“Now?”
“Yes.” He took her hand, led her to the door of a little white-washed dwelling, and knocked.
A small woman answered. “Mr. Reed.”
“How is he, Polly?”
“Come see.”
Polly opened her door wide enough for the two to enter, but not wide enough to release the heat. Illuminated only by a fire in the grate and the sun shining in from a small window, Ann’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dimness of the room.
A young boy lay face down on a small bed across the room from the fire. Ribboned flesh glistened with a pungent salve that stung Ann’s nose. Her skin tingled at the truth she knew Reed would now tell her.
“My father’s foreman, Mr. Jenkins, thought to teach Cubby a lesson. What ye saw was Mr. Jenkin’s receiving his reward for what he called ‘faithful service’.”
“Still no fever.” Polly placed a hand on the boy’s head. “The doctor said he’ll be all right in a few days,” Polly said.
“Let Titus know if ye need anything.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ann stumbled out the door after Reed. She’d been totally wrong. Embarrassment flamed her cheeks. “What can I do?”
Reed slung his arms behind his back. “Ye needn’t do anything.”
Ann forced her gaze to his clear gray eyes. “I owe ye an apology.”
“Yer conclusion was based on what ye thought ye knew of me. And if it were still five years ago, yer assessment wouldn’t be off by much.”
Ann cast her gaze to her hands gripping each other at her waist.
“I have a proposition for ye.” He angled his tall frame toward her even as a sly smile niggled the corner of his mouth. “As ye so bluntly put it, we have an opportunity this Christmastide. Rather than take this time to prove to our parents that we will never suit, let us take this time to see if we will suit.”
“What?” She sought his gaze again. “Ye mean ye actually want to marry me?” She was well and truly flummoxed.
Reed grinned.
Ann spun away from him. Paced two steps and back again. “I admit that ye crossed my mind when we were very young, but—”
“But what?”
She stood wide-eyed. “I really shouldn’t say.”
“Come now, Annie. Ye’ve subjected me to yer bluntness, surely it won’t fail ye now?” A smile softened the blow of his words, but the challenge hung between them.
“Ye got mean.”
His smile faded.
“As ye got older ye became more like yer father. I do not wish…I will not…”
He took a step closer. “I am not my father.”
“Why should I believe ye?”
He looked to the sky. “I had hoped…” He looked back down.
“What?” What had he hoped? And why did her heart require her to listen when her head did not want her to care?
“Are ye willing to give us twelve days?”
She paced while her head screamed. No!
Ye already misjudged him once, her heart sniped back. “Ye will accept my judgment?”
“Yes.”
“Without argument?”
The corners of his well-formed lips raised in mischief. “Not promising that.”
“How do ye mean to go about this trial?”
He raised one brown brow. “I pray it will not be so painful as a ‘trial’.”
She crossed her arms. It would do no good to feed his arrogance with humor.
“In the usual way. I shall ask ye to walk, ride, to dance with me. Ye will agree to these activities.”
