The Unattainable . . . and whoever had christened her such had named her right. The lure of a siren mixed with the scorn of a harpy in the duke of Banfield’s willful daughter.
Will came to his feet, needing his extra height to keep her, and his lust, at bay.
Her intelligent blue eyes swept his person. “You appear the worse for wear, Reverend.”
He was conscious that he needed a shave. His beard was such that he looked quite vicious if he didn’t keep it under control. And there were probably circles under his eyes that matched the weariness in his bones. Yesterday had been a very demanding day before he’d made an appearance at his foster father’s dinner table. Certainly his hair must have been going every which way now.
In contrast, she appeared well rested and amazingly fresh and lovely.
“I needed to see to your welfare, my lady. You are lucky I discovered you injured on the side of the road on my way home last night.” If there was a chance she didn’t remember anything after being shot, Will was going to play it.
“And my undressing?”
“Necessary for attending your wound.”
“So you didn’t believe Major Ashcroft would return for me?”
There was an edge to her voice. “You remember,” he said. He might as well lay it all on the table. He had to remember how willful she was, how bold. Dislike and distrust were good foils for lust.
“Not the undressing,” she said. She crossed her arms as if protecting her breasts from view. The movement caused her to wince, but she bravely, stubbornly kept her hands where she’d placed them. “But I remember everything else.”
“I feared you would.” He tucked the flint and stone in his pocket. “So what happens now? Are you to go running to Freddie with your discovery of who I am? I don’t believe so. There was a reason you were stowed away in that coach last night.”
There, straight talk for straight talk—and it worked. A small frown appeared between her brows.
“You saw me?” she asked.
“You came from somewhere, and Ashcroft was obviously surprised at your presence. I had been inside the coach, and you hadn’t been there. I was very careful to ensure I’d accounted for everyone present.”
She dropped her arms, reached up, and placed a hand on her left shoulder, as if the bit of pressure relieved the pain. “You truly are frightening as the Thorn.”
“I try to be, my lady,” he said. “Although you don’t seem frightened now, and perhaps you should be.”
She cocked her head at his warning, considered him, then shook her head. “You won’t hurt me.”
“Don’t be so certain.”
“You aren’t frightening now,” she answered. “That’s not the sort of man you are. I don’t think.” She came into the room. “Why do you do it? Why are you robbing your foster father? And what did you take from him? What was so important it called for that many armed men?” Without waiting for answers, she said, “It wasn’t me you were hiding from in the library, was it?”
“No, it was you.” Granted, he’d planted himself behind the curtains to overhear the details of what Bossley had been about—he’d pulled that trick many times before and had picked up nuances of a meeting over brandy and port after dinner—but he would have avoided her as well if he’d known she was coming to the library.
He also had the pleasure of seeing his response throw off her imperial manner. “That wasn’t kind.”
“I didn’t mean for it to be.”
Her brows came together. “I have done nothing, Mr. Norwich, to earn this attitude from you.”
“I’m certain it’s different from the attitude you are usually accustomed to receiving from men, but I am not one of your lapdogs, my lady.”
“I don’t have lapdogs,” she informed him briskly. “And you might be more effective as a man of faith if you didn’t listen to gossip and rumors.”
“Not rumors. Freddie is obviously besotted with you”—he ignored her sharp sound of denial and continued—“but you don’t care for him. Tell me, my lady, why were you in the coach and not safely in your bed?”
“Freddie is the most unbesotted man I’ve ever met. But let us talk about you. Why do you rob from your own family?” she countered. “Or is that how you define a sterling character?”
Lady Corinne was no nitwit.
He’d spent years nursing his grudge against her. She was lovely to look at, but, he’d assured himself, she had to have been dull, like so many other beautiful women. A plaything. A filly to be married off to some Corinthian stud—although he’d never imagined Freddie a stud, and he didn’t like thinking about it now.
So, Will tried taking command of the questioning again, this time letting go of some of his defensiveness. “What were you doing in the coach?” he asked.
“I was on my way to London?”
“You were jilting Freddie,” Will hazarded and was rewarded for his guess by her disarming honesty.
“Yes, I’m crying off,” she replied. “And in spite of my father’s command, I must. Especially after what I caught Freddie doing last night.”
“Kissing you?” He hadn’t been pleased to catch her in his foster brother’s arms . . . especially since he’d found himself wandering back to the library for a possible chance meeting with her.
“You call that a kiss?” she challenged. “I liken it more to being slobbered on by a cow’s mouth. I was never so happy to see anyone in my life as I was you.”
“And here I feared I was interrupting Freddie’s wooing.” He had to make the jab, even if his jealousy embarrassed him.
He earned a frown for his sarcasm, and her quick turn of mind. “Why are you masquerading as a highwayman?” she said.
“Money,” he answered. It was the best answer and all she needed to know.
“I thought better of you,” she allowed.
“I’m thankful, my lady. What an endorsement.”
“You are rude.”
It was a mild rebuke, but Will latched onto it as one more barrier between them. “Fortunately, your opinion does not matter with me. However, we are at an impasse. You can understand why I don’t want anyone to know I’m the Thorn, and I don’t think you want anyone to know you ran away last night.”
“Do you believe Major Ashcroft will say anything?”
“I don’t know.”
She walked to the front doorway. There were no doors or windows to the cottage. Time had destroyed them. “Where are we?”
“It’s an old reiver’s haunt. You know of the reivers? The raiders who used to go back and forth between the Scottish and English border. If you look outside, you can see that this one whole wall is built into the hill and the rest is overgrown with bushes.”
Lady Corinne didn’t take his word for it but stepped outside. She looked around, then nodded, as if pleased. “How did you find it?” she asked.
“I came upon it by accident.” He’d been hiding from soldiers one night and Roman had actually led him here.
She disappeared from his view. “Where’s your horse?” she called. “And who is this old boy?”
He couldn’t believe she’d walked off barefoot. He couldn’t imagine one other genteel woman of his acquaintance doing such. Will walked to the door. She’d crossed to the lean-to built alongside of the house where Roman was stabled. She gave the gelding a scratch behind his ears, Roman’s very favorite place to be scratched. The old boy groaned his pleasure.
“That’s him. That’s my noble steed,” Will said, enjoying the moment her eyes widened in disbelief.
“This is not the charger I saw last night,” she informed him.
“He most certainly is.” Will walked over to the stable and reached inside to the shelf on the wall. He brought out a small tin. “Lamp blacking and ash. I mix it myself. I cover that blaze of his and that hind sock. He’s the best part of m
y disguise, aren’t you, Roman?” He scratched the horse’s other ear and Roman was in heaven, leaning his head down and forward to offer better access to his itchy part. “No one would believe this horse moves out the way he does. And when we are on a tear, he acts as if he is half his age and younger. What a great heart. Of course he has to sleep it off.”
“You appear as if you need to sleep it off as well,” she answered.
He dropped his hand. She found his looks not to her liking? “Yes? Well, it was a busy night.”
“Yes, it was. And now what do we do?”
She was so beautiful.
Will felt a bit dizzy every time he looked at her. He didn’t want to admire her. He didn’t want her around. She was a distraction.
“We both have secrets,” she continued. She was rubbing Roman’s nose. She had long, graceful fingers. “I will not marry Freddie, but the wedding is in four weeks.”
“That’s soon,” he murmured, not interested in discussing Freddie. He needed to leave. The elders did not like it when he was late for meetings.
“I need to hide here,” she said.
It took a moment for her words to register, but he didn’t believe he’d understood correctly. “What did you say?”
“I need a hiding place for four weeks, and this is perfect.” She stepped back, as if reevaluating the hut. “Once I miss my wedding date, my father won’t be able to force me to marry. Why, the scandal will be huge. There is no way Freddie will want me after such humiliation.”
“You can’t stay here,” Will said.
“I can. This is the perfect place.”
“No.” He started to saddle Roman.
“What else were you going to do with me?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I was more concerned over ensuring you didn’t die from your wound,” He tightened the girth too quickly and Roman snorted.
“And I thank you for that,” she said. “You did a fine job. My shoulder is sore, but I don’t feel feverish.”
“You were lucky the ball went through the fleshy part of your shoulder.”
“I’m lucky you robbed that coach last night,” she corrected. “Otherwise, I would be in London with nowhere to go.”
“You didn’t have anywhere to go? A plan? You didn’t know what you were going to do after you reached London?” he demanded, turning in disbelief.
“I knew I wasn’t going to marry Freddie, and that was all that mattered,” she answered. “Sometimes a person must plunge into life if she is going to escape a fate worse than death.”
“A fate worse than death?” he asked, confused. “What could be worse than death?”
“Becoming Lady Sherwin,” she replied without missing a beat. “It would be a living death. I’d thought to go to my sister . . . but I wasn’t certain she wouldn’t turn me over to my parents. Certainly her husband would if she didn’t hide me from him, which would have been a problem since the wedding is four weeks away. But here? I’m safe here. And best of all, you must protect me.”
Suddenly, she turned pale. “Oh, dear, I need to sit. I’m feeling a bit weak.”
Will took her arm and guided her back into the hut to a wobbly chair by the fire.
Lady Corinne recovered the moment she took her seat, like a queen attending her coronation. The woman was as healthy as a plow horse, he realized. She’d recover from her wound without difficulty.
She confirmed Will’s assessment by saying, “I’m also hungry. Famished. I didn’t eat well last night. And I’ll need clothes. I can’t walk around like this. Food and clothes. Please don’t be long at fetching both. Oh, and I don’t like cheese. It upsets me—”
“Wait a moment,” he said, realizing she was maneuvering these circumstances to her liking. “I’m not hiding you for four weeks.”
She raised sympathetic blue eyes framed by the most impossibly long, dark lashes, and said, “You have no choice. You see, Reverend, I know who you are. There is a price on your head. It would be awkward if you sent me back to Freddie and I, not on purpose of course, revealed I know the Thorn’s identity.”
How had he ever for one second of his life been attracted to this woman?
She was manipulative. Like Delilah or Salome or Eve or hundreds of other women God in his masculine wisdom had warned men like him to beware.
And she had him. He was trapped.
Her silence for his silence, and food, and shelter, and clothing—and, oh yes, no cheese.
Without answering, he marched out of the hut, snatched up Roman’s bridle, and finished tacking the horse.
She’d come to the door. “One more matter,” she said. “Did you really murder a man?”
The accusation of Porledge’s murder from anyone rubbed Will raw, but it was especially galling coming from her. “What do you think?” he snapped.
Clean eyes assessed him. She was an intelligent woman, far sharper than many he’d met. “Murderers don’t carry wounded damsels around the countryside when they are in danger of being pursued by authorities,” she answered. “I also think you aren’t pleased with me, but this really is the best for both of us.”
His answer was to climb into the saddle and ride off. He was late—very late—for his meeting with the elders, who would wonder where he’d been.
But as exasperated as he was with her, Will was pleased she didn’t believe him capable of murder.
Lady Corinne had the ability to goad, challenge, and praise him.
Who said the devil wasn’t a woman?
Corinne watched him ride off until his tall, dark figure was gone from view.
Only then did she slowly slide down the wall, exhausted from the encounter. Her shoulder had started to ache and she felt light-headed, but she also felt invigorated.
Reverend Norwich wasn’t like any other man of her acquaintance. He would not be easy to handle.
He was also attractive. Very attractive.
She’d best be on her toes and keep her wits about her. He had a dangerous secret to hide, and as far as she could tell, she was the only one who knew the truth. Her sole protection was that he truly was an honorable man. He had saved her life last night, and she sensed he would guard her as long as she was under his care . . . which was where she planned to stay.
An honorable outlaw. Something more than money drove him to be the Thorn. Curiosity made her wonder. However, intuition warned her he was not the sort of man to play games—or give quarter.
Still, she found herself looking forward to when they met again.
Chapter Five
The gray stone walls of Holy Name Church had withstood every war and every sin England had been able to conjure. Built in Norman times, countless penitents had turned to her for refuge and forgiveness.
Will tried to remember that as he struggled with his own conscience. Many a night he had knelt for hours inside the church’s cool darkness, begging for guidance.
He wanted to understand his purpose. Why was he here, half a world away from the land of his birth? Why did he feel such a connection to this place, to this village? Where was he supposed to go? Who was he supposed to be?
He was wise enough to know that many of his questions stemmed from being an orphan. His parents would always be a mystery to him. He was a human island, untethered to heritage and obligations of family, and yet he knew he had a past.
There were times when he sensed he was supposed to know something, to realize significant memories—and he couldn’t.
He dreamed of his parents. Faceless creatures conjured from his yearnings for roots, for bloodlines, for commonalities and all the other traits and understandings that connected one to lineage.
His solace was to turn to God. The heavenly Father. He wanted to believe in Divine Guidance, but he received only silence.
Then again, that seemed to be God’s universal response. Had
Will not prayed for justice for the crofters? He’d become the Thorn when he’d no longer been able to stand aside and tolerate God’s silence.
And now, by tossing Lady Corinne—the Unattainable, the Ice Maiden—into Will’s arms, his heavenly Lord was playing a trick that would have made any Eton schoolboy proud. Lady Corinne . . . the most beautiful woman Will had ever laid eyes upon.
God must have been laughing. He had to have been up in heaven with St. Peter and St. Paul, their three heads together with the same glee Freddie showed when he played a particularly nasty trick at Will’s expense.
Will would have liked to prove himself stoic and completely immune to Lady Corinne’s charms. He wanted to find fault, and he could. He hated being blackmailed. He hated being forced to do anything against his will. He disliked what she represented, an imperial upper class that thought more of their own pleasure than what was good for the country.
He also, now that his temper had abated a bit, couldn’t wait to see her again.
What a pathetic creature he was.
The church was located on the far side of Ferris village. The rectory was set off from the church with the graveyard stretched between them. The location gave him the privacy he needed to come and go as he pleased.
Ferris itself was small. There was only one road in and out, and it was lined with a few cottages, a public house, and the blacksmith’s forge. Most of the parish was spread out through the countryside.
Old Andrew the caretaker was raking the last of winter’s debris from the graves, and he nodded to Will as he rode up. Will gave a careless wave and headed to the run-in shed that served as Roman’s stall. He unsaddled the horse, gave him water, stirred a mash of oats, and went hurrying to the rectory.
He’d not seen signs of the elders milling about the church, so he hoped he’d had a bit of luck and they were late. He needed to shave and to put on a shirt, since Lady Corinne was wearing his. Thank heavens for his parson’s jacket and wool vest, which covered him from chest to hip. Otherwise he’d have looked decidedly odd.
However, when he opened the rectory’s back kitchen door, he realized he had a visitor. The heavyset Squire Rhys-Morton sat at his kitchen table, his hat to one side, his hands clasped in front of him as if he’d been a schoolboy awaiting his tutor.
The Seduction of Scandal (Scandals and Seductions 5) Page 6
