Free Whispers of Heaven by Candice Proctor Page B

comfort to which he had been born. She had known him her entire life, yet it struck her in that moment that she really didn't know him at all, not in the ways a woman should know her husband. She had no notion of the dreams and passions that lived in the heart of him, the soul of him.
    "You're scowling at me, Jesmond." Harrison tilted his head in that way he had when he was teasing. "Quite fiercely. Do you think I judge your brother's new groom too harshly?"
    "I think you're very quick to judge someone about whom you know almost nothing."
    His eyes widened, then narrowed in concern. Reaching out, he took one of her hands in both of his, his grip cool and light. "You're right, of course, darling. How unchristian of me. But to demonstrate that my own character is not irredeemably lost, let me hasten to inform you that the Blackhaven Scientific Society is hosting a lecture on speleology, to be delivered by one Professor Heinrich Luneberg, this Saturday. Knowing your interest in the subject, I have come to offer my services as your escort. And Philippa and I would like to request your presence at dinner tomorrow evening. There. I've offered to feed your hunger for universal knowledge as well as the less exalted requirements of your mortal self. Am I forgiven?"
    It was the kind of frothy nonsense Harrison always threw out to disguise his deeper emotions. And so while Jessie dutifully laughed, she didn't miss the earnest, strained look in his eyes. "Thank you, Harrison." She twisted her hand to link her fingers with his. "I'd like that very much."
    "Speleology?" Warrick slipped from the fence in one easy motion to cuff his friend on the shoulder. "Good God, Harrison, that is above and beyond the call of duty, even if you have committed yourself to marrying her."
    "Listening to lectures about caves 1 don't mind," said Harrison, drawing Jessie's hand through the crook of his arm as they started toward the house. "As long as Jesmond doesn't try to drag me into actually exploring the wretched things."
    Warrick and Harrison both laughed. Neither noticed when Jessie didn't join in.
    Walking between them, she crossed the yard, her hand on her betrothed's arm, her thoughts wandering far from the others' conversation. She could not understand what had driven her to defend that man, that dark, hateful Irishman, with his glittering, hostile stares and bitterly defiant attitude.
    She quickened her step, barely suppressing the urge to pick up her skirts and run. Run away from the thunder of the stallion's hooves and the caressing warmth of the Irishman's voice and a swirling onslaught of wild, dangerous impulses she didn't understand and didn't want.
    Cold but sweet and blessedly cleansing, the water closed over Gallagher's head. He dove deep, swimming along the bottom of the riverbed, pushing himself to go farther, farther, before finally arching upward, his legs kicking hard as he shot to the surface.
    From the hazelnut trees farther up the hill, near the stables, came the melodious call of a thrush. Lucas shook his head, clearing the tumbled hair from his eyes and smiling as he sucked the evening air into his lungs and felt the dirt and sweat of the day leave him. It'd been one of the things he hated the most about the chain gang—the festering, stinking, dehumanizing filth. On the chain gangs, a man could go for months at a time without being given a chance to get clean. Now, he came here whenever he could, to swim in the broad, gently flowing waterway known as the River Daymond that curled around the base of the high ground on which Anselm Corbett had built his fortresslike stone house and surrounding outbuildings. Once or twice a week, Lucas tried to wash his clothes, as well, if he could grab the time before the sun slipped too low in the horizon. It would be easier, now, with the coming of spring and the lengthening of the days.
    Turning, he swam back against the current, back and forth, back and forth, letting the familiar rhythm