Free In the Spinster's Bed by Sally Mackenzie Page A

her life would remain as it had been these last twenty years. If she crossed over and touched him, everything would change.
    It was far safer to stay where she was.
    When I was young I didn’t consider safety. I let passion—and love—rule me, no matter what the risks.
    She was no longer young.
    “I saw that your wife died. I’m very sorry.”
    He kept looking down, stroking Poppy. “I thought you didn’t read the gossip columns.”
    “I didn’t used to.” She bit her lip. She didn’t want to pry, but it felt rude to ignore the topic. “I hope she didn’t suffer.”
    “I don’t think she did. I don’t know.”
    She heard the pain in his voice, and her heart ached for him.
    He straightened up. “God, Belle. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was still a shock.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I suppose one thinks life will go on as it always has until it doesn’t.”
    “Yes.” That was a good thing. Surprise hurt too much. Now that William’s wife had died, he’d return to London . . .
    Except he’s here in Loves Bridge.
    Did she really want her life to go on as it had been, day after day, always the same?
    Always alone.
    Yes. That’s what everyone was, at heart: Alone. It was good to depend on yourself and no one else. To do otherwise gave people too much power to hurt you.
    She looked down. Good heavens, Poppy was glaring at her.
    You don’t understand. You’re a cat, for God’s sake. I can’t do it. I know I said I might, but that was before, when he was gone. Now that he’s here . . . If I go to him, it will kill me when he leaves. It almost killed me twenty years ago.
    Poppy kept glaring, her tail twitching.
    “When do you go back to London?” Yes. Remember, he’s only here briefly. In a short time—perhaps only a few days—I’ll be at peace again.
    He looked at her, his eyes dark and tight with pain. Bleak.
    Her heart clenched. At peace? No. Or only the peace that death brings.
    She’d been getting up in the morning and going to bed at night, going through all the motions of life, but she’d been dead inside. Even a short time with William was worth the ache of years without him.
    He blew out a long breath and grimaced. “I don’t know. I came here to hide from the gossips, Belle, but the gossips are still in Town. Hortense’s death didn’t stop their tongues.” His shoulders slumped. “And, more to the point, there’s nothing for me there. I’m so tired of the ton and their intrigues.”
    And I am tired of existing rather than living. I want to be fearless again, as fearless as I was as a girl. William needs me. I can’t be afraid.
    She crossed the distance separating them and touched his arm. “Why did you come to see me, William?”
    He stared down at her, his jaw clenched. She saw him swallow, saw his nostrils flare—and then she saw tears film his eyes.
    “Oh, William.” She wrapped her arms around him.
    “Belle.” It sounded as if her name was wrenched from his lips. He crushed her against him so she could barely breathe. “Belle. Oh, God, Belle.” He buried his face in her hair.
    “It’s all right.” She had to whisper, he was holding her so tightly. “It’s all right.” She rubbed his back. His body was taut as a bowstring.
    Finally, he shuddered and let her go, pulling his handkerchief out quickly, but not before she saw his eyes were red. He looked away as he blew his nose.
    “Would you like a glass of brandy, William?”
    One brow rose, but the effect was rather spoiled by the blotches on his face. “You have brandy?”
    She nodded and took his arm, leading him to the uncomfortable red settee. Thank God the shutters were closed. All she needed was for the Misses Boltwood to catch sight of him in her sitting room. “One of the earlier spinsters—or perhaps Isabelle Dorring herself—was very fond of spirits.”
    She gave him a little push to get him to sit and then went to fetch the brandy and a glass. When she came back, Poppy was