Free Night in Eden by Candice Proctor Page B

gently. "But you have recently birthed a child under rather unfavorable conditions. And you were a guest of His Majesty for—how long? One year? More? Things happen to women."
    Bryony felt her cheeks grow hot and looked away.
    "There's no shame in it," he said gently. "Or, at any rate, not for the women who are the victims. The shame lies with the people in charge of the system. But it would still be best if you let me examine you."
    So she let him, and studied the stubby candles in the wall sconce above her head until he was finished.
    He left almost immediately afterward—going downstairs to report the results of his examinations to St. John, she supposed.
    It was while she was refastening her bodice that the most likely reason Captain St. John had asked the doctor to examine her suddenly occurred to Bryony, and her fists clenched so violently she almost ripped the cheap material of her dress.
    Oliver had once told her military officers were unusually careful about making sure that the women they bedded were disease free. He'd told her some joke about Mercury and Venus, but she'd been so young at the time she hadn't really understood it, and he'd laughed at her for her innocence.
    She wasn't innocent now.
     
    She was standing beside the window, Simon in her arms, when Captain St. John walked back into the parlor.
    He carelessly tossed his broad-brimmed hat onto a side table near the door, then picked up the decanter and poured himself a new glass of wine before going to stretch out in one of the wing chairs near the empty fireplace.
    She'd noticed that today he had bowed to convention and was wearing a cravat. It should have made him look more civilized, but it didn't.
    He tipped his dark head back against the rear cushion, took a sip of wine, and sat regarding her over the rim of his glass for a moment before saying, "Dr. Redfern tells me you're taking good care of my son."
    Not even twelve months in prison had quite taught Bryony to guard her tongue. "I don't believe in visiting the sins of the fathers on their children."
    His eyes narrowed, but only for a moment. Then to her surprise, he laughed. The harsh lines of his face eased, and his normally cold eyes sparkled with amusement. He had such blue, blue eyes—startling blue, she thought, the color of the bay outside. Then he stopped laughing, and his gaze settled on her hair. She fancied she could feel the warmth of his gaze there, as surely as if he'd touched her.
    "I see you found a cap."
    "Yes... sir."
    He stretched his buckskin-clad legs out in front of him in a careless sprawl and took another sip of his drink. "Why do you always say it that way?"
    She shook her head in confusion. "What way?"
    "As if the sir is an afterthought—and a grudging one, at that."
    She stared at him, nonplussed. He tilted up his glass again, and she watched the smooth play of muscles in his tanned throat as he took another swallow of his wine.
    She turned quickly away. "I bought everything you told me to today," she said, carrying a sleepy Simon to his cradle. "Including a new cloak and dress."
    "Only one? You should have bought two."
    She glanced back at him from where she knelt by the cradle. He had his glass resting negligently against one hard thigh. His pose looked relaxed, but she could feel the tension in him, the restlessness.
    She stood up. "I ordered material to make some things for Simon. If I have to, I can make a dress for myself." She picked up one of Simon's blankets and began to fold it. "I was never particularly clever at it, but I—"
    "Bryony," he said softly.
    Her hands stilled at their task. She looked up slowly, feeling a strange heat warm her cheeks.
    He regarded her in silence. She tried to swallow, but she couldn't. It was as if every muscle in her body had tightened, closing off her throat. There was something about the light in his eyes as they rested on her that made her aware of the fact that he was a man and she was a woman, and they were alone in this