The Seduction of Scandal (Scandals and Seductions 5)

by Cathy Maxwell

  “You struggled, Lord Bossley? What struggle did you have?”

  A change came over him at her challenge. “That attitude,” Lord Bossley said. “That attitude can’t be bought. That’s why I wanted you, Lady Corinne, for my son. The Unattainable . . . because you are the best. Others may say whatever they wish about you, but you choose life on your terms. Such a rare quality in an Englishman, let alone an Englishwoman. From the moment I first observed you, I knew you were the one. And I must say, Frederick has been envied by many men.”

  “Then they are all as shallow as he is. I’m not the one,” she informed him smartly. “A marriage between Lord Sherwin and myself will not work.”

  “I know Freddie has been cow-handed—”

  “Crude, obnoxious, ridiculous,” she interjected. “I could think of a hundred such adjectives to describe him.”

  “You go too far,” he warned.

  “I don’t go far enough,” she answered. “I will not marry him. I vowed not to and I have honored that vow by falling in love with a man of substance. A man I respect and admire enough to give myself to him without reservation. I’ve chosen another, Lord Bossley,” she said, proud of herself, because here were the words that would free her of her betrothal. “I am Reverend Norwich’s lover and have agreed to be his wife.”

  To her surprise, Lord Bossley did not appear offended. Instead, he tsked, chiding her, “It is not your virginity I wanted, my lady. And whatever arrangements you and Freddie make are not my business. You will marry my son.”

  “I will not.”

  She lifted her chin as she said those words. There was nothing this man or any other, including her father, could say or do to alter her determination.

  “It’s not by happenstance that I am here today,” Lord Bossley said, looking around the sanctuary with the idleness of a visitor. “I had an interesting discussion with a young lady, child actually, although she feels very grown up, about my foster son and yourself. I knew you were lovers. Miss Amanda Gowan made that clear.”

  Corinne warned herself not to panic.

  “A woman will follow a man to his grave,” Lord Bossley was saying, “unless she feels herself scorned. And then she will dig the grave for the man. It’s not an attractive part of the female character, but there it is.”

  “So she confirmed what I said,” Corinne answered, deciding to brazen it out.

  “And much more,” Lord Bossley returned, pinning her with his gaze.

  He knew.

  His smile widened. “Yes, Miss Gowan feels so ill-used, she did let slip that she knew who the Thorn was. Frankly, I am startled by her information. It’s not that I believed Will would be loyal. I don’t expect that from any human, man or woman. However, I did underestimate his daring. I thought him a bookish sort, as passive as his father.”

  “You knew his father?”

  Lord Bossley blinked, as if her question made him realize what he’d inadvertently revealed. He scowled, cut the air dismissively with his hand. “No, never. But I know the sort of man he must have been. The docks are full of that type.”

  And here was where Will had gained the idea his father had been a sailor.

  Annoyance changed Lord Bossley. Hardened him. “You are going to marry my son,” he said. “And now you are going to make him a model wife . . . because you don’t want to see Will hang.”

  “No, I don’t,” she echoed.

  He stood. “Return with me now, Lady Corinne. Your cooperation for Will’s life. It is a good bargain, no? I’m leaving for London tomorrow. You shall accompany me.”

  “What of my parents?”

  “They assumed you had gone off to London by one way or the other. We were all quite concerned. You could have met with foul play.”

  So, Major Ashcroft had not mentioned shooting her.

  “They’ve been very worried,” Lord Bossley said.

  Corinne stood. She had no choice but to go with Lord Bossley. “You will not harm Will?”

  “If you do as I suggest, why should I? After all, his being an outlaw could taint my own career. However, Lady Corinne, he is not blood kin. If you value his life, his well-being, you will break off all ties to him as of this moment.”

  “You killed Simon Porledge,” she said with sudden understanding.

  “Not I . . . but someone did for me.” His matter-of-fact statement put a chill in her heart.

  “If anything happens to him, I shall denounce you,” she threatened.

  “If you are a good wife to my son, if you bear my grandchildren, my heirs, then why should anything happen to Will?”

  Hell, she was turning herself over to hell, and she would willingly if it meant protecting the man she loved. “You are right,” she said, her throat tight with anger. “You will have no concerns.”

  “You are very reasonable, Lady Corinne. Now, shall we go? I have a coach waiting outside.”

  “I need a moment to pen a note to Will,” she insisted.

  “That is not necessary. I shall deliver the news.”

  Once again, she sensed there was more at play here than she knew. “Just a note,” she begged.

  “Regrettably, no.” He swept the path before him with a wave of his hand. “After you, my lady.”

  She hesitated . . . but in the end, she had no choice.

  Corinne left the church with Lord Bossley.

  Chapter Fifteen

  By the time Will reached Mother Bishop’s bedside, she was already on the mend. “Did they tell you I was about to breathe my last?” she demanded. She was a stubborn, opinionated woman with steel-gray hair and an unlined face for her age. “Well, they are wrong, Mr. Norwich. I shall recover. I promise.”

  “They are concerned for you,” Will answered diplomatically.

  She cackled in triumph. “I know, I know, but I’m not leaving yet, and you can return to Ferris village and tell them as much. My granddaughters take good care of me. Far better than my son does!”

  “Well, I can’t wait for you to be able to tell them yourself when you come to Sunday service,” Will said before realizing he wouldn’t be there.

  The thought hit him with great sadness, but such was the price of his love for Corinne.

  It was late afternoon of an increasingly cloudy day by the time he and Roman returned to the rectory. Will was not unhappy with the lateness of the hour. Corinne and he should leave after dark so as not to attract notice.

  The hardest of their going would be leaving Roman. Will ran his hand along the animal’s back, then scratched him under the chin the way he liked. “You are a good man. I shall miss you.”

  He was going to miss everyone.

  Roman’s response was to push the feed bucket with his nose, a reminder to Will that as long as the horse was well cared for, the beast wouldn’t necessarily miss his master. And Will’s parishioners would also carry on—Seth the miller and his family would manage, Broxter would do well for his son, the couple he’d married last Saturday would be happy.

  Chores done, Will walked to the rectory. Lamplight glowed from the kitchen window. He could picture how impatient Corinne would be. She didn’t like to wait.

  He opened the door—

  Lord Bossley sat at his kitchen table.

  Will glanced around the room. Corinne wasn’t there. Nor was there sound of her movement in the house.

  “You are right,” Bossley confirmed. “She is not here. I had her taken to Glenhoward.”

  “You may bring her back,” Will answered.

  “I won’t,” came the reply. “She doesn’t want to stay. She’s decided she doesn’t want you, Will. She came to her senses.”

  The words were aimed at Will’s every doubt. For a second, he couldn’t think. Corinne had changed her mind?

  Well, of course. Bossley was right—she wouldn’t want him. He had nothing .
. .

  He had nothing . . . but her love. A woman with a heart as valiant as Corinne’s would not turn her back so abruptly on him. She loved him. She wouldn’t have given herself to him otherwise.

  “You are lying,” Will said. “And I’m going to Glenhoward to fetch her.”

  “Before you go, I must share the information that I passed word to Major Ashcroft that you are the Thorn. After his last encounter with you, I’m certain he’ll be tying the noose himself around your neck.”

  Will shut the door. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Brazening it out.” Bossley shook his head. “I sadly underestimated you, Will. If only Frederick had your ingenuity.”

  “You didn’t go to Ashcroft,” Will said. “Because before I’m hanged, you’d be afraid of what I may say about a certain chest of gold coins.”

  Bossley laughed. “Not any longer. I’ve given it up for a loss. I hold all the cards, Will. Truly, I do.”

  Will didn’t think so, and he knew enough of his foster father’s character to doubt if the man would walk away from that much money. “I’m willing to test your words, sir.”

  Bossley stood, still chuckling softly. “Bold. You are so bold. But,” he said, drawing a deep breath as if needing to sober himself, “I’m ahead of you. I’m no fool. I know when the game needs to be changed, and I’m not as greedy for gold as you may believe I am when it comes to saving my own neck. I sent a letter to Whitehall, to the duke of Banfield, in fact, explaining that I feared the foster son I had taken to my bosom had turned out to be a viper. I wrote that the chest is yours, Will. The messenger has already gone to London.”

  “And do you have the chest?” Will dared him.

  “No, you do. Unfortunate turn of events. The reason Major Ashcroft is not here at this moment is that he and his men are tearing up a . . . what would one call it? Hideaway? That abandoned cottage that the Thorn claimed for his lair? I’m certain it is there. You wouldn’t dare bring something so dangerously incriminating here.”

  Will relied on steel nerves. “I will testify against you and the good major. You can’t convince me he didn’t know what he carried when he acted as a courier for you.”

  “He didn’t,” Bossley said. “Will, not everyone has your determination. Ashcroft never questions me. He’s young and handsome and a sheep. He does as ordered. I thought you were the same. As for testifying against me,” he continued, “it will be your word against the earl of Bossley’s. I shall win, Will. I have friends in valuable places. They would not think me a traitor. Whereas a rogue clergyman who has been waylaying his benefactors—well, he’s ripe for all sorts of tales about him. Run, Will. Go. I don’t want your death on my hands.”

  “Why not? You weren’t bothered with Porledge’s.”

  Bossley’s face fell into hard lines. “Porledge meant nothing to anyone. And you tempt me too far. Oh, God, Will, if you knew the truth of things, you’d understand the nature of my soul. Should I have done away with you? Could I?” He shook his head. “No, ’tis better you die by your hand, by your own deed.”

  The earl walked past Will to the door. “Go wherever you must, Will, but don’t return to England.”

  “I won’t go anywhere without Corinne.”

  “She’s taken the choice from you. She’s traded her life for yours. She’s gone to you, man. Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain.” He opened the door. “Ashcroft will be here at any moment, depending on how quickly he finds the gold. You don’t want to be here when the soldiers arrive. As for us, I’ll look forward to our meeting again in hell.”

  But before he walked out the door, the earl paused. “One question. The horse you rode, the one they said snorted fire, where did you find him?”

  “He’s Roman,” Will answered. “I always said you underestimated him.”

  “So I did,” Bossley replied. “So I did.” He placed his hat upon his head before assuring Will, “I shall mend my ways.” He left.

  Will watched as his foster father strode to the church, where a groom and horses waited for him. The earl mounted and was gone.

  Will shut the kitchen door. Corinne had bargained herself for him. No one had ever loved him enough to place his interests ahead of theirs. Even Bossley, who had rescued him from the streets, had not done so just out of charity. What Will didn’t understand was, why? Why had a man so obviously self-serving put himself out for a child?

  It didn’t make sense.

  If you knew the truth of things, you’d understand the nature of my soul. Bossley’s words. He’d never spoken to Will this way before . . . and there was a mystery here, one larger than a stash of French coin.

  But Will’s immediate concern was Cory. He wasn’t going to let her sacrifice her life for his.

  Their plans would not change. They would leave tonight, as soon as he went for her. Will would tear the walls down from Bossley’s estate for her.

  The few things around the rectory she owned were gone. Will gathered a change of clothes and his grooming kit and headed outside to saddle Roman. The mighty steed and he were not yet done with each other.

  He had no doubt Ashcroft would be coming for him.

  Someone had betrayed Will. He didn’t believe it was Cory. She was made of sterner stuff and would never have given away the location of the hut. Even if she had, he could understand. She would expect Bossley to honor their exchange of Will’s life for her agreeing to marry Freddie.

  Perhaps Bossley had just been guessing about the gold. Maybe he wasn’t certain he knew where it was. No one else knew where Will had hidden it.

  Roman nickered a greeting and moved to the back of the stall. He was not ready to travel again this day, but that was too bad. Will reached for the saddle when he heard a woman weeping.

  “Corinne?”

  No answer.

  He followed the sound to the garden shed located against the back of Roman’s stall. The door was slightly ajar. Old Andrew would never have left it that way.

  “Hello?”

  The weeping stopped. He waited. “Mr. Norwich?” a feeble voice he recognized as Mandy’s came from the other side of the door. “Please. I need you.”

  She did not sound like her young, confident self.

  Will pushed open the door. Mandy was huddled in a corner, her face swollen and red from crying. She held up her right hand. The fingers were twisted unnaturally.

  A hundred questions sprang to his mind. “What happened? Where are your parents? Are they all right? Who did this?”

  “My parents don’t know.” Mandy started crying.

  Will pulled her forward, needing to look at the hand in the light. The index and middle fingers were obviously broken, and the way the others had swollen indicated they might have been as well. “How did this happen?” Will asked. He untied the preaching bands around his neck and started wrapping her fingers together.

  Mandy cried out in pain, sniveled some more, then confessed, “I went to Lord Bossley. I told him about the Thorn, about the reiver’s hut.”

  “You knew about the hut?” Will asked, surprised.

  “I followed you once or twice. I found it myself when I realized where you always went.” Her eyes were troubled, as if she feared his anger.

  She should have.

  “Amanda,” he said, “what did you tell Lord Bossley?”

  “I was jealous. You don’t love me. You love her,” she said, as if that explained anything.

  “Go on,” Will ordered, keeping his temper in check.

  “I heard you ask Miss Rosemont to marry you. I saw you kissing.”

  “We saw you looking in the window.”

  “My mother sent me with a message, but I wanted to talk to you . . . alone. My parents want me to consider marrying Peter Clemson, as if he or anyone could take the place of you.” She sounded hurt, petulant, and so ve
ry young. “I wanted to tell you how I felt because you need to know. I love you. I’ve loved you forever.”

  “Amanda, we haven’t known each other forever. I’m too old for you, way too old.”

  “That’s not how I feel.”

  He should have discussed this with her earlier. Then perhaps they could have avoided these tragic circumstances.

  “Tell me about your fingers,” he said, knowing he could talk sense into her now.

  “She’s not your cousin, is she?”

  “No,” Will said.

  Amanda’s gaze slid away from his. Her lower lip quivered slightly. “I was angry. Everyone thinks you are perfect, but when I saw you kiss her, I knew you weren’t. You were playing a hoax on us. Making us think you were holy—”

  “I am not holy—”

  “I thought you were.” She paused, as if she expected Will to apologize.

  He wasn’t going to. He couldn’t.

  “I thought you were perfect. Completely perfect,” she whispered. “And then I saw you this morning. It hurt. I hurt.”

  “What did you tell him, Mandy?” Will pressed.

  “I told him that you were living with a woman in the rectory. I thought Lord Bossley should know. I thought he would tell you to stop.”

  “Instead, what did he do?”

  “He asked what Miss Rosemont looked like, and when he heard her name, he was very excited. He was nice. I guess I told him I knew lots of things and he asked me what more I could share. I realized then that maybe I’d said too much. So I wanted to go, but he wouldn’t let me leave. He said something about my being the blacksmith’s daughter—about the soldiers taking my father. They wondered if one of the things I knew was who the Thorn was. I didn’t mean to give you away.” She was crying again. “I wanted to leave but he said he needed to know if I told the truth and then he called a man, a servant, and that man broke my fingers.”

  Will swore under his breath. This girl was no match for Bossley.

  “I didn’t tell,” Amanda insisted. “Even after he broke two I kept quiet, but then he snapped them all and reached for my other hand.”