The Forbidden Lady

by Kerrelyn Sparks

His jaw tensed. “You made your point. I’ll not expect you to make a dangerous confession to someone of dubious character, such as myself.” He strode toward the fireplace. “Keep the damned shawl. ’Tis a gift.”

  She felt a twinge of regret, knowing she had hurt him. She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. “Thank you.”

  He stood with his back to her as he watched the fire burning in the hearth. “The facts remain the same. I caught you twice where you shouldn’t be. For your own safety, you must stop sneaking about.”

  She sat in the Windsor chair. “What about the way you sneak about?”

  He turned, his gaze meeting hers. “We will not discuss it.”

  “That hardly seems fair. You wish to interfere in my life, dictate what I can or cannot do, yet you will not answer my questions?”

  He stepped toward her. “Virginia, you must trust me. I know what is best.”

  “Why should I trust you when you will not trust me?”

  He balled a fist and hit it lightly on his thigh. “Damn.” He paced across the room, frowning at the floor, then glanced up. “Would it help if I said espionage is too dangerous for a woman?”

  She wrinkled her nose and gave him a doubtful look.

  He smiled. “I know, you’re very brave.” He wandered to the window and stood there, looking out.

  Dumfounded, she stared at his back. He thinks I’m brave. Her eyes misted with tears. For as long as she could remember, she had thought herself a coward. He thinks I’m brave. She blinked back the moisture from her eyes. But he would think her a coward if he knew the truth.

  He spoke, his back still turned to her. “I know ’tis difficult for you to believe I have your best interests in mind, especially when I’ve been so rude to you in the past. I can only say, I have the utmost respect for you and wish you no harm. Indeed, I could not bear for any harm to befall you.”

  Her heart filled with longing. He sounded so sweet, so sincere. God help her but she could easily fall for him. She realized now, the physical attraction had always been there. Why else did she spend so much time studying his broad shoulders and long muscular legs, or respond as she did to his deep voice? His eyes, his dimples, everything about him appealed to her. It had only been his outrageous behavior and clothing that had set her off.

  Now, he seemed kind, caring, and dependable. If this were his true nature, she could readily trust him.

  But no, she couldn’t. He still acted like a pompous dandy in public. How could she trust someone who purposely deceived the people around him?

  And what if she were deceiving herself? Her heart yearned to believe him, to trust him. She was so desperate to satisfy this aching need, she might fool herself into thinking he matched her vision of the ideal man.

  If only she knew the truth.

  He turned around to face her. “I’d like to ask for your help, if you don’t mind. Josiah has behaved so poorly, the schoolmaster will no longer accept him. I can tell you’re well educated, and I thought—”

  “Wait.” Virginia interrupted, flustered by the unexpected turn of the conversation. “Who is Josiah?”

  “The boy I bought on The North Star.”

  “Oh.” She smiled slowly. “The day we met.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Yes. As I was saying—”

  “Why did you send Josiah to school?”

  He shrugged. “For an education. The boy can hardly read.”

  “He’s a servant. Why should you care?”

  “No one else does. Someone has to.”

  She examined the man before her. He was full of surprises today. All the time he had been behaving like a pompous oaf in public, he’d been secretly caring for an orphan boy for the simple reason that someone needed to. But why dupe people into thinking he was a lazy, arrogant fop? “Can you tell me why you pretend to be a dandy?”

  He frowned. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I will not discuss it.”

  She rose to her feet. “How can you come in here, asking me to trust you, when you refuse to tell me anything about yourself?”

  “Virginia, it is very simple. I know you were spying, but you have my word I will not report you. I only want you to stop.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe that and trust you?”

  “Yes. You can trust me with your life.”

  “With my life?” She marched up to him. “I don’t even know who you are. You act like a nonsensical fop when you’re around other people, but with me, you act sincere and—I don’t know what to believe. Who is the real Quincy Stanton, the one with the wig or the one without?” She reached up and yanked the lavender-tinted wig off his head.

  His eyes darkened to a stormy gray. “Dammit, Virginia, I’m a man of my word.”

  “Hah! Would an honest man deliberately deceive people into thinking he was something other than his true self?”

  He gritted his teeth. “I have my reasons.”

  “Which are?”

  “Which are none of your business!”

  With a cry of frustration, she threw his wig to the side.

  It landed in the fireplace.

  “Oh, my God! Oh, no!” She ran toward the fire, halting in front of it as panic seized her in its grip.

  “Leave it be. It doesn’t matter.”

  “No, no! Oh, God, I didn’t mean to.” She covered her mouth and shook her head.

  “Virginia.” He touched her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. You can burn all my wigs. I don’t care.”

  She pulled away from him, captivated by the fire. She watched the flames race up the hairs of the wig. The powdered strands curled and turned black ’til the wig bore a grotesque resemblance to a human head.

  Her hair had been gray. She had come to help when Caroline was born. They had called her Auntie, for she had been her mother’s aunt. Mother was in bed resting when Auntie asked the six-year-old Virginia to help her cook dinner.

  Virginia glanced at the side of the hearth, and for an instant saw her young self in a homespun dress, her hair braided into neat pigtails. She was turning the spit. The roasting meat smelled delicious. The fat dripped into the fire, hissing with little sizzling sounds.

  She took a deep breath. The smell of burning hair assaulted her nostrils. “No!” She backed away.

  “Virginia, what’s wrong?” Quin followed her.

  With a whimpering sound, she covered her face to keep from seeing the horror.

  But the memory hunted her down without mercy. Determined to torture her again, it played itself out in her mind’s eye. She saw Auntie raking the coals to the side, her skirt brushing too close to the hearth, the flames leaping up her clothes ’til she was engulfed in fire. And Auntie had screamed and screamed.

  “Ginny.” Hands grabbed her shoulders.

  Virginia screamed, jumping away.

  “Ginny!” Quin grabbed her again. “What’s wrong?”

  She gasped for air. The smell of burnt hair filled her senses. Nausea swept over her. She covered her mouth, broke loose from him and bolted from the room.

  Quin stared at the door, listening to her footsteps fading away down the hall.

  “Damn.” He leaned over and picked up the shawl from the floor. It had slipped off her shoulders without her noticing. He glanced back at the fireplace. The flames had entirely devoured his wig—and terrified Virginia.

  He wandered into the empty hall and stood there pondering his next move. He couldn’t leave with her distraught like this. It was partly his fault. She had thrown the wig out of frustration because he refused to confide in her. But he had to remain silent about his participation in Johnson’s spy ring. The information would be dangerous for her to know. And dangerous for himself.

  He opened the door at the end of the hall and found himself in the kitchen, surrounded by scowling
faces. Virginia’s aunt and sister, an older, square-shaped woman, and the boy that James Munro had purchased on The North Star glowered at him, the accusations clear in their expressions.

  “What did you do to her?” the younger sister demanded.

  “Nothing. I—I gave her a shawl.” He lifted up the shawl to prove his words. “Where is she?”

  “She came through here, crying, and ran outside to the garden,” the aunt explained. “I was about to go to her.”

  “Are you going to turn her in?” the sister asked.

  “No. I would never hurt her.”

  The square-shaped woman snorted. “Ye made her weep.”

  “My wig fell in the fire. I told her it didn’t matter, but she was so distraught, I don’t think she heard me.”

  The aunt approached him. “Here, let me take the shawl. ’Tis lovely, and you’re crushing it. She’s in the garden, if you wish to see her.”

  Quin passed her the shawl and stepped outside. The autumn air felt cool and crisp. The sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky.

  He ambled down the path through the kitchen garden. On each side the vegetable rows hid beneath a thick layer of hay, protected from the threat of an early frost. Two rows of beans stretched between poles connected with lines of twine. A tool shed and privy stood in the distance against the wooden fence.

  The back half of the garden contained a small orchard of a half dozen fruit trees, the branches almost completely bare of leaves. He spotted her, propped against a cherry tree with her back to him.

  “Virginia?”

  She sniffled. “Please, go.”

  He hesitated, wondering if he should. This was an uncharted sea for him, comforting a crying female. But he couldn’t turn his back on her. He advanced toward her. “Are you all right?”

  She shook her head.

  He winced. Dumb question. “Do you need a handkerchief?” He held his out to her.

  She looked askance at it. “Does it stink?”

  “No. I wouldn’t bring a foul one to your house.”

  She turned, leaning her back against the tree, and accepted the handkerchief. Her tear-filled eyes and damp cheeks tore at his heart. He didn’t know what to say, only felt a powerful need to take her in his arms. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge.

  She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. It must have looked strange, the way I behaved.”

  “I’m only sorry to see you so distraught.”

  She sighed and turned away. “Now you know the truth about me.”

  “That you’re afraid of fire?”

  She pushed away from the cherry tree and strode toward the neighboring apple tree. “ ’Tis more than that. I’m a coward. I let her die.”

  “Who?”

  “My great-aunt. She came to help when Caroline was born. I was helping her cook supper, when she . . . caught on fire.”

  “She burned to death?”

  Virginia nodded. “I just stood there. I was so horrified.”

  “Of course you were. How old were you?”

  “Six.” She twisted the handkerchief around her fingers. “I was so afraid, I didn’t run for help.”

  “You were a young child. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

  She crushed his handkerchief in her fist. “You don’t understand. I did nothing. There were fire buckets on the hearth. I didn’t even throw water on her.”

  He walked toward her. “Don’t blame yourself. It was an accident.”

  Her voice broke as the tears began to flow. “But she screamed and screamed! She needed my help, and I was too afraid.”

  He reached for her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “ ’Twas not your fault.” He searched his mind for comforting words. “Couldn’t other people hear her screaming? Didn’t they come to save her?”

  Her head nodded against his chest.

  “Don’t you see? They tried to save her. ’Twas not your fault.”

  She sniffed and rubbed her cheek against his coat. “That’s what Father said.”

  “He was right.”

  “It was so long ago. I should be over it by now, but it still haunts me.”

  “I know.” He brushed back her hair from her brow. “There are some things we carry with us forever.” Like being an unwanted bastard. Or the memory of a small, dark room in a cellar.

  She squeezed handfuls of his coat in her fists. “I didn’t want you to think I’m a coward.”

  “I don’t.”

  She glanced up at him. “You don’t?”

  “No.” The sight of her red-rimmed eyes struck at his heart. “Ginny, don’t cry.” He touched her damp cheek. Her lips were parted slightly, perfectly shaped pink lips. How would the curves, the fullness of them feel, how would they taste? He leaned down.

  “Oh, no, I’ve ruined your coat.” Releasing him, she stepped back.

  “What?” Damn. He had come so close to kissing her.

  “Your pretty silk coat is wrinkled and wet. I’m so sorry. And I destroyed your wig, too.”

  “Actually, you’ve destroyed two of them. But don’t worry, I still have more.”

  “Two? How did I . . . ?”

  He smiled. “The one you threw last night in the garden, it landed in the Oldhams’ ornamental fish pond.”

  “Oh, no!”

  He shrugged. “I truly don’t care.”

  “That’s not so. You love your fine clothes.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “You always dress so well, and it must cost you a fortune.”

  “I don’t care about the clothes. Look.” He paced toward the fence and removed one of his high-heeled shoes. “I hate these blasted things.” He hurled the shoe over the fence.

  “Ouch!” A shout returned from the other side of the fence. “What the hell is this?”

  Quin stared at the fence, his mouth dropped open. “Sorry!” he shouted. “I didn’t know anyone was there.” He gave Virginia an apologetic look. “Oops.”

  She slowly smiled. “There’s been a boy on the corner there for a week now, selling roasted chestnuts.”

  “Oh.” With one shoe on, Quin stepped toward her with a lopsided gait.

  Her smile widened.

  He returned her smile, relieved to see her happy again. He removed his other shoe and left it behind as he drew closer to her. She was still smiling at him. He wouldn’t have to lean over so much to kiss her now.

  “Virginia.” He touched her shoulder.

  “You shouldn’t walk home without shoes.”

  Was that a dismissal? Perhaps she had been through enough today. He withdrew his hand and wandered toward the path. When he glanced at the house, he spotted four faces glued to the window. “We’re being watched.”

  She rested against the apple tree. “They cannot see back here amongst the trees. The bean rows block the view.”

  Was that an invitation? He looked at her. She watched him steadily, then raised her hand to brush away the moisture on her cheek. Within seconds, he was in front of her, pulling her into his arms.

  She gasped. “Quin?” She dropped his handkerchief and pressed her hands against his chest.

  “Ginny, I want to kiss you.” He cradled her face in his hands. Her eyes widened with a look of alarm. He would have to start slow. He bent down and touched his lips against hers. A light kiss.

  He pulled back to gauge her reaction. She was gazing at his mouth, the look of alarm transformed to one of wonder. He slipped his hands to the back of her head and kissed her again, a little longer.

  This time when he checked her reaction, her eyes were closed, her lips parted. She looked so sweet, so trusting, he kissed the tip of her nose. Her eyelids flickered open. With a shy smile, she eased closer to him, sliding her hands up to his shoulders.

  He grinned, wrapp
ed his arms around her, and pulled her close ’til her breasts pressed against him. “Yes.” He planted soft kisses across her cheeks. The taste of salt lingered upon her skin, making him thirsty for more.

  He kissed her mouth again, much more thoroughly. He wanted inside, but restrained himself for fear of frightening her. Instead, he concentrated on the shape and fullness of her lips. They tasted of sweetened tea. He raked his fingers into her hair. The ringlets curled around his fingers, tickling soft. The scent of lavender filled his head.

  Her lips began to move with his. Yes. She was feeling it, too, this desire that ran hot through his veins. He pulled her tighter. Her hands stole up to his neck. Her breasts moved against his chest with each excited breath. Within seconds, the pleasure became torture. He groaned, realizing his appetite far exceeded what he could realistically expect.

  He wanted her. Now.

  He released her and stepped back. Her lips were pink with a just-ravished look that made him want to beg for more pain.

  Gritting his teeth, he attempted to mentally halt the erection in process. “I . . . I have to go. I’ll call on you again soon.”

  He loped down the path, spotted a gate in the fence, and made his escape. Pausing on the side of the street, he breathed deeply to clear the lust from his mind. She was a lady, a proper lady. He had to control himself.

  “Sir?” the boy on the corner yelled. “Do you want your shoe?”

  Quin peered down at his feet in sheer hose. “Aye, I suppose.” He padded over to the boy selling roasted chestnuts. “Sorry I hit you. May I buy some of these?”

  “Aye, sir.” The boy grinned, handing him a cloth bag and pocketing the coin.

  “Quin?” He heard Virginia’s voice from the other side of the fence. A fraction of her face appeared between two riven boards. “Don’t you need this?” She tossed his other shoe over.

  He pulled both shoes on and with his added height peered over the fence. “Are you all right, Ginny?”

  She smiled shyly, her cheeks coloring. “Yes, I am.”

  “I forgot to ask. Do you mind helping me with Josiah?”

  “No, of course not. Should I pay for the wigs I destroyed?”

  “No, of course not. Here.” He passed the bag of roasted chestnuts over the fence. “I’ll see you soon.”