Ah, yes, Magnus had forgotten about that part, which was handled by several of the local farmers and their wives.
He glanced at the sky, which was beginning to darken. “Rather late, isn’t it? Will you wrap things up before the dinner and dance?”
The squire was staring at something over Magnus’s shoulder.
“Thomas,” his wife said, prodding him, “Mr. Stanwyck asked you a question.”
Sir Thomas pulled his gaze away from whatever had held it, his forehead rippled with something that looked very much like disbelief.
“What’s that?” he asked his wife in a rude tone.
Magnus answered. “I just pointed out it was rather late to begin the judging. After all, the dinner and dance begin in an hour.”
The squire seemed to shake himself. “Aye, I know. But I’m only doing the horse judging. Mr. Leveret did the other animals.” His gaze flickered again over Magnus’s shoulder, and his jaw tightened. “Well,” he said, cutting Magnus a brusque glance and ignoring his wife altogether, “I’d better be off.”
Once he’d gone another couple came to the table and Magnus was free to turn and look to where the squire had been staring. Mrs. Trent must have gone off somewhere and the booths on either side of her were temporarily unmanned. The only person facing them just now was Miss Griffin. She was chatting with two young girls who were clutching a garment a piece, and she must have felt eyes on her because she looked up. For a moment her expression faltered, but then she smiled and waved.
Magnus strode toward her, feeling a bit like a fool with his armload of flowers. “Hello Miss Griffin, hello Sally, June.”
“Hello Mister Stanwyck,” the girls responded in a singsong and then broke into giggles. He knew them both from Sunday school—where they spent their time giggling and gossiping.
“What have you purchased?” he asked politely, making all the correct noises when they showed him their wares. “Well, these are for you.” He handed each girl a nosegay, deciding the young girls would probably appreciate them more than either Mrs. Pilkington, the woman who’d done the most work, or the vicar’s wife, the woman who’d made sure Mrs. Pilkington didn’t drive away all the other volunteers.
The girls took the bouquets and the giggling was joined by blushing and mumbled words of thanks.
“And these two are for you and Mrs. Trent,” he said to Melissa when the girls had run off, no doubt in a hurry to show all the other girls what Reverend Stanwyck had given them.
She smiled at him and cocked her head. “These weren’t really for me or those girls, were they?”
Magnus grinned. “Now, what is a man supposed to say to a question like that?”
She laughed, her expression far more merry than he’d ever seen. “You are right—I will just say thank you.” She held up the nosegay and inhaled deeply. “These are lovely. A product of the squire’s greenhouse, I understand.”
“Yes, have you met his wife—Lady Barclay?” They both turned to the flower booth, which was now crowded with customers.
“Not yet.”
A new pair of gigglers drifted up and began to sort through the few garments that remained. “You don’t seem to have much left.”
“No, I believe all of my clothing sold in the first ten minutes. What is left is my aunt’s.” She gave him a sideways grin. “I shall make certain to point that out to her.”
Magnus laughed.
“And how is the portrait booth?”
He pulled back a foot and glanced down to the end of the booths, where there were people milling. He grimaced at her. “They are circling—I’m afraid I have been shirking and must run.”
She held up the flowers. “Thank you.” She hesitated and then said, “I do hope you’ll join me and my aunt at our table for dinner.”
“I would be delighted.”
She flushed and turned away, as if embarrassed. For his part, Magnus felt as if he floated back to his table.
∞∞∞
It was Daisy who saw him first.
Dinner was served out under the stars, which was all that was in the sky, in spite of the dire warnings of rain.
There were tables set up all over the green and the tables used for booths had been commandeered. Lamps and colored lanterns provided the light, and laughter and eating and the tuning up of musicians filled the night. Melissa had to admit it was magical.
She was looking about for Daisy, whom she’d sternly warned against abandoning her for her beau, Joe Biddle—at least until half-way through the dance—when a hand gripped her arm hard enough to hurt.
“We have trouble, Mel.”
When she would have turned around to face her, Daisy stopped her. “No, don’t turn around. Come with me.” She all but dragged Mel to the small covered pavilion that had been set off to one side as a ladies’ retiring area.
Once inside, they both pretended to examine Mel’s hem until the three women who’d been in the small area left.
Melissa dropped the hem and turned to Daisy. “What in God’s name—”
“I saw one of our customers here.”
She could only stare.
“And not somebody who will be happy to keep to himself, either—it’s that wretched Sir Thomas.”
Mel raised a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. “What an idiot I am! I heard the name but Thomas is such a common one I never imagined—”
“I know,” Daisy said. “I didn’t, either.”
Sir Thomas was one of the handful of men over the years Melissa had needed to ban from the brothel. It happened after he’d become rough with one of the newer girls—a timid woman who’d insisted she’d worked before. But she must have been green, because instead of making a racket and running from the bastard, she’d endured a savage anal rape that Mel only learned about when the woman needed a doctor.
After that, the men at the door had twice told Sir Thomas—Mel didn’t believe he’d ever given his last name, most did not—that the house was too busy to admit him and had turned him away. But the third time, he’d caused a stir and demanded to see Mel. When she’d told him why he was no longer welcome he denied it all and called the girl, Lucy—who was so damaged from the incident that Mel moved her permanently to the kitchen—a slut and a liar.
If there was one word that bothered her—far more than whore ever had—it was the word slut. A man like Sir Thomas would force himself upon a woman and then call her a slut. The word was like a match to a fuse and Melissa had done something she rarely did and raised her voice, telling him exactly what she thought of him. In the end it had taken Hugo and another man to drag him out.
“We both need to go,” Daisy said, echoing what Mel was thinking. “Now.”
It would look odd to simply leave without saying anything, but the alternative was unthinkable.
“I’ve already told Joe we’ll need a ride—he’s gone to fetch his father’s carriage and meet us just outside of town.”
“Oh, Daisy—do we really need him? It is a full moon and surely we could walk—”
“I will want to say my goodbyes.”
Mel looked into Daisy’s usually smiling face and saw pain and regret. She nodded. “Of course.”
“We can leave in the morning—Mrs. Bunch and the girls can take care of any packing. Sir Thomas won’t know any of them.” She hesitated. “But I want tonight for me and Joe, Mel.” Her eyes were both adamant and pleading. “Just tonight.”
“Of course,” Mel said again. Daisy held out her hand and Mel took it. They embraced, as if they were parting.
“It was fun while it lasted, being a normal woman,” Daisy whispered in her ear.
Mel’s eyes stung at her friend’s despairing tone. “We knew it would end eventually, darling.”
“I just didn’t think it would hurt this much,” Daisy confessed.
Mel felt a hot tear slide down her cheek. “Neither did I, Daisy. Neither did I.”
Chapter Eleven
Magnus was looking for Melissa
but trying not to be too obvious about it. His search was made more difficult by the fact people kept stopping him and asking him to join their table. He’d just extricated himself from the Philpot sisters when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
He turned to find the squire and had to struggle to put a pleasant expression on his face. “Sir Thomas, were you looking for me?”
“No, actually, I was looking for the woman who was selling used clothing. My wife did not know her name.”
“Oh, you mean Miss Griffin?”
The squire looked arrested. “Her name is Miss Griffin? Not Mrs. Griffin?”
“No, she is definitely a miss. Perhaps you are thinking of her aunt? Although her surname is Trent.”
“Her aunt?”
Magnus wondered if the squire was intoxicated and subtly sniffed the air. He smelled the odor of beer, but nothing stronger.
Sir Thomas snorted, gazing at nothing in particular, his expression one of amazement. “Well I’ll be damned.”
“Squire?”
The older man seemed to remember Magnus’s presence. He gave him one of his leers—the ones that always made Magnus feel like he needed a hot bath to scrub himself clean.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Stanwyck, I need to go see somebody.”
Magnus watched him walk away and shook his head. The man wasn’t merely revolting, he was also strange.
“Ah, there you are, Magnus.”
“Hello Mr. Heeley. Were you looking for me?”
“Come and join us at our table.”
Magnus hesitated a moment before saying something that would no doubt make his intentions clear. But he was going to ask her tomorrow in any case, so . . .
“Actually, I was hoping to find Miss Griffin and her aunt—I was to join them for dinner.”
The vicar blinked, and then gave him a regretful smile. “I’m afraid you missed her—I saw her and her aunt getting into Joe Biddle’s carriage. They must be going home.” He paused and chewed his lip. “I do hope she has not taken ill again. She came here to convalesce, but I’ve never really heard from what.”
She’d gone? And without saying anything. But—
“You should pay a call on them tomorrow.”
Magnus nodded.
“Will you join us?”
He looked up from his thoughts and smiled. “Yes, yes, of course I will. I just need to put away my things and fetch my satchel and then I shall be back.”
The vicar ambled away to where his table waited and Magnus stared after him, stunned. He’d just lied blatantly to the vicar. He had no intention of coming back. He was going to Halliburton Manor. He could not stand waiting until morning to find out if she was ill.
∞∞∞
Only Mrs. Bunch was at the manor when Mel returned home and she was already in bed.
Daisy came inside to fetch something in her room and then came back to the entryway, where Mel had sat down.
“Oh, look at you—still in your hat and cloak,” Daisy said, stopping in front of her, a cloth bag clutched in her hand. “You have it bad for him, don’t you?”
Mel didn’t bother denying it.
“Should I stay? I could—”
“No, go to Joe.” Mel hesitated and then said, “You are going somewhere private?”
“Aye, he keeps a small cottage. That’s where he lives when he isn’t helping out at the inn.”
Mel stood and walked her to the door. “You should go. I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure?”
Before she could answer there was a loud knock.
Daisy clutched her arms. “Oh God, do you think it’s him, come after you?”
Fury bubbled in Mel’s chest at the thought of that man forcing his way into her house—especially since he was already driving her out of the village. “There’s only one way to find out.” She yanked open the door.
Magnus stood outside, his hand poised as if he’d been about to knock again.
“Thank God,” Daisy breathed.
Immediately Magnus was alert. “Is something wrong?” He glanced over his shoulder. “I see Joe is waiting out front. He said he was waiting for his orders.”
Mel turned to Daisy. “You’d better not keep him waiting.”
Daisy left without another word.
“Come inside, Mister Stanwyck.”
His forehead was wrinkled with concern. “Is aught amiss?” he asked again as he shut the door.
“All is well,” she lied. “Daisy just forgot she’d promised Miss Philpot a book and wanted to run home and get it. And I . . .” she faltered as they entered the sitting room. “Well, I was just tired.” She turned to find him standing in the open doorway. “Come in, reverend, and shut the door.”
“Perhaps I should leave. Especially as Mrs. Trent is gone.”
Mel sat down on the settee, suddenly bone tired and too tired to argue. “If you feel you should.”
But instead of leaving, he came to the settee and lowered himself to his haunches and then reached out and touched her chin, tilting her face until she had to meet his gaze. “What is wrong, Melissa?”
She would later tell herself that it was hearing her name on his tongue that undid her. But that was a lie, he’d undone her from the first day they met—her golden-haired knight protector.
Whatever he saw on her face made him slide his arms around her as he came up to sit beside her, holding her as if she were as fragile as fine china. His hand stroked her back and she realized he’d taken her in his arms because he believed she needed comfort. While she wanted him for far earthier reasons.
He sat back just enough that she could see his face, his expression as gentle as it had been when he’d lowered the little boy Robbie into his mother arms. “You look so—”
Mel kissed him, a light, sweet kiss that said everything she could not. His blue eyes were startled, but then his lids lowered and he took her mouth in a deep, unhurried kiss that shook her to her bones. His exploration of her was patient and thorough; it was the kind of kiss she’d always imagined young innocent people enjoyed the first time they made love. Young people who’d not been sold to a man thirty years older, a man for whom kissing had been the last thing he wanted.
Magnus’s tongue caressed her, worshipped her, learning the curves of her lips, her mouth, and even the ridged, oddly sensitive roof of her mouth.
He leaned back, smiling. “Did I tickle you?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
He smoothed her hair back from her temple, his expression one of unsuppressed joy, and all because he had kissed her and was holding her. Destroying her.
“I shouldn’t be doing this, Melissa, I know that. But I simply could not wait to ask you—” he broke off, took a deep breath, and then said, “When I heard you might be ill—well, to be honest, I used it as an excuse to behave badly and come here at such a scandalous hour.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, Melissa. I know it has happened ridiculously fast, but I want you to be—”
Mel couldn’t. She simply could not hear him speak the question she could only ever answer one way. He was openly and innocently offering her his heart and would want hers in return. She had no way to tell him that the only thing she had to give him was her body; her heart had shriveled to dust and blown away a long time ago.
She should send him away, but she couldn’t. Not without giving him the only thing she had to give: a night of pleasure. Years from now, when he was happy with a caring wife and a large brood of children, he would recall tonight fondly, even if he could no longer recall her name.
∞∞∞
One moment she was in his arms, the physical manifestation of all his dreams. The next, she’d pulled away.
“What is it, Melissa? Have I frightened you?”
The look she turned on him was not the guarded look she’d greeted him with at the door. This was different than anything he’d seen on her face and it sent a frisson of shock up his spine—a tingling awareness of danger.
But it sent another bolt to his groin.
She lowered herself to the floor, the motion as fluid and graceful as a ripple of water.
“Magnus?”
He swallowed as she laid a hand on each of his knees, looking up at him through her lashes.
“Yes?” he said, sounding just like a croaking frog. She slid her hands up his thighs and he almost jumped out of his skin. “What—”
She paused and cocked her head. “Don’t you like that?”
His eyes dropped to her lips, which were suddenly slick and pouting. He wrenched his gaze away, looking up. But she wasn’t looking at him, she was looking at his groin, which was very conscious of her attention.
She began kneading his thighs, her slender hands far stronger than he would have imagined, her touch . . . exquisite. Magnus shook his head, took her wrists in his hands to still her, and said, “What did you say?”
“You said you loved me, Magnus.”
It wasn’t what he’d been expecting and her voice was a shaky whisper.
“I do love you Melissa.”
Something flickered in her eyes but before he could identify it, she stood, straddling his lap but not breaking his grasp.
“Magnus.” She lowered herself onto his thighs, her bottom warm and firm through their combined clothing, her position was . . . well, quite frankly her position was shocking.
“Melissa, I don’t think—”
“Shhhhh,” she whispered the word in his ear just before she began nibbling, kissing, and—yes—licking him.
“This is wrong, Melissa.” He’d meant to sound firm, commanding—but it came out more of a question.
She gave a throaty chuckle, working her way down his jaw to his neck. “How can something so wonderful—between two people who love each other—be wrong?” Her lips pushed into his cravat and her mouth settled over his Adam’s apple. And then she bit him.
Magnus groaned, his head falling against the back of the settee. And then he heard what she’d said: between two people who love each other. He struggled through the sensual haze that was becoming thicker by the second.
“You love me?” he asked, realizing her hands had come free from his grasp at some point and she was removing his cravat.
Melissa and The Vicar (The Seducers Book 1) Page 13
