Punish Me With Roses - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  "Are you sure about that?"

  "Yes! If I've desired her, it's only been physically."

  He tipped his glass and another few drams of port disappeared down his throat. "That kind of desire is preferable, of course. You can be sure that I don't want to see you becoming womanish on us again. It was terribly humiliating when you rejected Jane Winston's advances on our last trip to London. The bitch could have been a good pastime for you."

  "I have no wish to dally with those of such easy virtue."

  "Suit yourself." His father gave him another disgusted look. "I hope you realize that hungering after the Clavering girl can be just as dangerous if you're not careful. Jane would let you hump her without asking twice, but if you raped Victoria, the game would be over."

  The thought disgusted him. "I'm not going to do anything like that."

  "Perhaps it's time to discuss what we'll do if we find out, without a doubt, that she did it."

  "I'm going to handle it in a legal manner. I don't care what you or Michael says, we're not going to string her up on a gibbet and post her at a crossroads."

  He laughed. "You know that sort of thing isn't done any more."

  "When has that ever stopped you?"

  "Tell me, son, what gives you the impression that doing this by the book isn't exactly what I want?" He frowned at his empty glass and jumped into the hall to grab a maid. Literally.

  Even though his father was no longer listening to him, he shook his head and muttered, "Everything."

  * * *

  He hadn't been joking.

  Victoria watched Mr. Trevelyn step over the bramble-covered path, as usual not inquiring whether she desired his company. She wasn't a fool and his latest appearance confirmed her suspicion that he hadn't been making fun of her when he'd claimed his interest. Unfortunately, she still hadn't found the time to think things through. She was still bewildered by what had happened in the drawing room.

  "I hope I'm not intruding," he said. "I came by to suggest a picnic. I know of some lovely areas that you would enjoy very much."

  "I'm not sure that would be a good idea."

  He seemed at a loss for words. "You mean because I insulted your...virtue."

  "Insulted? It was more like an attack." She looked down at the patch of her uncle's garden that she was weeding. Admit it, Victoria, you had more than enough time to think about it. But you didn't.

  "I owe you an apology." The words didn't come smoothly from his mouth nor did they sound completely natural. "I don't know what came over me."

  "I wouldn't want something like that to happen again." Except that she did. Even then, in the middle of the jungle of a garden, she wanted him. She was letting him take the blame for what had been both of their faults. She was ashamed because she knew she wasn't about to tell him that.

  "I can give you my promise that nothing like that will happen if you go on this picnic with me."

  "Mr. Trevelyn--"

  "You don't trust me."

  "It's not that I don't trust you, I just--" I don't trust myself, she finished silently.

  He pulled at the ends of his knee-length coat. "Have I ever lied to you?"

  "No, but we've only just met." As soon as she said it, she thought it was a harsh reply. If only she had realized that before she had opened her mouth.

  He looked at her with pleading eyes but didn't reply.

  "This is all very new to me."

  "You can trust me," he said quickly.

  "When were you thinking of going on that picnic?"

  "Whenever you're available. Today is a beautiful day." The garden wasn't much of a remarkable sight, but he took it all in just the same. His expression was--dare she think it?--jubilant.

  She realized that she was gloveless and her hands were covered in dirt. She could only imagine what Alexander thought of it all. But in the middle of the night, she'd gotten the idea that the roses were coming from her uncle's own garden. It was overgrown and in disrepair, so she thought there might be beauty lurking underneath the weeds. "I must clean my hands."

  He followed her and she couldn't say that she was surprised. She also had to admit to herself if he hadn't taken it upon himself to come along, she would have been mightily disappointed.

  She gave the garden one last hateful look before entering the house through the back door. She hadn't searched for very long and her meager attempt had been unsuccessful. She paused in the doorframe.

  The stop was so abrupt that Mr. Trevelyn's chest connected with her back.

  She gasped and darted forward before turning around. "Perhaps you'd wish to go through the front door?"

  "If the back door is good enough for you, it's good enough for me." At so close a distance, his gaze was downcast to be able to focus on her.

  She took a deep breath and wondered if he was looking at her face or her bodice. "That's kind of you," she said and hurried him through the kitchen. Once away from the gaping servants and tongue-clucking cook, she said, "Please wait in the drawing room. I'll send my uncle in."

  He smiled and nodded.

  She escaped to her bedroom. Conventions were relaxed in her uncle's house and she asked the maid to escort Alexander to the drawing room. She also asked for hot water. Once brought, she quickly washed up and hurried back downstairs. All along, she tried not to think of Mr. Trevelyn. Just because he was being kind again, didn't mean she should accept his invitation. What if he turned on her again? No, she needed to forget sentimentality and refuse him straight out.

  She entered the drawing room, feeling much refreshed, her resolve hardened. But when he smiled at her, she felt grateful for the attention. She wanted to smash her traitorous heart.

  Then she saw her uncle standing beside him.

  They looked quite amiable together. She knew then that she'd be going on the picnic.

  "Welcome back, Victoria. Alexander has been telling me something of your plans."

  "Has he now?"

  He smiled. "I promise I didn't say you'd agreed."

  "I'm glad because I think it might be getting a little late."

  "But it's only--"

  "May I see you for a second, Victoria?" John stepped away from Mr. Trevelyn. "I hope you won't mind if I have a word with my niece."

  "Not at all."

  Of course he was agreeable, she thought. He probably knew exactly what her uncle would say.

  "Why did you call me over here?" she asked in a whisper. "Won't he assume that we're speaking of him?"

  "That's exactly who I want to speak about."

  "It's rude, uncle."

  "Stop complaining and let me speak. Why don't you want to go on the picnic?"

  "I haven't yet said I won't."

  "You nearly did, and the refusal would have been complete if I hadn't pulled you over here."

  "I--"

  "In all the time you've been in Cornwall, you've hardly seen him."

  "Why should I? I came here to repent, not flirt with some local landowner. I came here to see you."

  "You haven't been doing much of that either."

  She exhaled.

  "Alexander Trevelyn is a nice man. You could do far worse."

  "What are...Uncle!"

  "I know you don't know him that well, but he certainly has his eye on you. There's nothing left for you in Blackmoore, and I think he might offer the perfect solution to your problems."

  "I think he might disagree when he discovers my past."

  "He never has to." He looked at her with a serious stare, as if he were warning her not to ruin it all by being honest.

  "That's dishonest! As ashamed as I am of what I've done, it would only make things worse if I denied it." But even as she became querulous, her mind was starting to run on an entirely different level. She had gradually come to like Alexander more and more. The thought of having to tell him everything was just incomprehensible.

  "Perhaps I spoke too soon, Victoria. But you really should accept his invitation. You won't come into an
y harm and I'm sure you'll have a pleasant afternoon."

  She sneaked a glance back at the undeniably handsome man standing in her uncle's drawing room. She couldn't deny that he'd make a decent husband. "Uncle, I'm starting to think that all of your ideas have motives."

  "It would be nice for you to get to know the local people. I'd be so happy if you stayed a while."

  She studied his expression to determine whether or not he was being genuine. She supposed wanting to see her settled down wasn't such a sinister concept.

  She smiled at her uncle before rejoining Alexander. That was all her uncle needed to assume her decision. Her date was standing in the middle of the room when she approached him. "I'm very sorry. There was a problem with a shipment."

  "Don't think of it. I welcomed the opportunity to examine this painting more closely."

  "Yes, it is quite lovely."

  "It's your aunt."

  "Yes, but I don't know much about her life." She realized what she'd just admitted. She'd given him an idea of how little she and her uncle had been speaking. She hurried on and said, "There's something quite mysterious in her eyes."

  "It's almost as if she's daring us to discover more about her."

  "That's certainly what I hope to do one of these days. I've always wanted to discover more about my family."

  His gaze traveled from the picture to Victoria. "So your answer, if I'm not being too pushy?"

  "I'd love to go on a picnic with you."

  His reaction was immediate. She was getting used to his toothy smiles, but she would never be sick of them. "Are you ready to go?"

  "I don't see why not." She looked down at her dress, and while normally she would change into something else for an outing, she realized that it would be foolish to do so in such a situation. No one else in Coverack seemed to put much store by constant costume changes, so she didn't have to either.

  "Goodbye, Mr. Fyn."

  "Have a good time, children." He laughed and picked up a newspaper.

  When they were outside, she saw the picnic basket hanging from the saddle. "Did you bring an extra horse?"

  "Even though you've turned me down before, I somehow knew this would be the day. Forgive the forwardness, but your uncle mentioned the lack of good horseflesh in his own stable. Milly is a fine mare that needs the exercise. May I give you a hand?"

  "Yes, please." In order to get her onto the horse, already equipped with a side-saddle, he had to put his hands on her waist. His large hands almost reached around her tiny waist and she had to concentrate on keeping her expression non-suggestive. But she certainly felt desirable with his hands on her body. Her waist suddenly felt very sensitive, and as he was smiling, she knew that he was enjoying it as much as she.

  The first attempt to seat her on the horse was unsuccessful. He didn't hoist her high enough and he had to make another attempt. All during this, she was trying not to burst into giggles and hoping that he attributed her sudden breathlessness to the jumping and hoisting. Finally, he managed to perch her on the saddle. She almost wanted to push herself off just so he would touch her again. She sighed with resignation and was finally able to tear her gaze away from him.

  Chapter 5

  Alexander realized that he was already forgetting she was a suspected murderess. It was hard to connect the act of taking another human life with the beautiful woman who was now calling herself Victoria Fyn. Unless he constantly reminded himself of what he was sure she'd done, then he found himself only thinking of how pleasant it was to banter with her and how fun it was to tease her. Worse yet, he'd just realized that he was better off forgetting.

  They'd ridden in silence for long enough. It might not be good to give her all that time to plot. If that was, in fact, what she must have come to Cornwall to do. "The place I'm thinking of isn't too far. It's further down the peninsula, but hanging to the coast. Maybe we'll see some smugglers."

  "Smugglers!" She glanced at him askance her horse.

  "You seem shocked."

  "I thought it was an unusual comment." She fidgeted in her sidesaddle and he knew she was irritating the horse. The hack was used to male riders. He should have brought her a pony.

  He took a deep breath of Cornish air while glancing towards the coast and expecting to see the common sight of fishing fleets and the uncommon sight of revenue cutters. "We get a lot of smugglers in Cornwall."

  "I believe I've heard something about that."

  "I'm sure you have."

  She tipped and almost fell off her saddle. "What do you mean?"

  "Just that it's common knowledge," he replied with a grin.

  "If you're aware of them, why don't you do something about it?" Her question seemed curious, but all he could think was that to him it was highly ironic.

  "There are more of them than there are of me." He thought of his family in particular. But he also thought of her unusual interest in it. Didn't she know about her uncle?

  "Surely the rest of the landowners could join forces."

  "Many of them prefer to look the other way." He studied her as much as he could without making things obvious. It was hard to hear a free-trader's niece make proper suggestions about the capture of smugglers. Maybe Rafe had already gotten to her! He almost fell off his own horse when the realization came to him. Was she spying on him?

  "I suppose I can understand how one might wish to ignore it, but--"

  "You can?"

  "Many of them only do it to feed their families," she said hesitantly.

  He responded, "There are many other honest things a man could do. Fish, go into mining..."

  "Sell fish," she added.

  "Yes, things like that. Or they could get an education."

  "From where?"

  "Self-edification."

  "And then what would they do?"

  "Learn some more!" He took a deep breath, but this time it wasn't only to glory in the fresh air of his homeland.

  "You're not being very realistic," she said.

  "I'm sorry, Victoria, but I have strong ideas about what's right and what's wrong. Smuggling is exactly the same as stealing and it's a crime. Although, I'm not surprised you don't feel the same way." If she could prod him for information, he could play the same game.

  "Excuse me?"

  "No offense was meant, Miss Fyn. I was only thinking of your situation."

  "What exactly is my situation?" Her eyes narrowed.

  He frowned. Maybe taking a direct approach would be beneficial to change from the current topic to one that would lead to greater intimacy. "Have you been speaking to Rafe?"

  "Does he have something to do with my situation?"

  "He has to do with what we were talking about. Though I'm sure you know that already."

  "Are you saying he's a smuggler?"

  "He's a Revenue Man."

  She was silent for a few moments, then she said, "Really? I never would have guessed it."

  "You're right, Miss Fyn. His personality doesn't really suit the job. I suppose that's why I've been having some suspicions."

  "What are they?"

  "I think he's playing both sides. Being paid by the crown to turn someone in every once in a while and being bribed by smugglers who don't want to be that someone."

  "My uncle says that the Revenue Men are engineered for corruption. They're underpaid with very little resources."

  "I'm sure your uncle has many ideas on the subject."

  "Yes. Since he's an honest seaman, I suppose he thinks about the other side a lot."

  He laughed, his horse whinnying in protest when he pitched his weight forward.

  Victoria frowned. "It seems to be a habit of yours to laugh at unusual times and without any provocation."

  "I'm sorry. I just thought of how unlike a ship captain's niece you look."

  She glanced down at her dress.

  He saw that they were just about to reach Chynhalls Point. "We shouldn't argue. Since my attempt at flattery obviously didn't work, I want to a
pologize for being so...one-sided." He'd wanted their outing to be uncontroversial. He didn't want her to go away thinking that she'd never accept another invitation from him.

  "I just thought that the smuggler's side was certainly worth considering," she replied. "Taxes have gone up considerably--"

  "If some of us are able to deal with it, we all must." He took a deep breath. "Here we go again. We must make a pact not to discuss smuggling.

  "Do you have a problem with a woman disagreeing with you?" she asked with a smile.

  He pulled up and she followed suit. "Actually, I quite like the fire that springs into your eyes when you become argumentative."

  "More Byron?"

  Alexander placed his hand to his heart after swinging from his horse like an Arthurian knight. "Original Trevelyn, my dear. But you see, I'd much rather speak poetry than argue. Yours is a face more suited to verse."

  She laughed and stumbled off her horse less gracefully than she'd gotten on. Then again, he had helped her the last time. "We'll not speak of smuggling if you'll stop using flowery phrases to flatter me."

  "But one word of advice before we move on. Don't trust Rafe Randel." He looked away, occupying himself with untying the picnic basket from his saddle.

  "I can't imagine why I'd even have cause to see him again. It was kind of him to help me find my uncle's home, but beyond that, we are strangers." In any case, I get the feeling you don't exactly like him any more than my uncle does."

  "Your uncle and I are on exactly the same page which isn't any wonder considering the way Rafe hounds John."

  "How's that?"

  "Rafe seems to be trying to catch him at something." He waited for a reaction, but was unable to decode the subtle one that he received. He thought then that if Victoria had come to her uncle's to get away from it all, she'd chosen her destination poorly. "Just be careful around him."

  "I'm careful around everyone...even you."

  He looked up at her. "Is that so?" Admiring the way her hair shined in the sunlight and leaning closer to her as he did, he continued, "Do you think it's safe to be alone with me out here? Do you even know where you are?"

  "What's the worst that could happen?" she asked courageously. Then she put her hand over her mouth. Her face reddened with embarrassment.