Acquiring Trouble

beheld. Sultry. Beguiling.
    “S-Sabrina,” she said when the silence stretched nearly to snapping.
    Shaken by the unlikely coincidence, Gideon waited without breath for her last name.
    “Whitcomb. Sabrina Whitcomb.”
    For the first time since the Battle of Waterloo, Gideon’s knees turned to jelly.
    Behold his bride.
    At first thought, the notion enticed, almost as much as it appalled. Yet he knew instinctively that if he took this woman to wife, his solitary existence would end in flames, for she burned bright and alive, and had the power to singe if he got too close.
    And he would get close, by God, especially if she were his. Be damned to the burn.
    Gideon lowered himself to a chair.
    “You are hungry,” she all but cried, as she hurried to gather bread, cheese, and fruit, and fill him a plate.
    Gideon added compassionate to her list of qualities, but not graceful, at least not in her delicate condition. Then again, delicate was not the word he would use to describe her. Lush, ripe, and blooming, he thought, yet with a naturally regal bearing, even now.
    Soft and shapely, Sabrina Whitcomb possessed a body that would give a man ease and comfort. And despite every indication of perfidy—on the part of her brother, at the least—Gideon wanted, absurdly, to be that man and explore every gentle curve and rising crest.
    Lust at first sight.
    Suddenly dry of throat, Gideon drank the ale she placed before him.
    He had hoped for passable looks in his bride, but he found this woman downright ravishing. By virtue of her, ah, assets, he expected she would be a sweet and succulent bed partner.
    But how came she to him with child? Or by whom? he should ask. And why had not Hawksworth prepared him for any of it?
    Truth to tell, time had been running out for his friend, if Hawksworth could still be termed friend, after withholding certain weighty information, though Gideon supposed one did not quite view one’s sister as other men did.
    At least he could stop worrying about having to work up the necessary enthusiasm to bed a homely virgin, Gideon thought, consoling himself. There must be something to be said for experience in a wife, but what that might be, he could not precisely recall as having any import at this juncture. Given his bride’s impending motherhood, however, he felt annoyed and duped. “I assume you were widowed something less than nine months ago?”
    She colored, but raised her chin. “How do you know I am not married still?”
    Explaining his knowledge would reveal his identity, which seemed precipitate and imprudent, of a sudden. Perhaps he should wait a bit, at least until he regained his bearings and got a better grasp on the situation.
    God’s teeth, he wished honor were not at stake here, much as he wanted the delightful but surprising package before him, in the strictly carnal sense, of course.
    Since hunger for food also gnawed at him, Gideon cut a piece of cheese as he considered his answer. “Widow’s weeds,” he said, after chewing thoughtfully, indicating her black bombazine gown. “If I do not mistake the matter.”
    Sabrina rolled a mound of dough from a tawny clay bowl and nodded. “You do not. I am eight months a widow. Perceptive of you.”
    Not perceptive enough, by damn.
    So much for his wedding night. Gideon tore a piece of warm bread from the loaf.
    Good God, he was in danger of becoming a husband and father in one sweep. Not that children , in themselves, frightened him, but the notion of becoming immediately and directly responsible for one, certainly did.
    No wonder her brother had begged, as he lay dying, for Gideon to wed and protect her. How well he remembered that plea for her protection. But what Gideon’s erstwhile friend had not said was that, without his protection, Sabrina Whitcomb might be forced to a life on the streets.
    Even without that knowledge, with the haze of smoke and the stench of death all about them, and Grandmama’s letter in his pocket, Gideon had grasped Hawksworth’s plea like a ticket to life.
    Fulfilling his friend’s dying wish became a call to honor, while caring for his sister would give Gideon purpose in a, heretofore, meaningless existence. Having suffered enough ennui and regret, Gideon had, in that moment stared his own mortality in its bony eye sockets and yearned of a sudden for an heir, someone to carry on his name. A small someone, who might fill the emptiness and accept him without condition.
    He had simply not expected the