her features in a frantic inspection.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded to know.
“No.” Laughter rose in her chest. “Only wet. And feeling stupid.”
“You shouldn’t be doing that.” He released his hold on her and stepped past her to the pump.
“Yes, I should.” She shoved him out of the way, her hip butting against his rock-hard thigh.
With a grunt of surprise, Thomas yielded and moved aside.
“I’m not made of glass, and I’m not made of sugar.” Charlotte cranked the pump handle, taking care to keep her movements slow and measured. When water started spurting out of the pipe, she ducked to avoid the spray from the bucket. “I won’t break if I fall, and I don’t melt if I get wet.”
She glanced over at Thomas to see if he’d understood her meaning. He hadn’t. She doubted he’d even heard her. His gaze was riveted on her breasts, which heaved up and down with the rhythmic motion as she operated the pump. She had discarded her corsets before setting off on the train journey, and the soaking wet blouse clung to her body, like lichen on a wood nymph.
Charlotte couldn’t think. She ceased cranking the pump handle. Suddenly, she felt a great surge of heat on her skin, so great it surprised her not to see steam vapors rising from her drenched garments.
A sense of inevitability filled her. Whatever her misgivings, whatever her desires, whatever her plans, the needs and wants of Thomas Greenwood might be more potent than hers. It might turn out that her married life would be a much harder ocean to navigate than she had allowed for.
“You’ll catch a chill.” Thomas spoke in a husky rumble. “You should change out of those wet clothes into something dry.”
She had to clear her throat before the words came. “I don’t have anything to change into, apart from a nightgown.”
“Are you hungry?” Thomas asked. “Do you want any supper?”
Charlotte shook her head, unable to speak.
“I’d like to see you in your nightgown.” He reached for the overflowing bucket and effortlessly lifted it down from the hook beneath the spout. “Why don’t you go inside and get out of those wet clothes. I’ll heat up water for you to wash.”
Thomas waited for her to move away but she stood rooted on the spot. His expression softened. “Go on now, Maude,” he said gently. “You can undress in the bedroom, in privacy.”
The name broke the spell between them. “Call me Charlotte,” she said, her voice rising with a touch of despair at how little control she seemed to possess over her situation. “I dislike the name Maude. I want you to call me Charlotte.”
“Charlotte?” Confusion flickered across his features. Then his frown eased and he gave a slow nod, his eyes steady on her. “I like that.” He lowered his voice and added in a low murmur, “More syllables for a man to whisper in the throes of passion.”
Charlotte gave a shocked gasp and fled inside.
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