Behind the Courtesan - By Bronwyn Stuart Page 0,49

of self-control on her part.

Raised voices from his office indicated he wasn’t alone.

“You have to do something about that bridge,” a male voice complained.

Sophia paused in the corridor, eager to hear what Blake’s reply would be.

“There’s nothing I can do about the bridge and you know it. We had this conversation last summer and the autumn before that and still the bridge stands.”

“It’s different this time. The creek turns into a river with every passing hour and the footings are under pressure from debris from farther up stream. If something happens, half the town would be cut off.”

“Only four properties line that side of the river and I’m sure they’re all more than prepared for a few weeks without access to the village. The ground’s higher over there than it is here, Fred. We should be more worried about the river bursting the banks and taking out our crops and us with it.”

“The duke will be furious if we can’t provide him with his vegetables.”

“Fuck the duke,” came Blake’s reply. “He should have had that bridge rebuilt. If we lose, then so should he.”

“A couple of the men have been talking about digging a few extra trenches for runoff in case, you know...”

Blake’s sigh reached her ears. Whoever the man was, he wouldn’t leave without knowing what Blake thought their next move should be.

“If the rain keeps falling, we’d all be better off moving valuables to higher ground. If that river goes, nothing will stop it, not trenches, not anything.”

While the days had been relatively clear since Sophia’s arrival, every evening the steady tattoo against the tavern’s roof sounded well into the night.

Thank the Lord the night they’d spent by the side of the road had been only freezing and not miserably wet as well.

To save Blake another question, Sophia thumped her feet against the floor boards to feign arrival and pushed the door wide.

“Oh.” She stopped short and forced surprise to her face. “I didn’t realize you were with someone.”

“Sophie, this is Fred Thurgood. Fred, this is Sophie Martin.”

Sophia summoned her brightest smile and shook the hand Fred held out for her. “A pleasure to meet you, Fred.” She didn’t bother correcting Blake or telling Fred that her name was Sophia.

“And you. I’ve heard a lot about you and your skills in the kitchen, little lady. Reckon I might stay on for lunch.”

The next smile she gave Fred she didn’t have to force at all. “Then stay and eat. But you must tell me what you think of the pie. I tried something new.”

Blake’s attention snapped to her. “New?”

She nodded and dropped her basket on his desk, her confidence returned. “You’ll see.”

“I don’t like surprises, Sophie.”

“You don’t like anything, Blake.”

Fred laughed and left the office with no more questions of compromised bridges or rain, but that left Sophia and Blake alone. Alone in a space that suddenly seemed far too small to hold both of their temperaments.

“You don’t need to check my ribs anymore. I’m feeling much better.”

“You are not a good liar,” she told him as she laid out a fresh bandage and the salve the doctor had given her for his cuts and grazes. The fact it stung until Blake hissed through his teeth gave her a small measure of satisfaction.

He harrumphed, but took his shirt off when she gestured. Her breath caught and for a few moments, she forgot to breathe again.

“Does it still look so bad?” Blake asked, trying to twist his body so he could see halfway around his own back.

Sophia shook her head. It certainly wasn’t his healing ribs that made heat pool in her middle when she touched his warm skin. The man was built for hard labor and it showed in every inch of his muscular frame, tight skin and tanned arms.

She was in trouble.

“Is it safe to ask what you’re thinking?” Blake said quietly.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, passing the bandage from one hand to the other. The deep breath she inhaled was full of Blake’s scent and it didn’t give her the space she needed to come up with a good lie. “Uh, the bridge.”

“The bridge?”

“I was wondering why Fred comes to you about the bridge and not the duke.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Sophie. He comes to me because I’ve lived here forever.”

“He values your opinion more than that of a fellow villager.”

“He, much the same as the others, couldn’t make a decision if the answers were written in stone before their very eyes.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, unconvinced.

“What do

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