It was so simple to reach out and brush at those tears with his fingertips. More tears came, but this time her gaze met his, so full of hurt he didn't know what to say.
Propose to her. Remember your duty. Father. Procreation.
At least he liked the prospect of procreating with her. His groin ached at the thought of her in his bed, those dark tangles of curls fanning across his pillow and clutched in his hands as she surrendered her body to him.
"I want to marry you."
She blinked, spilling more tears. "You d-don't." She sniffed, and even that seemed vulnerable. "Stop saying that"
She didn't believe him. Confused, he stared down at her, his heart pounding like Indian war drums. At least he knew she didn't covet his possessions, didn't want him for his money. 'Twas a good start.
"Tessa." He released his hold on her and began unwrapping the bundle he carried. The thinning daylight revealed the length of fine folded wool.
"I have to go," she whispered. "I have supper to prepare for Grandfather's family."
"Don't go." He meant it as an order, but it came out like a request. He shook out the cloak.
She drew in a shaky breath. "I'll be back to tend your father. I shouldn't be gone more than two hours."
She wasn't ever going to slave for that ungrateful family again. Jonah laid the cloak across her thin shoulders, so close he could smell the faint scent of wild roses in her hair. His guts clenched. Blood drummed through unmentionable parts of his body.
"You said a cloak this fine should go to my wife, the wife I've come home to marry." She deserved a little kindness. He'd hurt her feelings. Had he been so thoughtless to her? Shame filled him. He'd proposed, and she was so unsure of him she mistakenly believed he would hurt her cruelly. Now, what did she believe?
"I can't be your wife, Jonah." Another sniff. More tears vibrating in her eyes, so dark and drawing he could not look away.
"Forget Horace Walling. You will not be marrying him." "
When he expected a smile, maybe a thank you and her undying gratitude for saving her from such a fate, Tessa shrugged off the cloak. Her slim fingers held the garment as if it were made of pure gold.
Her chin went up. Her entire body stiffened. "Why would you want to marry me?"
"Well, I-" Duty. He stopped before the explanation passed his lips. He didn't need to explain. She'd lived a lifetime of duty caring for her mother and earning her keep with relatives who didn't want her. He knew without asking she would care for his father with the same sense of duty.
Besides, she was wise enough to know, unlike those foolish young girls, that marriage was an agreement. A contract. A simple physical coexistence.
Her gaze studied him with pointed intelligence, searching his eyes and his face. Then her face changed. A light warmed her eyes, unlike anything he'd ever seen. A sweetness that drew him, made him feel as if he'd done the right thing after all.
"You really want to marry me."
So, she finally understood. Jonah's heart warmed. He reached out and took the cloak from her hands. Without a word, he held it out and she slipped into it, the fine wool curling over her shoulders as if she were made for it.
"What you're saying is that you love me." A question wrinkled her brow, but the brightness in her eyes doubled. A warmth just for him that held him spellbound.
"Love you?" he repeated.
Another tear rolled down her cheek. "Jonah, I never thought"
He didn't want to deceive her. He didn't want to use her. Jonah rubbed his brow, uncertain what to do next. How did he explain he would never love a woman, never give over the control of his heart the way his father had?
"I swore to myself long ago," she began, head down, shimmering black curls hiding her face, "when my mother suffered so married to my stepfather, that if it were in my power, I would only marry for love."
Love. There was that word again. That empty word that meant a person thought they could use you. Romantic love was about power and control. And love was little different than the battlefield, casualties and fighting and all.
Jonah didn't want love. He wanted peaceable coexistence.
He opened his mouth, but he knew any explanation would bring back those tears of hurt. He could not do that to her, no matter his personal opinion of Tessa Bradford, because she cared so much for his father.
She lifted her face and he could see all the hope in those eyes and all the uncertainty. Her voice sounded brave when she whispered, "I want to marry you."
Chapter Eight
He'd made a mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake. Jonah gazed down into dreamy blue eyes, as clear as dreams, and saw how wrong he'd been. He should have guessed that the woman who had tended Father with gentle hands and an angel's light was the same woman who instilled fear in the strongest men in this village with her sharp bold tongue.
Beneath the determined shell lived a tender heart. He had assumed a spinster who had seen as much of life and death as Tessa had would see his proposal as the practical arrangement he'd intended.
But how tremulous she looked, as if she could melt against his chest in disbelief.
Guilt speared him. Hero, they called him. Major, a leader of men. Hell, he gazed down at Tessa Bradford, saw a rare beauty brushing her face with the same luminous light as the pale sun, and turned coward. Full-fledged, yellow-bellied coward.
He knew he should tell her the truth. But how could he? She looked amazing, like the first blushing light of dawn. Crisp breezes ruffled her ebony curls and painted her cheeks pink. He could not take his gaze from the sight of her beauty so rare; he'd never seen the like before.
Then the light so blue in her eyes dimmed, the joy ebbed from her face until there was no light, no beauty. Only the plain face of duty and hardship. "I want to marry you, but I cannot. I am already promised. Money and livestock have changed hands and it can't be undone. Besides, there is no way Grandfather would ever let me-"
She held out the cloak to him, regret so dark on her face 'twas as if something precious inside her had died. "I'm sorry I got carried away. I just thought-I mean, I would have liked to marry you. Even if-"
"Even if you hate me?"
She blushed. And he saw the truth then. She didn't hate him. The taste of her kiss, heated velvet and passion, the feel of her slim woman's body held tight against him, the silken luxury of her curls, and the music of her voice came to him, memories that would haunt him this night and for many to come. She was an enchantress beneath her hard spinster image, one that she wore like a cloak to disguise the woman beneath.
He was no longer fooled. She was no child half his age, no whimpering female full of wiles and manipulations. Her hands, rough from harsh lye soap and chapped from the cold winter temperatures, testified she was a woman who knew how to work and did so willingly. And she loved his father.
He could think of no greater gift to the man he loved above all, the man he owed his life and his loyalty and all that he was.
"Keep the cloak, Tessa."
" 'Twould not be right. Others will say-"
"I don't give a damn what others say. All that matters is that it is cold outside and you have no serviceable cloak. It would make me happy knowing you wore it, someone who values my father so. Besides, he would want you to have it."
Were those more tears glimmering like rare diamonds in her eyes? " 'Tis too fine for me to wear. I will save it as a treasure."
She bowed her chin and simply walked away, her shadow slim and elongated from the low slant of the sun. Birds pecking for their sustenance upon the frosted ground scattered at her approach.
"Tessa."
She stopped, then turned. "What is it now?"
He stood squinting into the brightness, one hand at his brow to shield his eyes. Even simply dressed in black trousers and a dark tailored shirt, with the collar open to expose the strong column of his neck, he looked every bit the heroic major, a commander of men, brave and loyal.