The Sins of a Few by Sarah Ballance Page B

man whose only compromises were self-serving—a man whose craft was manipulating others to see his way.
    He would not manipulate her.
    “My apologies,” he said. “I did not mean to act improperly.”
    “Leave it be,” she muttered, struggling to sit. Once she did, she had to fight mightily to ignore the beautiful sight of him sprawled over her bed. No boy, as was Jeremiah’s thin, lanky form, but a man of strength and thickness. Her eyes drifted to the bulge in his pants and lingered. She marveled that his desire for her had caused such a thing, but her attraction was thoroughly doused knowing his manly affections most likely made an appearance for any woman who happened nearby.
    She sighed, pushing away the thoughts. She might forever be marked by his touch, but he would forget her soon enough. Adjusting her buttons seemed to formalize that thought…until he placed his hand on her arm.
    “What of my proposal?”
    He looked at her through half-lidded eyes…the kind that belonged on a man with no better pastime than tangling linens in pursuit of primal urges. He should trim his hair so she would not itch to sooth it with her fingers, or grip it to pull him close. She should not be so tempted by him…but she was.
    “To bed me? I believe that has been settled.”
    He slid his fingers through hers and tugged her closer. “No, little one. I want you to be my wife.”
    To her great irritation, she found the endearment did not rile her as it always had. Distance … She desperately needed distance. But she did not reclaim her hand. “I realize I cannot hold you responsible for what happened in your absence,” she said, “but your callous dismissal of what happened here is almost as painful as your sisters’ betrayal of the community. My loss is real, and no amount of your purporting the ridiculousness of what happened will change the truth.”
    Nathanial’s look was so sorrowful it nearly tore her apart. “I lost her, too, Faith, and I know it was not in the same way, but we honor no one by holding on to the past.”
    “The past was but a month ago,” Faith said. “And what we lost were lives. Not possessions, but lives .”
    “I do not discount that,” he said. “And I never would. But would Ruth want you to mourn until you had no happiness of your own?”
    Faith gave a humorless laugh. “You are of the opinion that refusing to marry you would be to give up on my own happiness?”
    “It would be to give up on a chance of happiness.”
    “A chance I can find nowhere else?”
    “Faith, dammit. I want to share my life with you. What is so wrong with that?”
    “Why?”
    “Because you are strong. Because you are your own person and you will stand at my side because you wish for it, and not because you see no other way.” He caressed her hand with his thumb, his touch so gentle that tears threatened. “Because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known, and kind, and our children will be as blessed by you as am I.”
    “Nathanial…” But what? What could she say? She would not leave her mother, and she would not leave Salem. The village had suffered a great loss—they all had. Allowing Nathanial to take her to parts unknown would do nothing to change that.
    “Worry not for an answer now. Think about it. Make your decision with your whole heart.” He stood and released her hand, taking the time to press a kiss to her fingertips before he rose to leave. “I will wait, Faith. You are worth that.”
    She watched the bedroom door long after he closed it and winced when the exterior door shut hard against its jamb.
    Only then did she find the words she needed to say—words heard only by an empty room and a broken heart.
    “I’m sorry.”

Chapter Nine
    Nathanial intended to stay at Faith’s until night fell, but thought better of it. He would need to wait for darkness to find her roosting chickens and relocate them to the henhouse, but he could easily return. He thought she needed space, and