Read Online Regret Not a Moment by Nicole McGehee - Free Book Online

myself.”
    “I’ve known you longer, Miss Devon, since before you were born.” Again, both women laughed at this silliness.
    “Stop making me laugh,” Devon cried, “it hurts!”
    Still chuckling, Alice stood and put the empty bowl back on the silver tray. “I’ll send Miss Helena up when she arrives.”
    After Alice departed, Devon lay back in the bed and closed her eyes. She was tired again. She wished she had not said she would see Helena, but it was too late.
    Her mind wandered back to the day of the accident. Before the hunt began, she recalled, she and Helena had talked. Now she remembered the conversation clearly. It had been about John Alexander. He had left Virginia suddenly. Thinking of it, Devon experienced a sharp twinge of pain in her throat. She had hoped for something to come of their meeting. He had seemed so right for her, so attracted to her. Why had he left? Was there someone else in his life? she wondered.
    Then she shook her head to clear it. Maybe his leaving had nothing to do with her. Maybe it had been a business matter. It was self-centered, she chided herself, to believe that she influenced his actions. In any event, perhaps he would return. Helena had said that John’s business with Mr. Magrath was not finished. That gave her hope.
    An image of their afternoon by the brook came to her. Even in her injured state, a flush of warmth suffused her body. She felt a physical longing for his touch. What promise it had held for her! Was it possible that she loved him? He had so many of the qualities she admired in a man, but when she thought of him, she did not think of those qualities; she thought only of his lips on hers, his hands on her body. She ached with the memory of it.
    What if he did not return? Would her longing for him fade? Worse yet, what if the feeling did
not
go away and he did
not
return for her? Return
for her
—that’s how she thought of it. How could anyone live with such persistent yearning? she wondered. She had almost tasted its fulfillment. Could almost guess what her married girlfriends giggled about in hushed conversations, quickly stifled when she appeared. But did only married women know such pleasure? Could she ever be like those women she read about in the novels buried in dusty corners of her father’s library? Women who were men’s
mistresses.
Of course not, she told herself, it was unthinkable that she should ever commit such an act without marriage. But the alternative—never knowing the pleasure of lying with a man, never knowing the feeling of a strong body against her softer one—seemed equally unthinkable.
    The feel of the linen nightgown against her bare breasts as she thought of such things aroused her. They wanted to be touched. She wondered how John would touch them. Would he kiss them? She had read of such things. The idea filled her with unspeakable desire. Tentatively, she reached her good hand to her breast and cupped it. She imagined it was John’s hand. Between her legs, she was wet with the heat of her imaginings.
    Then she heard the door open ever so quietly. She quickly dropped her hand and tried to push herself into a more upright position, wincing at the pain in her side as she did so. With irritation—both at the pain and at the interruption—she saw Helena edge into the room cautiously, like a soldier expecting to be ambushed. Her pale redhead’s complexion grew paler still when she saw Devon. Devon could not help but be amused by the look of horror on Helena’s face as she took in the extent of her injuries, but Devon held her smile in check. She knew that the moment was agony for Helena, but she could not bring herself to make things easier for her.
    “Devon?” Helena sounded as though she were uncertain that the person in the bed was indeed the beautiful young woman of whom she had been so jealous just two weeks ago. Her voice quavered apprehensively.
    “Helena.” Devon uttered the word in a neutral, reasonable tone, but one