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

other family member who can take over his duties? It seems unfair that everything should fall to him.”
    “Mr. Wilkinson gave me to understand that Mr. Luntley is an only child.”
    Mrs. Hutting frowned, as if she thought it had been extremely shortsighted of Mrs. Luntley to produce only a single offspring. Perhaps she did think it, because she herself had given birth to ten. But she was too good to say so, or to allow that she found Mrs. Luntley’s illness very inconvenient. She sighed.
    “We can only pray his mother recovers soon.”
    “Yes, indeed.” William bowed. “Good day, Mrs. Hutting.”
    He took a deep breath once the vicarage door was safely closed behind him. Ah! The air was crisp and clean, so different from London’s dirty fog. But cold. He turned up the collar on his coat. It would be dark shortly. Perhaps he should stop by the lending library to see if—
    Oh, no. He’d managed to hang on to his sanity only by avoiding Belle’s company as much as he possibly could. It was not even dusk. And even if it were the middle of the night, this was Loves Bridge, not London. She would be perfectly safe. In fact, she was probably with Miss Hutting, if Miss Hutting had indeed been off to seek Belle’s literary insights when she’d left the vicarage.
    “Mr. Wattles!”
    He looked up to see Wilkinson coming down through the churchyard from the woods—with Belle on his arm.
    Oh, blast. There was no avoiding her now.
    He detoured to meet them, dread and desire making an uncomfortable stew in his gut.
    “Good afternoon, Mr. Wilkinson.” He looked at Belle. “Miss Franklin.” Months of practice—and of hearing Belle called that—had trained him to use the name without hesitation.
    “Mr. Wattles.” Belle flushed and examined her skirt.
    “I thought you’d still be at the library.” Zeus, he shouldn’t have said that. It sounded as though he kept track of her schedule.
    Which he did, if only to avoid her.
    “I closed early.”
    “Miss Franklin kindly brought over a book I’d ordered,” Wilkinson said, looking at them rather too intently. “She arrived at the same time this did.” He pulled a folded paper from his coat pocket and handed it to William. “I believe it’s rather urgent.”
    William glanced at it. Damnation. It was another letter from Morton. “Thank you.”
    “Right. Well, then, if you’ll excuse me?” Wilkinson bowed. “I’m afraid I have some business that requires my immediate attention.”
    “Of course.” He couldn’t very well beg the man to stay, though he had to fight the urge to do so. He watched Wilkinson stride away, leaving him alone with Belle for the first time since that dreadful night.
    He owed her an apology, had owed it to her for seven bloody months.
    Did I really call her a tease? Oh, God, no. It was worse than that. I called her a fucking tease.
    He gathered his resolve. Best to get this over with at once. “Miss Franklin, I must beg your pardon. The last time we—”
    Belle raised her hand, though her eyes stayed on the ground, her color even more heightened. “Please. Don’t speak of it. I was very much at fault as well.”
    Yes. He’d tried at first to lay all the blame at her door, but after a while—it had taken rather longer than it should have—he’d realized he was the guiltier party. He’d made the first move. He’d tried to seduce her.
    He was the one who was married.
    “I must speak of it. I should never have taken such liberties with you, Belle.”
    She made an odd little noise, something between a laugh and a sob. “I didn’t exactly fight you off.”
    No, she hadn’t, had she? That almost made it worse. He knew she felt something for him.
    If only he wasn’t tied to Hortense.
    “Perhaps, but I should not have put you in such a position.” He swallowed. It had to be said. “And I should never have called you what I did. That was unpardonable.”
    She shrugged, looking over at the Spinster House. “You were upset.”
    Upset?