«No, it’s the wick you used. It’s the wrong length,» Wolfe explained. «If you trim it correctly, the lamp won’t smoke.»
«Then by all means, trim the wick,» she retorted.
Jessica dragged the match over the stove yet again. The head of the match caught and broke off at the same time, sending a shower of burningsulphur tumbling down her skirt.
«Blast!» she said under her breath as she shook off the sparks.
When Wolfe had adjusted the wick properly, he went back to the stove. Jessica was in the process of breaking another match in half while trying to strike it on the smooth, greasy portion of the stove’s metal surface. With a muttered word, she took a new match from the diminishing supply in the cup.
«Here,» Wolfe said, reaching past Jessica and putting his hand over hers. «Hold onto the match. Now bring it across the spot where the fire below burned the hottest. The metal is clean there. No soot or grease is left to foul the match tip.»
As Wolfe spoke, he drew Jessica’s hand beneath his over the stove in a swift, firm stroke. The match blazed instantly to life.
«See?» he said.
Jessica looked over her shoulder at Wolfe. The burning match was reflected in his eyes. The contrast between the flame and the blue midnight of his irises enthralled her, as did the straight, black length of his eyelashes and the pronounced arch of his eyebrows. The intensity and intelligence in his eyes was brighter and more alluring than even the dance of flame.
The odd, shivering sensations returned to her stomach.
«Jessi?»
«Yes, I see.»
«Do you? You look rather baffled.»
«Just a bit shocked.»
«By lighting a match?»
She smiled oddly. «No. By you. I just realized how very handsome you are.»
Wolfe’s eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed. The pulse at his throat speeded.
«I mean, I’ve always known you were handsome,» Jessica continued, trying to explain. «Everyone from duchesses to maids has rattled on about your looks for years, but I neverreallyknew. It’s rather unsettling suddenly to see you as they must have seen you.»
She laughed uncertainly. «Don’t stare at me so. I feel foolish enough as it is. How could I overlook something so obvious for so many — oh!»
Jessica’s hand jerked as the match burned down to her skin. She snatched her fingers to her lips and dropped the still flaming match onto the stovetop.
«Are you all right?» Wolfe asked.
Jessica blew on her fingertips before staring at them critically. «Just a trifle scorched.»
«Let me see.»
He looked at her fingertips, then bent his head and gently ran the tip of his tongue over them. When he lifted his head again, Jessica was watching him with an expression on her face that could have been shock or disgust.
«You needn’t look so appalled,» Wolfe said curtly. «It’s only what a cat would do for a foolish kitten.»
Jessica opened her mouth but no words came out. A visible shudder ran over her. Wolfe turned away and lit another match with a swift slash of his hand.
«Go unpack the trunks, your ladyship,» he said as he set the match to the previously laid fire. «Theviscount’ssavage will fix supper tonight.»
Jessica flinched. She hadn’t realized how warm and affectionate Wolfe’s voice had become until she measured it against the return of ice and distance.
«Wolfe? What have I done?»
«When you’re finished unpacking, be sure to take some of those aristocratic bed linens you brought and make a pallet by the hearth. A nun like you wouldn’t want to do something so bestial as to sleep near any man, much less a savage like your husband.»
Wolfe stood up. Behind him the stove fire blossomed into orange flames.
«But —» she began.
«You said when I tired of your company you would leave me alone,» Wolfe interrupted, slamming the stove door shut. «Do that, Lady Jessica. Now.»
Even an aristocrat had some common sense. Jessica picked up her skirts and fled to Wolfe’s bedroom. But even there, she found no peace.
The sound of the wind was very loud in the silence.
5
Wolfe watched Jessica as she knelt over a washtub in the lean-to at the side of his house.
«You’re supposed to be washing the shirt, not making rags of it,» he said.
«I see little difference in the process.»
«Not the way you’re going about it, certainly. Tell me, your ladyship, while the servants accomplished all the useful work at Lord Robert’s house, what did you do?»
«I read, I played the violin, I oversaw the staff, I embroidered —»
«My God,» Wolfe interrupted. «Something useful. How did that creep into your daily regimen? Does that mean you’ll be able to repair the seams you’re pulling apart under the guise of washing my clothes?»
«Would you prefer initials, a coat of arms, or Jacobean-style flowers embroidered in your seams?» Jessica asked pleasantly.
Wolfe made a sound of disgust.
She didn’t bother to look up from the washtub and the lean-to’s widely spaced wooden slats. She knew what she would see if she looked at her husband. He would be watching her with cold eyes and an unforgiving line to his mouth. It had been that way for the three days since he had so startled her by running the tip of his tongue over her burned fingers.
And for those same three days, she had kept a smile pinned on her lips until her face ached.
Unfortunately, by now her face wasn’t the only part of her body that ached. She was as exhausted this afternoon as she had been at the end of the stage ride. When she wasn’t pumping water to wash and rinse clothes, she was carrying bucket after bucket to the stove to heat. From the stove she hauled buckets to the lean-to, poured water into the big tub, knelt, and went to work rubbing and scrubbing every piece of clothing. It usually took three or four times before the shirts pleased Wolfe’s critical eye.
«That’s about as much scrubbing as the poor shirt can take,» Wolfe said.
«I think not, my lord. It’s not perfectly clean.»
«Enough, your ladyship. That’s my favorite shirt. Willow made it for me last summer.»
The sound of ripping cloth carried very clearly over Wolfe’s last words.
«Jessica!»
«Oh, dear, look at that. One would think a paragon would choose cloth that was less frail, wouldn’t one?» Jessica dragged the ruined shirt from the water and wrung it out with real pleasure. «But all isn’t lost, my lord. It will make a wonderful rag for cleaning the privy.»
«You little witch! I should —»
Wolfe’s words ended in a curse as he leaped aside, barely avoiding the torrent of soapy water that came when Jessica upended the washtub.
«Sorry, did you say something?» she asked.
There was a simmering silence while husband and wife looked at each other. Then Wolfe smiled. Jessica smiled in return.
«I think it’s time your ladyship learned to scrub something more durable than a shirt,» Wolfe said.
«What’s that?»
«Floors.»
Jessica’s smile slipped, then was resurrected. «Ah, another quaint wifely ritual. It occurs to me, my Lord Wolfe, why Americans don’t have servants. Wives are ever so much cheaper.»
«Too bad you dumped all that hot, soapy water,» Wolfe said, turning away. «Now you’ll have to get more. You do remember where the wood pile is, don’t you?»
«Quite well.»
«Then hop to it.»
«Do I look like a rabbit?» Jessica asked beneath her breath.
Wolfe turned back. «Hurry up, my red-haired bunny. Daylight is free, but lamplight is expensive. Those of us not fortunate enough to be born into the aristocracy have to be concerned about such things.»