"I need you tonight, Tessa." A flicker of light hopped across his face, and she saw a steadiness in his bold eyes. A trueness that made the uncertainty drain from her chest.

" 'Tis not right for me to be out in the night with you, Jonah Hunter," she argued quietly. "Regardless of what you need."

In the webby darkness, his face changed. "Then we'll make a bargain tonight. A pact between you and me."

Outrageous. "Only the devil makes bargains."

"Is that what you think I am?" His laughter knelled deep and rich as rum. Amusement glittered in his eyes and he did not seem so dangerous. He seemed… human.

Tessa relaxed, felt the heat of his fingers biting into the back of her neck, smelled the horse and night scent of him.

"Trust me. I am nothing more than a flawed man."

She considered that. Considered him standing before her as brash as the night. "A very flawed man."

"Deeply so." Jonah's hand settled on her shoulder. Solid. Unyielding. "Will you come?"

The heat of his skin burned through the thin layers of wool and flannel. She would be dead if not for his steady aim. Tessa closed her eyes. Her heart stopped at the memory of him kneeling in the moonlight looking as solid as a legendary hero, musket aimed and then firing.

He'd saved her life with those two shots. Still, Tessa was not like her mother. "I will not go with you. I will not trade my innocence for my life."

"Innocence?" Jonah shook his head, scattering his long black locks over the stunning breadth of his shoulders. Then merry laughter filled the air. "Let me understand this. You think I want to bed you?"

" 'Tis no laughing matter." Tessa curled her fists, ready to fight for her honor. "I will never give you that. My innocence belongs to the man who will be my husband one day."

He only laughed harder.

What was so funny? What could possibly be-

Then she knew. Jonah Hunter hadn't wanted her maidenhood. The very thought made him howl with laughter. Why, he must think her ugly, like every other man in this horrible village. Shame jammed against her heart and she spun away, walking fast, blinking hard.

"Tessa." She heard his step, felt the thud of the earth as he approached.

She kept walking. Pain wedged in her throat. Who did he think he was? He might be one of the richest men this side of Boston but did that give him the right to hurt her feelings? Make her think a man so fine would want her?

Well, she wasn't worthless. What she lacked in looks, she made up in heart, in loyalty. She was too good for the likes of him, fine cloak or no.

Anger bubbled in her chest. "I am no longer a schoolgirl, Hunter, and you have no right to hurt my feelings just as you did years ago when you were a wretchedly behaved schoolboy."

"Tessa, I know. I'm sorry." Jonah choked down his last amused chuckle. His voice came light, not teasing, but not serious either. "You are right. I was a wretched little boy."

"And a wretched man." She paused at the well, curling both hands around the handle. Aye, she might be skinny and disagreeable and probably ugly, but she still had feelings. No man-no matter how fine the cut of his jacket-seemed able to understand that.

A big hand covered hers. Male-hot. Possessive.

"I am truly sorry, Tessa." Sincerity lined his hard cut face, at odds with the devil's light in his eyes. "I did not mean to hurt you. I only meant-" He sighed. "I require other services from you tonight Grab your herbs or whatever concoctions you use. My father is ill."

Anger drained from her chest. So, he didn't want her intimately. There was no surprise in that. The old pain of not being wanted clutched at her heart. She knew that pain would show in her eyes, and she thanked the night for hiding it from Jonah's sharp gaze. How could she have been so foolish? There wasn't one man alive who'd ever shown a romantic, even a practical interest in her.

Jonah caught the collar of his cloak and rested it on her shoulders. He stood so tall, felt so big.

"Tessa. Will you help me?"

"Yes." She would help anyone who was ill. How could she do less? "But Grandfather will not permit me to go until morning."

"Damn Ely. You are coming with me now."

"Jonah, we both know I cannot. 'Tis not proper. People will think-"

"I don't give a damn what people think. Come with me now, and I vow to remain quiet about finding you in the forest tonight. That is our deal, our pact. Decide now, or I will wake your grandfather."

Oh, she hated him. She truly did. Beneath the layers of tailored wool and finely woven cloth Jonah was no better of a man than her grandfather, than others who'd had power over her and used it. "Let me get my basket."

She stormed away, fists curled in anger. Life would be different if she'd been able to marry, if she'd been free to be courted like the other girls. All her school friends were married and mothers of children.

Foolish to feel sorry for herself. She'd not been free to marry, not with Mother so ill. No amount of sadness could change the past. Tessa snatched her basket of herbs from her own corner of the stable.

Jonah Hunter rose above her, dark as the night, mounted high on his fine stepping horse. Even in the shadows, the animal's coat shone.

"Hand me your basket," he called.

She lifted it. Their fingers met. Dazzling heat popped along her skin at his touch. Such foolishness, she scolded herself. Jonah Hunter had laughed at her. He would never care for a woman so plain.

"Hurry. My father's illness cannot wait." He set the basket on his firmly muscled thigh.

And what a thigh it was. Tessa blushed, shocked at herself for noticing.

"Am I to walk?" she demanded.

"No." A naughty grin tugged at his beautiful mouth. "You shall ride on the horse… behind me."


A mistake. Even an hour later with dawn's light pink in the east, Jonah could still feel the entire length of his back tingle where Tessa had leaned shyly against him during the long ride home.

True, she'd refused such a proposition at first, but when he would not dismount and offer her the horse and after a quarter mile walk, she'd relented. Even now, his blood felt thick from the way her slim body had rocked against his, so soft and feminine.

Hell, he'd had enough women to know none of them should affect a man so. What the hell was wrong with him? Jonah rubbed his hands over his face, exhausted, half sick with hunger and worry. Too much on his mind, too many responsibilities, and too much guilt. He thought of the frail, sick man upstairs and his chest squeezed tight. Why hadn't one of his errant brothers written of Father's condition?

What the hell was taking so long? He'd been twice to his father's cold bedchamber to see Tessa sitting at the old man's side, an oddly comforting presence.

Tessa Bradford had stood for no nonsense back in dame school when he'd pulled her braids, and to no one's surprise she'd grown up into a woman no different.

Yet he'd stood in the hallway, entranced by the lure in her soothing voice. Why, 'twas a different woman. Gentle lamplight had made her stern face kind, brushing at the softness of her cheeks and the shape of her Cupid's-bow mouth. Jet-black curls fell untamed from her cap, shimmering in the flickering light. Only angels looked so unabashedly unselfish. How could this unearthly creature be Tessa Bradford?

She bent to her work, unaware of his presence in the shadowy hallway. Worry pinched her soft face as she smeared a pungent paste of some sort on Father's bare chest. A tart, unpleasant smell filled the room, hurting his nostrils. But Hell's teeth, he could not tear his gaze from the sight of her.

How long had it been since he'd witnessed such gentleness? Jonah's eyes teared at the memory. It had been his mother, the gentle woman she'd been before illness claimed her. He'd been a mere boy, but he remembered the love in her hands whenever she would brush the curls from his eyes. Whenever she baked tarts small and tasty for a little boy's sweet tooth.

The old man stirred, and Tessa Bradford brushed a gentle hand over Father's forehead. Such a caring gesture that it made Jonah's heart rend. Aye, the old man was desperately ill. They all knew it.

"Good thing you thought to blackmail me into coming." Gentleness lived in her voice, and that surprised him too.

"I did not think Father should go until daylight without treatment." Jonah shifted, stepped into the pool of light spilling from the room.

"I am no medical doctor, but you're right." She stood from the bed, a rustle of homespun skirts and grace. "Your father is very ill. I have applied a poultice to his chest to help clear his lungs. I shall leave a mixture. Someone will need to tend him, clean his chest in two hours, and apply more."

She had to tilt her face to meet his gaze. Why, 'twas a shame how fatigue rimmed those solemn blue eyes like bruises. As Tessa stepped closer, he wondered how hard her grandfather worked her and how many nights she crept alone into the forest.

Then his gaze landed on her woven basket packed with tiny sacks and crocks and the work-reddened hands gripping the handle. Tessa Bradford, despite her disagreeable personality, worked too hard for her living.

"Would you stay and see to it?" Jonah rubbed his brow and winced as his hand found a small bump at his temple "I have not slept the past two nights."

Neither had she. Tessa gripped the worn handle more tightly, uncertain how to handle this man. Bigger than legend, he was, and twice as handsome. How he could turn a sensible woman's head with that pleading lift of his single dark brow.

"Grandfather will not allow me to stay," she said now. "I have chores to tend to before meeting."