Chapter Eight

Josie, still clad in her white lace gown, stood surveying the quarters behind the forge with new eyes. Hers now—her home.

Someone had come in and cleaned from top to bottom—probably Mrs. Sinclair and Dora, maybe with help from Mrs. Becker and her daughter, Bessie. They had been so good to Josie, she couldn’t think about it without welling up.

She repeated it in her mind, so she would believe it. Her home, her own.

Just like the man who now stood behind her, so close she could feel his body heat.

He’d insisted on carrying her in—carrying her over the threshold, he called it—and had set her down just inside the door. She knew if she turned around she’d be in his arms.

Where she wanted to be.

They’d been married late this afternoon and had gone back to the Sinclairs’ for cake and some drinks. Now dark had nearly fallen, and Lisbeth had chased them home.

Home.

Just her and Dougie, her new husband, alone for the whole night. Heaven.

She’d already kissed him, of course—once at the church, and before that stolen kisses on the rocks where they liked to sit above the bay, and once or twice here in the yard. Josie knew she could get lost in Dougie’s kisses, deep and dark as velvet streaked by fire. But she could only imagine what came after the kisses.

He reached out and turned her to him with gentle hands. Her gaze met his, and she tumbled in, losing all her trepidation.

“Let me look at you,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”

“Am I?” She plucked at her lace skirt. “I never expected to wear such a dress.” Miss Alice had owned dozens of them. Josie had brushed them, ironed and mended them, but had never so much as tried one on, even though she and Alice were almost the same size.

Dougie said, “It’s not the dress. It’s you.” Tenderly, he caught her face between his hands and bent his head. Behind his broad shoulders, now clad in a borrowed coat, Josie caught a glimpse of darkening sky dancing with a raft of stars. Then his warm lips found hers in a kiss so sweet it made her ache.

“Josie Grier,” he told her then, “I love you.”

“And I love you, Mr. Douglas Grier.”

“I want to show you.”

“Well, seeing as we’re proper married, I think you should. But first you’d better shut the door.”

He did, right before carrying her to the bed.

****

The hoot of an owl roused Douglas from the depths of sleep sometime near dawn. Starlight still trickled in through the back windows of his quarters, enough to let him orient himself. He was home, in his bed.

Not alone.

Emotion rose up in him, enough to steal his breath—amazement, wonder, desire, gratitude. Mainly gratitude. Josie loved him. She’d given herself to him, forsaking all others.

How could a man live up to such a gift, to such trust? Especially him, Douglas Grier—bastard son of the town whore—who’d never been worth much.

Lying there in the almost-dark, he drew a breath. Whatever he’d been in the past, he now needed to measure up, because Josie had placed her heart in his keeping, and he dared not stumble. This thing had been miraculous from the start—that he should be called upon to aid her and her family on that night, that the Intrepid should founder off the coast of Lobster Cove and throw them back together. That she should agree to forsake all others for his sake.

It made him feel at once humble and empowered, engaged in his life as never before.

Josie seemed so small and fragile to make up the better part of his world. He’d been half afraid of breaking her when he’d loved her, even though her passion rose to meet his like a tide. They matched in that as in all things. She had to be resilient, given all she had endured.

Upon that thought, he felt her stir, and not wanting her to wake frightened he laid his hand on her stomach just beneath her breasts. Both her hands came up to cover his.

“Dougie?”

“Here, love.”

Funny how she called him Doogie, the way Rab did. He clasped her in his arms and drew her closer against him.

“I dreamed—”

“What?” he prompted when she paused.

“Thought I was back home.”

“You are home, darling.”

“I know.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, and his heart swelled.

“I thought I was back at the plantation. The night…”

Again she paused; Douglas felt her throat spasm.

“It’s all right.”

“It’s not.” She drew a breath. “Dougie, I need to tell you something, something awful you need to know about me. I should have told you before. Before we got married.”

What could it be? No matter. He told her, “I hope you know you can tell me anything.”

“But this—this might change how you feel about me. That’s why I should have told you first.”

Douglas shifted in the bed so he could look into her face. What did he see in her wide, dark eyes? Fear. Horror.

“Massa Collingwood—he’s the man who owns me. Owned me.”

“I know who he is.”

“He—”

Again she paused and swallowed convulsively. She studied Douglas’s face intently by the dim light, as if measuring his soul.

In a rush she said then, “He’s a terrible, cruel man, and he—” She clutched at Douglas with tense hands, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Say it, Josie,” he begged. “Just say it.” Trust me.

“He sold my ma. She worked for him all her life long, lived in that house with him and his wife and daughter, worked her fingers to the bone, and…and she defied him once. Once. He sold her away that very day, bundled her off on a wagon by nightfall. I never saw her again.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He enfolded her in his arms, wishing he could take away all the hurt, suffer it on her behalf if need be.

She stumbled on, the words half smothered against the naked skin of his throat. “He treated her just like she didn’t matter, even though she…she…”

“Was your ma? Are you worrying that’ll happen to you? It won’t, Josie, it won’t. You’re safe here with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Josie, listen to me: I’m right here with you now. And nothing can ever change how I feel about you.”

“Nothing?”

“No, I promise. Shall I prove it to you?”

Against his shoulder, she nodded.

With his whole body and all his heart, he did.