When Wolfe had adjusted the wick properly, he went back to the stove. Jessica was in the process of breaking another match in half while trying to strike it on the smooth, greasy portion of the stoveas metal surface. With a muttered word, she took a new match from the diminishing supply in the cup.

aHere,a Wolfe said, reaching past Jessica and putting his hand over hers. aHold onto the match. Now bring it across the spot where the fire below burned the hottest. The metal is clean there. No soot or grease is left to foul the match tip.a As Wolfe spoke, he drew Jessicaas hand beneath his over the stove in a swift, firm stroke. The match blazed instantly to life.

aSee?a he said.

Jessica looked over her shoulder at Wolfe. The burning match was reflected in his eyes. The contrast between the flame and the blue midnight of his irises enthralled her, as did the straight, black length of his eyelashes and the p.r.o.nounced arch of his eyebrows. The intensity and intelligence in his eyes was brighter and more alluring than even the dance of flame.

The odd, shivering sensations returned to her stomach.

aJessi?a aYes, I see.a aDo you? You look rather baffled.a aJust a bit shocked.a aBy lighting a match?a She smiled oddly. aNo. By you. I just realized how very handsome you are.a Wolfeas eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed. The pulse at his throat speeded.

aI mean, Iave always known you were handsome,a Jessica continued, trying to explain. aEveryone from d.u.c.h.esses to maids has rattled on about your looks for years, but I never really knew. Itas rather unsettling suddenly to see you as they must have seen you.a She laughed uncertainly. aDonat stare at me so. I feel foolish enough as it is. How could I overlook something so obvious for so manya"oh!a Jessicaas hand jerked as the match burned down to her skin. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her fingers to her lips and dropped the still flaming match onto the stovetop.

aAre you all right?a Wolfe asked.

Jessica blew on her fingertips before staring at them critically. aJust a trifle scorched.a aLet me see.a He looked at her fingertips, then bent his head and gently ran the tip of his tongue over them. When he lifted his head again, Jessica was watching him with an expression on her face that could have been shock or disgust.

aYou neednat look so appalled,a Wolfe said curtly. aItas only what a cat would do for a foolish kitten.a Jessica opened her mouth but no words came out. A visible shudder ran over her. Wolfe turned away and lit another match with a swift slash of his hand.

aGo unpack the trunks, your ladyship,a he said as he set the match to the previously laid fire. aThe viscountas savage will fix supper tonight.a Jessica flinched. She hadnat realized how warm and affectionate Wolfeas voice had become until she measured it against the return of ice and distance.

aWolfe? What have I done?a aWhen youare finished unpacking, be sure to take some of those aristocratic bed linens you brought and make a pallet by the hearth. A nun like you wouldnat want to do something so b.e.s.t.i.a.l as to sleep near any man, much less a savage like your husband.a Wolfe stood up. Behind him the stove fire blossomed into orange flames.

aButa"a she began.

aYou said when I tired of your company you would leave me alone,a Wolfe interrupted, slamming the stove door shut. aDo that, Lady Jessica. Now.a Even an aristocrat had some common sense. Jessica picked up her skirts and fled to Wolfeas bedroom. But even there, she found no peace.

The sound of the wind was very loud in the silence.

5.

W OLFE watched Jessica as she knelt over a washtub in the lean-to at the side of his house.

aYouare supposed to be washing the shirt, not making rags of it,a he said.

aI see little difference in the process.a aNot the way youare going about it, certainly. Tell me, your ladyship, while the servants accomplished all the useful work at Lord Robertas house, what did you do?a aI read, I played the violin, I oversaw the staff, I embroidereda"a aMy G.o.d,a Wolfe interrupted. aSomething useful. How did that creep into your daily regimen? Does that mean youall be able to repair the seams youare pulling apart under the guise of washing my clothes?a aWould you prefer initials, a coat of arms, or Jacobean-style flowers embroidered in your seams?a Jessica asked pleasantly.

Wolfe made a sound of disgust.

She didnat bother to look up from the washtub and the lean-toas widely s.p.a.ced wooden slats. She knew what she would see if she looked at her husband. He would be watching her with cold eyes and an unforgiving line to his mouth. It had been that way for the three days since he had so startled her by running the tip of his tongue over her burned fingers.

And for those same three days, she had kept a smile pinned on her lips until her face ached.

Unfortunately, by now her face wasnat the only part of her body that ached. She was as exhausted this afternoon as she had been at the end of the stage ride. When she wasnat pumping water to wash and rinse clothes, she was carrying bucket after bucket to the stove to heat. From the stove she hauled buckets to the lean-to, poured water into the big tub, knelt, and went to work rubbing and scrubbing every piece of clothing. It usually took three or four times before the shirts pleased Wolfeas critical eye.

aThatas about as much scrubbing as the poor shirt can take,a Wolfe said.

aI think not, my lord. Itas not perfectly clean.a aEnough, your ladyship. Thatas my favorite shirt. Willow made it for me last summer.a The sound of ripping cloth carried very clearly over Wolfeas last words.

aJessica!a aOh, dear, look at that. One would think a paragon would choose cloth that was less frail, wouldnat one?a Jessica dragged the ruined shirt from the water and wrung it out with real pleasure. aBut all isnat lost, my lord. It will make a wonderful rag for cleaning the privy.a aYou little witch! I shoulda"a Wolfeas words ended in a curse as he leaped aside, barely avoiding the torrent of soapy water that came when Jessica upended the washtub.

aSorry, did you say something?a she asked.

There was a simmering silence while husband and wife looked at each other. Then Wolfe smiled. Jessica smiled in return.

aI think itas time your ladyship learned to scrub something more durable than a shirt,a Wolfe said.

aWhatas that?a aFloors.a Jessicaas smile slipped, then was resurrected. aAh, another quaint wifely ritual. It occurs to me, my Lord Wolfe, why Americans donat have servants. Wives are ever so much cheaper.a aToo bad you dumped all that hot, soapy water,a Wolfe said, turning away. aNow youall have to get more. You do remember where the wood pile is, donat you?a aQuite well.a aThen hop to it.a aDo I look like a rabbit?a Jessica asked beneath her breath.

Wolfe turned back. aHurry up, my red-haired bunny. Daylight is free, but lamplight is expensive. Those of us not fortunate enough to be born into the aristocracy have to be concerned about such things.a Standing up was easier said than done for Jessica. With an effort, Wolfe restrained his instinctive move to help her. Instead, he watched impa.s.sively while she struggled to her feet.

Despite her best effort to be silent, a groan got past her lips. Wolfe took it as a sign that he was finally winning the contest of wills. At least, he hoped he was. He didnat know how much longer he could bear to twiddle his thumbs while the shadows beneath Jessicaas eyes deepened more each hour. The hard physical labor of housekeeping under his critical eye was draining what strength had remained after the long, strenuous trip to his home.

Even though Jessica had trapped Wolfe into marriage, he had too many good memories of times past to enjoy grinding her down in such a manner. Yet he forced himself to watch Jessicaas stiff movements without flinching. If he showed kindness, it would be mistaken for weakness, which would only prolong the process of getting Jessica to accept the futility of their marriage.

But even while he was telling himself to be strong, he was speaking.

aJust say the word and youall never put those delicate hands into wash water again.a Jessica stretched her back and sighed. aThe last time you made that offer, you objected to the word I said.a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Unwillingly, Wolfe smiled as he remembered. Jessica caught the softening of his expression and prayed that he would relent on the matter of scrubbing floors.

Wolfe saw her hopeful expression and knew he must not give in. Silently, he picked up the bucket and held it out to her. He saw both the dismay in her eyes and the straightening of her spine as she took the bucket from his hands.

Reluctant admiration grew in Wolfe. Jessicaas sheer determination was greater than that of men twice her size. But no matter how stubborn she was, her endurance was limited by her strength. In the end, he would use her own stubbornness as a weapon against her. In the end, he would win.

All he had to do was endure his own self-disgust while he wore her down.

aJessi,a Wolfe said gently, agive it up. You arenat cut out to be a commoneras wife. You know it as well as I do.a aBetter your wife than Lord Goreas.a Wolfeas temper slipped, for there was nothing he could force himself to do to Jessica that would equal Lord Goreas drunken brutality, which put Wolfe at a disadvantage when it came to convincing Jessica to give up this farce of a marriage.

aBetter for you,a Wolfe retorted coldly, abut not for me. There are many better wives for me than you.a aDonat count on it,a Jessica said, turning away. aParagons arenat so thick upon the ground that you can just pluck one like a daffodil in spring.a aI donat want a paragon. I want a wife.a aHow fortunate for the paragon Willow that she is already married. Her heart would be broken if she knew that even her astonishing perfection wasnat enough to satisfy Tree That Stands Alone.a At first Wolfe didnat understand what Jessica meant. When he did, he smiled. It was the first real sign that his frequent praising of Willowas accomplishments had rankled Jessica. She had just given him a tool with which to chip away at her own monumental confidence that their marriage would work.

aWillow has pa.s.sion,a Wolfe said. aThatas something a nun wouldnat understand, much less be able to equal.a There was no answer but that of the pump handle being worked inside the kitchen as Jessica drew more water for scrubbing the floor.

FORWARD, back, forward, back, dip into the water, lean hard, harder, forward, back, forward, backa The silent chant had been repeated in Jessicaas mind so often that she wasnat aware of it any longer. Nor was she aware of the lateness of the hour. Her world had shrunk to no larger a s.p.a.ce than the bricks within reach of her scrub brush.

At first look, Wolfeas kitchen had struck her as small. Now it seemed the size of a ballroom.

Forward, back, forward, back.

The wind had risen with the descending sun. Now the wind moaned hungrily around the eaves and pried with transparent fingers at every crevice, searching for a way inside. Jessica began humming to shut out the horrifying, soulless cries that had disturbed even the exhausted sleep she succ.u.mbed to at night. No matter how forcefully she hummed, the sound of the wind was louder.

Lean hard, harder.

The brush moved sluggishly over brick despite Jessicaas desire to finish. Despairingly, she realized that her arms had no more strength. She locked her elbows and leaned her full weight on the brush. It rolled in her soapy fingers and rattled across the floor. She barely caught herself before she went sprawling.

By the time Jessica set aside the brush and rinsed the whole floor with clean water, it was past time to be preparing supper. Not that it mattered. Whatever she prepared, Wolfe would look at it as though it had crawled from a chamber pot onto his plate.

aAh well, I can hardly fault him for that. Even the skunk pa.s.sed up the stew I made last night. Nor can I fairly be blamed. No one told me to cover the pot and keep adding water while I cooked.a The memory of the silent, nighttime visitor made Jessica laugh despite the steady aching of her body. She shook out the ruins of her once-fine traveling outfit. The skirt no longer matched the aquamarine of her eyes. Instead, the fabric more resembled a muddy pool, with dense black patches where her knees had ground the cloth against brick or the wooden slats of the lean-to where she had toiled over the washtub.

aBother,a Jessica muttered. aI should have taken the charwomanas clothes and left mine in England.a She went to the stove, flipped open the door with a metal hook, and looked inside. As always, more wood was required. The same was no doubt true for the living room hearth, which also cleverly served to heat the bedroom as well. She had been quite intrigued with the double-sided fireplace, and the artistry of the stonemason who had built it. Discovering that Wolfe had been the builder had surprised her.

In between feeding the stove and feeding the hearth fire so that it could take the chill from the buckets of water she had arrayed on either side for her bath later, Jessica barely had time to deal with preparing any food.

aBlazes!a she muttered when the paring knife slipped repeatedly in her inexperienced hands. aTonight Iall surprise Wolfe. Tonight weall have riced potatoes, fried pork chops from his neighboras pig, and tinned cherries. Little enough could go wrong with that lot.a Jessica sighed. aTonight I wonat have to listen while Wolfe sings the praises of that paragon of the culinary arts, Willow Black.a Jessica continued talking aloud to herself while she worked. Talking helped to hold the sound of the wind at bay, but the sustained moans still ate away at her composure. She was grateful when the vigorously boiling water added its bit to the kitchen sounds.

Soon the smell of potatoes cooking drove out the pungent lye scent that lingered after the bricks had been so thoroughly scrubbed. The clatter of a cast iron frying pan as she hauled it onto the stovetop was almost cheerful, as was the sizzle of chops when the pan warmed enough to cook the meat.

Humming despite the numbing fatigue that was creeping through her body, Jessica primed the pump and filled a huge soup pot with water. She spilled about a quart on the way to the big stove, but barely noticed. The remaining two gallons were quite enough for her to lift. She opened the stoveas front gate, stuffed in several more lengths of wood and slammed the gate shut.

aWhat next?a Jessica asked, running through the list in her mind. aAh, yes, the table must be readied. Another cloth to dirty, to wash, to hang out to dry, and then to put in that great pile awaiting the flatiron. Praise G.o.d, Wolfe hadnat insisted that I iron another shirt after the first one. How was I to know cloth burned so quickly?a Jessica went to the sideboard, ran her hand admiringly across its beautifully made top, and opened a drawer. To her relief, there was another cloth left. Last nightas cloth had been ruined when Wolfe had taken a swallow of coffee and then spewed it all over while swearing that she was trying to poison him.

Closing her eyes, Jessica reminded herself that someday she would find this all as amusing as Wolfe sometimes did. Until then, she must continue to smile and learn to do ch.o.r.es as quickly as possible.

There was no other choice. Every time her smiles faltered or she showed how weary she was becoming, she would turn around and see Wolfe watching her, cataloging each sign of weakness, waiting for the moment she gave up on being a Western wife.

Say the word, Jessica.

Wolfe didnat even have to speak the command aloud any more. It was there in the line of his mouth, the scrutiny of his eyes, his predatory attention like a cold wind blowing through her. Yet she couldnat give up, no matter how tired she was, no matter how strange her new life was, no matter how desperately lonely it was to be in a foreign land with no friend but Wolfe.

Wolfe, who wanted her out of his life.

aNever,a Jessica vowed aloud. aYou will see, Wolfe. We will laugh again, sing again, read by the fire again. We will be friends once more. It will happen. It must. And if it doesnataa Jessicaas throat closed. It must happen.

aIall get stronger,a she vowed. aIall learn. Whatever happens to me as a Western wife canat be worse than what my mother endured being married to a Scots aristocrat who wanted nothing from her but a male heir.a The sound of the wind rose to an eerie cry, the wailing of a woman giving way to despair, screaming in agony. Jessica put her hands over her ears and began singing as loudly as she could. The wind howled unabated, for it blew only in her mind, not in the wild Western land.

With a stifled cry, Jessica hurried from the kitchen to check on the hearth fire. She added wood, then went into the bedroom and looked longingly at the big hip tub. The thought of it filled with hot water and laced with drops of fragrant rose oil made gooseb.u.mps course pleasurably over her skin. Never had she understood what an extraordinary luxury a hot bath was.

Now she did. Since they had arrived at Wolfeas home, Jessica had made do with French baths taken from the basin before she dressed. She had been too busy during daylight and too exhausted by nightfall to draw, heat, and haul bath water to the hip tub.

Tonight she would do all of that if she had to do it on her hands and knees. She simply couldnat bear going without a true bath for one more night.

Jessica looked longingly at the soft invitation of Wolfeas bed, but didnat want to soil its exquisite fur covering with her grubby clothes. Grimacing, she sat by the hearth, leaning against the fire-warmed stone. The nights of broken sleep on her hard pallet by the hearth and the days of unaccustomed work had drained her. Very quickly she fell asleep.

The sound of Wolfe shouting from the front of the house startled Jessica awake. The first thing she saw was a layer of smoke hanging just below the ceiling and curling out an open window.

aJessi! Answer me! Where are you?a Her first attempt to come to her feet failed because her overworked arms refused to cooperate. Her second try was more successful.

aWolfe?a she called, her voice hoa.r.s.e with sleep.

The front door banged open and Wolfe leaped inside. His dark face was grim.

aJessi, are you all right?a he yelled, looking toward the kitchen where smoke boiled thickly.

aIam fine,a she said.

Wolfe spun and saw Jessica standing in the bedroom doorway, her hair half-unraveled and her eyes very pale against the dark lavender circles that surrounded them. He closed his eyes and let out an explosive breath as the urgency went out of him.

aWolfe? Whatas wrong?a His eyes snapped open. They were narrowed and frankly dangerous. aI thought the house was burning down, and you with it.a aBurninga"oh, dear G.o.d, the chops!a Wolfe followed Jessicaas rush into the kitchen. When she reached for the frying pan, he struck her hand aside.

aNo! Youall blister yourself!a He went into the living room and returned with fire tongs. Using them, he managed to get the cheerfully burning chops outside. He placed the smoking pan in the dirt just beyond the back steps.

Behind him, Jessica sighed deeply. aDo you suppose the skunk will be any hungrier tonight than he was last night?a Wolfe took a long time turning around, because he didnat trust himself not to laugh out loud. He, too, had wondered if the skunkas appet.i.te would be up to the challenge of Jessicaas cooking.

But sharing laughter with his irrepressible Jessi was too enjoyable, too arousing, tooaaddictive. Each time he let her get past his guard, it encouraged her to believe she would ultimately win him over. He must not do that, for it wasnat true. He would never accept the sham marriage, which meant that any kindness from him would be cruelty in disguise. Kindness would only draw out the painful process of getting Jessica to accept an annulment.

Wolfe didnat want to extend the process by so much as one second. He didnat know how much longer he could look at his frazzled aristocrat and not gather her into his arms.

When Wolfe turned around to face Jessica once more, his face was expressionless.

aWhat else is the skunk having for dinner tonight?a he asked in a carefully neutral voice.

Jessica smiled rather grimly. aNot a blasted thing. I put plenty of water in the potatoes and I havenat opened the tinned cherries yet.a aCanned.a aWhat?a aCanned cherries in the West, tinned cherries in England.a aOh.a Wolfe could practically see Jessicaas agile mind noting the peculiarity of speech for future use. She was losing the last bits of her British accent and idioms as quickly as she had once lost her Scots speech patterns. Like Wolfe, she had learned as a child the survival value of camouflage. Being the daughter of a Scots commoner mother couldnat be changed any more than the circ.u.mstances of Wolfeas own birth could be altered. But clothing and patterns of speech could be changed, and were, depending on the people Wolfe found himself among.

Few people looked past the outward appearance, which suited Wolfe just fine. It allowed him to move freely where he pleased. He wondered if Jessica had founda"and cherisheda"a similar personal freedom beneath the appearance of conformity. He suspected she had.

The thought didnat please him. It would only make her fight that much harder against an annulment, for her continued freedom depended on the same marriage that so badly restricted Wolfeas own freedom.

Jessica walked past her silent husband into the smoky kitchen. He followed her, noting the many gaps between the tiny b.u.t.tons on her back. She hadnat been able to fasten the dress herself, or had fastened it incorrectly.

This further proof that Jessica didnat want Wolfeas hands on her at all, even to fasten her impossible dress, made anger uncurl in him. Though he knew he should be grateful she wasnat bent on seducing him into a reala"and disastrousa"marriage, he wasnat the least bit pleased by her aversion to being touched by him in even the most casual way.

b.l.o.o.d.y little nun. Why did you choose me to torment with that perfect body?

Through slitted eyes, Wolfe watched while Jessica propped the kitchen door open to let out the smoke before she went to check on the potatoes. She lifted the lid and looked into the pot.

aBlazes,a she said unhappily. aWhere did they go?a aWhere did what go?a aThe potatoes.a Wolfe looked over Jessicaas head into the pot. Nothing resembling a potato was visible in the opaque water.

aLast night the potatoes were scorched on the outside and raw in the middle. Tonight they have no middle. No top, bottom, or sides, either.a aI had no idea potatoes were such perverse vegetables,a Jessica muttered.

aNo wonder people leave out milk and cookies for elves. The silly b.a.s.t.a.r.ds would starve to death otherwise.a Wolfe shook his head and looked at Jessica with open curiosity. aWhat have you done to the canned cherries? Buried them in salt or soda?a aItas unreasonable to expect me to learn in three days a skill chefs spend years learning on the Continent,a Jessica said, keeping her voice level with an effort. aIam doing my best to be a good wife, truly I am.a aA frightening thought. What happened to the cherries?a She grimaced and admitted, aI couldnat open them.a aFor these small things, Lord, I am d.a.m.ned grateful.a Wolfe grabbed a potholder, hooked his finger around the handle of the kettle of potatoes, and strode out the back door. Jessica heard a sudden hiss and explosion of steam as he poured the contents of the pot over the smoldering chops.

aBon appet.i.t, monsieur le skunk,a Wolfe said.

The sardonic words made Jessica flinch. She doubted the wee striped beastie would be any more interested in her cooking than Wolfe was.

Jessica discovered she wasnat hungry either. Her stomach was in a knot, her throat ached, and her eyes burned with tears she would not shed. She suspected by the hard line of Wolfeas shoulders and jaw when he stepped back into the kitchen that he was waiting for a sign of weakness on her part. There would be no relenting in him, no understanding of her predicament, no comfort when she tried and failed spectacularly.

He couldnat wait to be rid of his unwanted wife.

With the last of her strength, Jessica straightened her spine, grabbed two potholders, and went to the stove. The first time she attempted to lift the big soup pot, her arms failed her before the pot was a half-inch off the stove. The pot banged back onto the black metal amid a hissing fury of spilled water. More by chance than anything else, Jessica avoided being burned by the boiling water.