Page 6 of A Troublesome Circumstance

But who would know?

She clearly had no intention of lingering, and he had no desire for company. He would feed her, see that she was warm, and send her on her way as soon as the storm broke.

That was the sensible thing to do.

Still, as he turned back with the bowl in hand, he couldn’t quite ignore the unexpected pull in his chest when her wary eyes lifted to his.

She looked utterly lost.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain, Jude found himself feeling oddly protective of her.

2

Josephine wrapped both hands around the cup of steaming stew, letting its warmth seep through her chilled fingers. The scent of herbs and something earthy—perhaps rabbit—wafted upward, making her stomach twist with hunger. She wanted nothing more than to drink it down in one gulp, but forced herself to take small, careful sips. A lady did not devour her food, no matter how hungry she might be.

Her gaze, however, never strayed far from the man seated only a few feet away.

He sat beside the hearth, elbows braced on his knees, watching the fire with a calm that unsettled her. He had done nothing but help her since he’d found her in the stable. Still, wariness pulsed through her veins. Why was he helping her? Men rarely did so without wanting something in return.

Once, she would not have thought such things. But that was before Mr. Broderick had cornered her on the veranda, pressed a pistol into her side, and forced her into his coach. Before she learned how swiftly trust could turn to betrayal.

The man’s voice cut through her dark musings. “Are you still hungry?”

Josephine blinked, glancing down at her cup. It was empty. She hadn’t even noticed she’d finished it. “No, thank you,” she replied, startled to hear how small her voice sounded.

“I hope the stew was to your liking,” he said. “I made it myself.”

“You cook?”

He gave a soft shrug. “A man learns to fend for himself out here. There’s no cook to scold when the rabbit burns.”

Despite herself, Josephine’s lips twitched. “It was quite good.”

His expression warmed, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Then I’m glad.” He stood and stretched. “Shall we get you to bed?”

Josephine shot to her feet, the blanket sliding from her lap and pooling at her feet. “I beg your pardon?”

He raised both hands quickly. “Forgive me—that came out wrong. I meant the bed is yours for the night. You will sleep there. Alone.”

She narrowed her eyes, still uncertain. “And where, pray tell, will you sleep?”

He gestured towards the armchair by the hearth. “There. I don’t sleep much these days anyway.”

Her gaze flicked to the bed in the corner. The quilt looked soft, inviting. She was exhausted, her limbs heavy, and her mind aching from everything that had happened. But the thought of closing her eyes near a stranger made her pulse quicken.

“I do appreciate your generosity,” she said slowly, “but how do I know you won’t take advantage of me once I close my eyes?”

He didn’t look offended. Instead, he smiled faintly, as though he understood. “You don’t. But you have my word—you’re safe here.”

There was something in his voice—quiet conviction, not bluster—that made her believe him. Against her better judgment, her shoulders eased. She was still cautious, but she felt an unfamiliar calm in his presence. Strange. The man lived alone in the woods, yet she sensed no menace in him.

Her eyes drifted to the small window where rain battered the glass. “How long do you think it will last?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But you should rest. You look exhausted.”

“I am,” she admitted.

“Then go,” he encouraged, motioning to the bed. “Sleep.”