dropped this wrist as well. Rosaline yanked it back against her body, cradling the limb against warm flesh. She wanted him to leave, and she wanted him to stay. He smelled of pine trees and wood smoke, like the kinds of things that one would find in the wilderness, and she loved that smell. She wanted to stay and smell it for the rest of her life. But his disconcerting smile set her on edge. “I accept this challenge you present to me, Rosaline. You will be my wife before the end of the year; willingly.”

That seemed preposterous, and it was Rosaline could do not to laugh at the notion. “What?” she asked, hardly able to keep the amusement out of her voice.

Edward shifted so that she could see the play of light on his collarbones. He had unbuttoned his shirt two buttons, exposing a chest that was mostly free of hair—another myth about the people who lived in the wilderness debunked. “You present me with a challenge I haven’t had to face in many years. I will woo you until you become mine and forget about this childhood lover of yours. You are here now, and I might as well take up the challenge instead of sending you back for a new one. I rather like the looks of you.”

Rosaline gaped at him as he stood and grasped the base of the candle holder in the same fingers that had just been around her wrist only moments ago. He was truly cocky if he thought that he could divert her attention so easily. Rosaline felt a hot spike of anger drive its way through her body as she watched him leave her room, whistling a merry tune that shattered the calm of the night.

###

The smell of the store took Rosaline back home. Every apothecary’s store seemed to carry the same scent, and this one was no different. The moment Rosaline stepped into the store, she was hit with the sweet scent of herbs that was over-crowded by the sharper smell of the alcohol that was used to preserve the various tinctures and potions that were available at this store. She took a deep breath in and closed her eyes, imagining that it would be Adrian that stood behind the counter instead of a stranger she had never met. She imagined that Mama was standing beside her, not an empty space that wasn’t occupied. Edward had told her that she needed no escort into town; the folk had been known to him for decades and they wouldn’t harm a hair on her head. She had taken one of his horses since he had no carriage and didn’t fancy walking the entire day for a simple tincture to help a calf that seemed to have a bad case of running eyes and nose.

“Miss?” the voice was utterly unfamiliar, crashing Rosaline out of her reverie. She glanced at the woman behind the counter. She was about Edward’s age, plump and friendly-faced. She gave Rosaline a slightly confused smile. “Is there something I can help you with? Are you a traveler in need of something to ease back pain or chafing?” the woman began to reach behind her counter, but Rosaline held up her hand.

“I was recently married to Edward Fitzgerald who lives out of town,” she said. “I am looking for something to cure a calf’s running eyes and nose.”

The woman looked up from reaching down, a curious spark in her eyes. “Do you now?” she asked. There was a moment in which Rosaline felt the nervousness that had accompanied her ever since she had stepped foot on Montana soil rear up like an ugly beast at the woman’s clearly disapproving face. Then, that face split into a wide smile that made her eyes almost invisible, and the woman bustled around the counter. She reached forward and grasped Rosaline’s hands in her own. They were rough, not as rough as Edward’s, though that was to be expected. Rosaline was still unused to feeling these kinds of rough hands on a woman, though. Mama always took good care of her hands, keeping the soft and pliable enough to paint or grasp a tea cup in high company and made sure that Rosaline did the same. The habit had stuck, and Rosaline still applied cream to her hands and massaged them a hundred strokes each every single night, though there was no Mama to scold her if she failed to do so.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss…?”

“Rosaline,” Rosaline said. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Where do you come from? Your accent is different from any we have around here,” the apothecary asked. She finally let go of Rosaline’s hands. Up close, the woman smelled of sweet herbs especially, and the bitterness of the alcohol faded. The ache that Rosaline felt in her chest at the familiar smell was almost unbearable.

“My parents emigrated from Russia when I was but a wee babe,” Rosaline said. It felt distant as she tried to make herself stop feeling such awful pain. She needed to stop thinking of Adrian at every available moment. He was halfway across the country and out of her reach at the moment—perhaps for the rest of her life. Even after three months, the pain of leaving him seemed as raw as ever.

“What brings you to Montana? Other than marrying old Edward, of course.” The apothecary seemed blind to her pain. Perhaps she was getting better at hiding it.

Every time she pulled away from Edward’s touch, every time she looked away when the look he was giving her got too deep into her soul, and every time she stopped the laughter that spilled from her lips, she could see the disappointment that clouded his usually clear gaze. He would move onto something else as if nothing had happened, but she could not miss the look of pain that was all-too-real in his eyes. She had begun hating herself for it; for his age and profession, Edward was incredibly bright and smart, seeming to act like someone who attended one of the colleges that were so full of prestige. He read many books and could speak about them at great lengths. He was young at heart, as well. Now it made sense to Rosaline why he had picked someone as young as her. Older women who were his age would probably find him nearly childish, despite his wisdom and deep knowing, and that soul-searching gaze. He would laugh like a man without a care in the world, and Rosaline felt as if the years melted away between them when he was with her.

The apothecary was looking at her expectantly. Rosaline blinked several times, trying to figure out what exactly the woman had said to her. “I…um, that is the only reason I am here. I have no family this far west and don’t have any reason to be here except for Edward—Mr. Fitzgerald.”

The woman patted Rosaline on her arm as she corrected herself. “It is okay, Miss Rosaline. We do not have formalities here as much as in the city you no doubt came from.”

Someone cleared their throat loudly, and Rosaline glanced around. A petite woman with carefully corkscrew curled hair glared over at the pair, blue eyes nearly alight with flames. Her daintily clad hands clutched a satchel that looked to be as expensive as the entire dress that Rosaline wore and by the looks of it, she was definitely wearing a corset that was laced up tight enough to make it hard for her to breathe. “Mary,” she said, addressing the apothecary as if Rosaline didn’t exist in the slightest. “I would like to make my purchase now, if you are not busy with other customers.” She shot a pointed look at Rosaline that told her that she gave her full permission to curl up and die in the corner of the shop that was nearest. “Of course, Miss Parks. Please,” Mary added, bustling back behind the counter and waving a meaty arm at the counter space that was available.

Rosaline raised an eyebrow at the dainty back of the girl. She was by no means big, but standing next to the petite blond in the cramped shop made her feel as if she were a bull in a china shop. Rosaline eyed the pretty blond from the back, taking in the quality of the lace she wore to the hat that was jauntily perched on her head in a way that was all the rage back home. This woman was quite obviously not from around her, and if she was, she stuck out like a sore thumb. A prettily dressed, impeccable sore thumb, but a sore thumb all the same.

“I have not heard any of the news from around here lately,” the woman said. “What all is happening in this poor little town?”