The Seduction of Scandal (Scandals and Seductions 5)

by Cathy Maxwell

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t want.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  He watched her lips move, mesmerized by them. Her bottom lip was fuller than her top. How easy it would have been to lean forward and press his lips against hers—

  “You are welcome,” he said briskly, releasing the laces. Of course his thumb was caught in the loop of one. He fumbled a bit as he freed himself.

  He stepped back, and then stepped back again. “I need to start the fire.” He turned and all but ran to the chore, thankful to have something to do.

  Unlike this morning, he didn’t have difficulty setting the kindling on fire, but it didn’t make the hut any more hospitable. It also didn’t alleviate his concerns for her safety.

  But she had to stay here. She had to—until he could find a place to send her. She was not good for his peace of mind. “I’ll see if I can’t think of a safe hiding place for you. Preferably one in Scotland. It might afford some protection against being forced to marry, although, truly, Lady Corinne, perhaps you should marry Freddie?”

  “Would you marry him?” She had come to the doorway between the two rooms. The deep green of the dress seemed to emphasize her pale blonde hair and bring out the blue in her eyes.

  She had a point. At one time he and Freddie had been close, but the school years and their many differences had driven them apart. Freddie was a man in the shadow of an ambitious father, one with high expectations. Will could understand what motivated his foster brother while still not admiring the man he’d become.

  Will rose to his feet. “Keep wood on the fire,” he said. “I’ll bring in enough for tonight, but in case it isn’t enough, there is a stack in the lean-to.”

  Outside, birds called the end of the day. Will carried two loads of wood into the hut for her. He did worry about her safety, but what could be done?

  “Until morning,” he said. He started toward the door, feeling like a miserable excuse for a man, but he couldn’t have taken her with him. He mustn’t have.

  She followed him outside. “Would you mind leaving your horse?”

  He looked at her, surprised by the suggestion.

  “I know I sound petted and silly to you,” she said. “I realize I have made a nuisance of myself . . . but I’ve never been alone before. I thought I would go mad today without anything to do. I swept out the cottage the best that I could. Did you notice? It’s lonely here, and I have many thoughts weighing on my mind. If you won’t take me with you, then please, may I have the animal for company?” She scratched Roman’s ear, right where he liked it.

  Her words and his own guilt and worries for her finally influenced him. He looked in the distance beyond the knoll leading to this part of the stream and outcropping of rocks. “Do you know about horses?” he asked.

  “More than I do about housekeeping,” she assured him. “I rode before I could walk, and the head groomsman always made us take care of our own animals. This old boy will be safe with me.”

  He released his breath in a heavy sigh. “Very well. Roman will be your guard tonight.”

  “Thank you,” she said with such enthusiasm that Will was pleased with himself. “Do you have far to walk?”

  “Far enough,” he said. “I’ll have to take him from you in the morning.”

  “Of course.”

  “He’ll keep you safe,” Will continued, warming up to the idea. “Roman is better than the most trusted dog.”

  The look in the horse’s eye said that he understood he was being discussed. He turned his head and nuzzled her hand. She’d made another conquest.

  “I’ll take very good care of him,” she promised, reaching for the reins. “Now you go on. I’ll unsaddle him. I can manage with one arm. You look tired, and I don’t want to keep you from your rest.”

  “My lady, if you felt that way, you wouldn’t have run away in the first place.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond but started marching up the knoll.

  One remedy for lust was exercise. Will was reminded of this on the long walk home.

  Did Lady Corinne know how those defenseless looks and longing sighs affected a man? Of course she also infuriated him as well.

  One moment she was asking his opinion, and in the next she would countermand it. Nothing was more irritating to him, and the sooner he rid himself of her, the better. He was determined to see her as far from his parish as possible within the next forty-eight hours.

  She was young and strong, and with Alma McBride’s salve, she’d heal with only a small scar to remind her of her foolishness.

  “Are you out for a bit of a walk, Reverend?” Tommy Meecham asked, coming upon Will as he returned to Ferris.

  “I lent Roman to Sean Hayward,” Will answered.

  “Oh, you are a good man, Reverend.”

  Lies, lies, lies. Will was heartily sick of lies.

  The fire in his kitchen grate was dying down by the time he returned home. He liked a chill in the air when he slept.

  Besides the kitchen and sitting room, the parsonage had an upstairs with two bedrooms. It was a snug little home, a peaceful one.

  Sometimes, too peaceful. Too lonely.

  Perhaps that was why he’d responded to Lady Corinne’s plea for company. Many a night he’d sat before his hearth and wished for another voice, another presence besides his own.

  Bed felt good this night.

  Will had no trouble falling asleep, but his dreams were not what he wished. He dreamed he was caught in a maze, and everywhere he turned Lady Corinne would appear. Sometimes her image would be that of the fifteen-year-old he’d met years ago. Or she would be as she’d been the other night at dinner—cool, regal, sulky.

  Or as he’d left her this evening, eager to please, needing his help.

  And she was the first thought on his mind when he woke. It was already past dawn. He threw back the covers and pushed his hand through his hair. He’d overslept. Even now he felt groggy, leaden.

  Pulling on his breeches, and wearing little else, he went downstairs. He needed to wake up. A good draught of cider would have him going. Then he’d best dress and hurry out to the hut before Mrs. Gowan came to do the cooking and cleaning. He didn’t want to answer questions with more lies if she noticed Roman missing.

  He walked into the kitchen, picked the cider jug off the dry sink beneath the window, and, forgoing a glass, lifted it to his lips—

  Roman was out in his stall, his head hanging over the door.

  Will turned, suddenly realizing he wasn’t alone.

  Lady Corinne sat at his kitchen table, her braided hair tidy, her face scrubbed clean.

  Her expression was both hopeful and defiant.

  Will choked on the cider in his surprise. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What? How?” he sputtered, stunned by the thought that she had found her way to Ferris.

  “A horse always knows his way home,” she said, obviously pleased with her cleverness.

  And Will let his temper explode.

  Chapter Seven

  Corinne was rather proud of the way she’d managed to reach Ferris.

  Roman had been a willing compatriot. Horses always knew the way home, and the dark hadn’t bothered him. After all, he was the Thorn’s gallant charger. Saddling him and climbing on his back had been a challenge, but Corinne had managed. Roman had then carried her all the way to his stall, where he was now peacefully munching on his hay.

  While riding through the night, Corinne had started to picture herself an adventuress—like Lady Hester Stanhope, who’d set all of London buzzing last year when she’d sailed off with her maid, her doctor, and a guard for Greece and parts beyond. Corinne’s parents had thought Lady Hester foolish in the extreme. Her father had claimed the woman unnatural. A woman’s place was under a man’s protection and by home and hearth—but Corinne h
ad been envious.

  Lady Hester was the first woman who’d made Corinne start to think that perhaps there might be more to life than the cycle of marriage, having children, and dying.

  And now she was a bold woman. She had taken her destiny into her own hands. The world was spread out before her—or she had thought it was until she’d caught sight of Reverend Norwich’s naked chest.

  It wasn’t as if she was clueless about the male anatomy. She’d viewed the Elgin Marbles. She’d perused paintings of men wearing little more than fig leaves. She was sophisticated, a Londoner.

  But no piece of cold stone or painted canvas could emulate the real thing. His chest was hard planes, the muscles lean. His skin was darker than Freddie’s pasty whiteness, almost a golden tan. Furthermore, attractive nakedness aside, Reverend Norwich was also the most intriguing man of her acquaintance. That alone set him apart.

  He was also furious with her.

  Anger boiled in his eyes. In one abrupt movement, he threw the pottery jug in the corner of the room, where it shattered into heavy pieces and splattered liquid. The sweet smell of cider filled the air.

  “Why, my lady, why?” He didn’t wait for an answer but demanded, “This is some sort of game to you, isn’t it? My life means nothing.”

  “That is not true,” Corinne said, coming to her feet. “I have the deepest respect for you. I don’t want to endanger you. I think the ‘cousin’ plan will work, especially if I stay out of sight—” She stopped. “Don’t you think it wise for you to put on a shirt?”

  He spread his arms, his straight brows deepening into a frown. “Does this offend you? What did you expect when you sneaked into a man’s house uninvited? That I would be waiting for you in evening dress?”

  “I didn’t ‘sneak.’ The door was unlocked,” she corrected him.

  “That’s because it is Ferris. We don’t go stealing into each other’s homes. However, be assured, I shall put a lock on it within the hour—but first I am telling you to leave. Go back to the hut.”

  “Please, Mr. Norwich, this will work—”

  “No. This is not a discussion. First, I’m not a servant or one of your love-smitten swains. I don’t jump to the snap of your fingers, my lady. And second, we have already discussed how I’m an orphan? No relatives? Can’t you grasp that?”

  Corinne didn’t appreciate his tone. He spoke as if she’d been simple. “Well, you don’t order me around either,” she shot back. His feet were bare. She’d never thought of how intimate it would be to see a man’s bare feet, especially such well-formed feet. Indeed, there was little of him that was not well formed—

  She had to keep her mind on her argument.

  “And let me tell you,” she said, pointing a finger at him, “I don’t have love-smitten swains. And I am increasingly vexed by your accusing me of being some . . . some heartless Delilah or selfish princess. I know Freddie is considered a catch in London, but we”—she pointed her finger back and forth between herself and Reverend Norwich—“know his true nature. The more I know his character, the more I detest him. He’s selfish and vain . . .” She broke off, frustrated by his stony-eyed face. “I am not marrying Lord Sherwin. I will not. And you could put a lock on your door, but I would just sit on your step. Then what would happen?”

  “You wouldn’t be a problem for me. Freddie would see you and scoop you right up and away to the parson. In fact, he wouldn’t even have to go anywhere. I’d happily perform the marriage, anything to have you out of my life.”

  Those words hurt. “That was unkind,” Corinne said.

  “Unkind is mistreating a puppy or pushing an old person or berating a child. Unkind is not explaining to an overindulged, cosseted aristocrat that she can’t go every place or do everything she wishes. You, my lady, are no different than anyone else on God’s earth. I didn’t invite you to run away, and I’m quickly tiring of having to take care of you—especially,” he emphasized, seeing she’d opened her mouth to protest another unflattering portrait of her character, “when you don’t appear to have the common sense God gave a sheep.”

  How could she ever have thought him handsome?

  “You are a disagreeable toad.” There, she’d thrown an insult of her own, and it felt good. “My intelligence is not to be questioned, sir.”

  “Prove me wrong,” he challenged. “Take the intelligent action. Return to the hut.”

  “And what? Stay out of sight for four weeks?”

  “Lady Corinne, we’ve had this discussion. You are not going to be around Ferris that long. As soon as I think of a place to ship you, off you go. You are the one who wants to hide. I see no reason to endanger my neck.”

  Corinne shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “All right, so perhaps I am selfish for wishing to hide in your home rather than an abandoned reiver’s hut without a proper door or any physical comforts. But it is lonely out in the moors. There were night sounds that are quite discomforting. Please, I will stay out of sight. No one will see me.”

  “I’ll see you.” He took a step away, pushing his fingers through his dark, straight hair. “You upset me, my peace, my life. The parishioners use the parsonage. They walk in at all times. Your presence will be discovered.”

  “Then we are at a deadlock.” She used her duke’s daughter voice, the icy one. He’d accused her of being an aristocrat. Well, she was. “I know your secret and you know mine. You can complain, foam at the mouth, and howl at the moon, but it won’t change the fact that you can’t make me do something I refuse to do. Not without consequences.”

  “Would you really turn me in?” he challenged. “Do you want my death on your conscience? Is not marrying Freddie worth that to you?”

  He was testing her. He thought her weak.

  Well, Corinne wasn’t ready to cry quarter. “To keep from marrying Freddie? Yes. You are a common outlaw, Reverend Norwich. A villain of the worst order. A man of God who steals. A hypocrite. There are some names for you. How do you like that plainspokenness?”

  His jaw tightened with her every word. She had no doubt he would like to take her by the scruff of the neck and toss her out the door.

  But he wouldn’t. She saw that now. His bark was worse than his bite—she hoped.

  “Now, please go dress,” she instructed him. “Your standing there half naked is not proper, even amongst cousins.” And as for herself, she resolved to no longer romanticize him. She had to remember her own words, but it was hard to keep from staring at his bare chest.

  “You think you have me cowed, don’t you?” he said, his quiet tone dangerously low. He took a step toward her.

  Corinne held her ground, although she leaned away from him. “Do not come closer, sir.”

  “I will come closer,” he assured her. “You are going back to the hut if I must hog-tie you and stuff you in a bag.”

  “You lay a hand on me and I shall scream so loud, all of Ferris will hear me.”

  “And then what if you do?” he asked. “Who are they going to believe? Their parson who tends to their needs, or the willful woman who is to become the next Lady Sherwin? Don’t think Freddie won’t take you back. Your marriage is what his father wants, and he always does as Bossley says. Scandal or no.”

  Pride vanished. Corinne hurried around to the other side of the table. “You do not want to do this.”

  “Yes, I do.” He kept coming toward her.

  She edged around the table from him. Of all the scenarios she’d pictured in her mind of what would happen when she presented herself to him, this had not been one of them. She’d assumed he’d be angry at having his hand forced, but she’d thought she could manage him. Most men usually did what she wished of them. “Reverend Norwich, we must work together. Remember what is at stake.”

  “I’ve decided it might be worth the hanging to have you off my hands.”

  And Corinne decid
ed she might be wise to run—but she’d only taken three steps toward the front sitting room when he caught up with her. He picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. “My lady, you have met your match.”

  “Stop this,” she ordered, trying to squirm loose of his ironclad hold on her legs. She doubled a fist and pounded his back. Her fist bounced off it without seeming to break his stride toward the back door. “You are being foolish.”

  “You have the amazing ability to make me feel that way,” he countered, speaking as if through clenched teeth. “Now stop wiggling—”

  “Oh, that’s an order I’ll obey,” Corinne shot back, trying to twist her hips free. Her fists didn’t work, but a sharp elbow did. His hold loosened. She started to fall, which was not her intent. His arms juggled her, then held her safe—just as the kitchen door opened.

  A woman entered and came to a startled halt. She was of middling years, petite, and ready for work. An apron covered a gray wool skirt, and she had a mobcap over her black hair. She carried a basket on one arm, which she almost dropped when she saw them.

  Reverend Norwich froze.

  Corinne felt his body tense. He was holding her with both arms, her breasts were against his chest, her hands on his shoulder for balance. She sensed they were in trouble, and she stopped moving, even breathing.

  The head of a young woman of some sixteen or eighteen years of age with the same dark hair attempted to peer around the woman in the door. “What is going on?” the girl asked, her shocked mother continuing to block her way.

  Mr. Norwich took a step away from Corinne. “Mrs. Gowan—is it that late already?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mrs. Gowan answered, still not recovered from her surprise. “I knocked. You must not have heard us?” Abruptly, she turned to the girl. “Mandy, see if Roman has been fed.”

  “Is something the matter?” Mandy wondered. Her voice dropped a notch. “Who is that woman?”

  “My cousin,” Reverend Norwich said without missing a beat. “Go on, Amanda, do as your mother said. You know how Roman is about receiving his oats.”