Read Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] for Free Online

and manner of dress.
    He paused, swiping his arm across his brow and just as quickly turned. As if he’d felt her looking at him. His eyes locked with hers and Rachel had an uncomfortable feeling her face was turning a bright pink.
    “I wondered what you were doing,” was all she could think to say.
    He said nothing, just looked at her with those green eyes till she turned away and reentered the cabin.
    ~ ~ ~
    She’d never spent a longer, more uncomfortable day. Rachel divided her time between pacing the tiny cabin and sitting in the chair. She was bored beyond measure. Back at Queen’s House there were friends to talk to. Liz. No, not Liz, anymore, Rachel reminded herself, and stopped. She didn’t want to think about what her life was... what it would be again.
    For now she was stuck in the backwoods of nowhere. With a man who seemed unable to utter more than a few words. At least that’s all he’d spoken to her today. The few times he entered the cabin today—once to call for his dog and two times carrying armfuls of chopped wood—he merely looked at her as if he wished she’d disappear.
    And in that they were of like minds.
    Except that she couldn’t.
    And she couldn’t imagine why that was.
    Actually, by the time the feeble bit of light filtering through the window was gone, Rachel had tired of thinking on it. She was dozing in the chair when a sudden burst of cold awoke her. He was standing in the open doorway, his form backdropped by twilight, and he was staring at her. Though she couldn’t clearly see his face, Rachel had no doubt of that. She also had no doubt that his expression was one of annoyance.
    She straightened the crick in her neck as he strode into the room, kicking the door shut as he moved. She wasn’t used to falling asleep in chairs. When he stood between her and the hearth he stopped.
    “You’re wet.” Rachel hastened to draw back the hem of her gown which already bore bleeding spots of dampness where he dripped on her. But he didn’t seem concerned by the fact that he was soaking her clothes... her. He leaned forward, grasping the arms of the roughly made chair with his large hands.
    Imprisoning her.
    Water streamed from his dark hair, dropping in fat, cold plops onto her bodice as Rachel arched back as far as she could. “What do you think you’re doing? I am Lady Rachel—”
    “And I don’t give a damn who you thinks you are, or what for that matter.”
    It was nearly dark but he was close enough for Rachel to see the moisture beading on his long, dark lashes. To feel the warmth of his breath. His eyes bore into hers as his presence continued to soak her.
    “I don’t even care how you came to be here. The truth is you are, for I’m fully sober now and you still be here. So—”
    “I am not some drunken fantasy, sir!” Rachel’s chin shot up, bringing her face closer to his.
    “As I’ve finally concluded. But whatever you’re doing here, this be my house and—”
    “Such as it is.”
    “And you be here out of the goodness of me heart.”
    She said nothing to that, but the roll of her eyes heavenward conveyed what she thought the odds were that he even had a heart.
    “So if you be staying here, you’ll be doing your share.”
    The nerve of the man. “Share of what?”
    “Chores for one.”
    “Chores? I never heard of anything so ridiculous. Queen Charlotte’s ladies do not do chores. We... Are you listening to me?” But he wasn’t. She could tell that by the set of his broad shoulders. He now bent over the hearth, trying to coax the few remaining embers back to life. He’d jerked away from her, leaving Rachel wet and chilled.
    Pushing to her feet Rachel took the few steps necessary to put her beside him. “Would you look at what you’ve done to me.” She brushed at the gown with her palms. “I’m cold.”
    He said nothing, only continued to feed chips of wood into the fire. “Did you hear what I said?” She hovered over him as he squatted in front of