Free The Faithful Wife by Diana Hamilton

wouldn’t have a clue how to track her down. If he didn’t find her soon, he never would.
    Anxiety quickened his heart rate and he forced himself to move faster, cursing the elements. Despite her height, she was too fragile to last long in these desperate conditions.
    He thought of the slenderness of her bones, the delicate grace of that ultra-feminine body, and groaned, pushing himself harder. His breathing was ragged now, more from the persistently clawing anxiety than from the very real exertion.
    If anything happened to her he would never forgive himself.
    When a rent in the swirling clouds of snow revealed a figure up ahead, gallantly trying to get up off her knees and pathetically failing, the sense of relief he felt forced him to face what he’d tried so hard to hide—he still cared deeply for the little witch. If he’d lost her out here his life wouldn’t have been worth living; his future wouldn’t have been worth having.
    It took him two desperate minutes to reach her, to scoop her up from her knees and hold her as tightly as he could without crushing her slender bones.
    â€˜Oh, Jake—’
    Her voice was a whispery thread of sound against the wail of the wind, but he heard it, and it reached deep inside him and touched him where it hurt. It hurt like hell.
    â€˜Don’t talk,’ he commanded gruffly, his heart twisting inside him as his hands went to steady her shoulders to allow him to search her face.
    White skin was transparent with fatigue; lips were tinged blue with cold. But her eyes were clear bright pools, pools he could drown in, and the barriers went crashing down, each and all of them, as she spoke to him.
    â€˜I’m so sorry, so sorry. Criminally...stupid...’ The words were strung out, as if she hadn’t the strength to say them but would, even if it was the last thing she ever did. ‘Stupid thing...to do.’
    â€˜I said, don’t talk,’ he reiterated thickly, his throat tight. He rubbed the balls of his thumbs gently over the parchment-thin skin stretched over her cheekbones, then cradled her head between his hands and bent to touch his lips to hers, moving them slowly, softly, transmitting what he could of his warmth to her.
    He felt the sweet movement of her cold lips beneath his—opening, receptive, stroking, growing warmer, much warmer now. His heart rate quickened, sending the blood pounding thickly through his veins, until the smothered whimper of pleasure that seemed to come from the depths of her being—sapping what little energy she had left—had him reluctantly moving his mouth from hers.
    This wasn’t the time, and it most decidedly wasn’t the place.
    â€˜Let’s get you home,’ he muttered, sweeping her into his arms. ‘Trust me, you’ll soon be warm and dry.’
    â€˜Jake—I can walk!’
    â€˜Shut up,’ he ordered smoothly, briefly touching his lips to her eyelids, closing the fatigue-bruised skin over those perfect, precious eyes. Then he lengthened his stride. The elements would have to do a damn sight better than this if they wanted to stop him taking her to safety!
    He barely noticed the weather as he fought through the blizzard, and her slight weight was nothing. Immeasurable relief overrode everything else; aching muscles didn’t get a look in.
    At one point she seemed to fall asleep, nestled in his arms, her head tucked in beneath his chin. But she woke when he shouldered open the cottage door, momentarily cuddling closer into his body before murmuring, ‘Put me down, Jake. You must be exhausted.’ She was deeply reluctant to leave the haven of his arms, to relinquish the closeness of the last hour when he’d found her, held her and kissed her and carried her back every step of the way. But his effort had been monumental and, strong though he was, every muscle had to be aching.
    If only they could stay this close, scrub out the past and build