The Seduction of Scandal (Scandals and Seductions 5)

by Cathy Maxwell

  “Was he a tall, thin man with a hooked nose?” Will asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  The man was Bossley’s butler, Dalton. The two of them had been together for as long as Will could remember.

  “I told Lord Bossley everything then,” Amanda confessed. “They sent me home. They ordered me to leave Ferris. But this is where I live. Where else could I go?” She grabbed Will’s jacket, the fingers on her good hand like claws. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “You are going home,” Will said. “This afternoon. And you will tell your parents everything. You will also say that I believe you should visit a relative, someone outside the parish.”

  “I must leave?”

  “For now. Amanda, you must be very brave. You are not to say anything of this to anyone but your parents and make them promise to keep this in strictest confidence—”

  “Can you please go with me?” she begged. “They will be furious with me.”

  “I can’t,” he said sadly. “The soldiers are coming for me. Your fingers will heal.” He also knew they’d be crooked, a memento of this time. “I must leave.”

  “Will you return?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She looked more horrified at that thought than she was even at her own pain. “And Miss Rosemont? Will they hurt her too?”

  “Not if I have anything to do with it.” Will helped her up off the dirt floor. “Now hurry home and be brave, Amanda.”

  “Yes.” She took a step toward the door but whirled to throw her arms around him. “I am so sorry.” This hug was not that of a girl attempting to hold on to calf-love but that of someone frightened and alone.

  “I know, I know,” Will said, softening his voice and giving her the comfort she needed to hear. “Peter Clemson is not a bad sort.”

  “He’s not as brave as you.”

  “He might surprise you.” Will pulled her arms away from him. “Now, go, Amanda. Go.”

  She obeyed him then, dashing out of the garden shed.

  Will stood quiet a long moment. After all he’d done for her, including rescuing her father the other night, she had turned on him. He tried to remember that she was young, that her father wouldn’t have been in danger if not for him . . . but he found forgiveness hard to master.

  “It doesn’t seem right, Lord. You allow those like Bossley to thrive while good people suffer.”

  His studies had taught him not to question the will of God—but those teachings seemed false now. There was only one way to find justice, and it wasn’t waiting for it.

  Bossley could have the gold. He could betray England. Will didn’t care. He wanted Corinne. She was the one good thing in his life.

  He left the shed and pulled Roman from his stall. Within minutes he was in the saddle and heading for Glenhoward.

  Will sat in the woods surrounding Glenhoward as the hour grew later. His focus was on all the comings and goings in the house.

  Major Ashcroft had arrived and left, presumably after reporting that he had not captured Will. Soldiers stood guard. They didn’t scare Will away, but he did have a major challenge—he had no idea which room in the cavernous mansion was Corinne’s.

  All the windows were dark, as if the inhabitants slept well in their beds.

  The guards, two at the front door and two at the back garden door, sat on stools and, by the tilt of their heads, might have fallen asleep.

  Will had tethered Roman to a small tree a quarter of a mile from the house. He was not worried about finding a way into the house. He and Freddie had played games here, running around every crook and corner of the place. Will had once even climbed up the rainspout to the second floor.

  But once inside, how would he find Corinne?

  He circled the building two or three times, staying in the shadows of the tree line. The increasing cloudiness of the night worked in his favor.

  Just when he was deciding that he must enter the house and run the risk of going from room to room, a light shone from the back left corner window. A figure passed in front of the light. A woman’s figure. And she was pacing.

  It had to have been Corinne.

  Will prepared to spring across the lawn, but then the window went black. She’d either blown out the lamp or had left the room. His safest course was to go to that room. He circled the house again, looking for the best way to approach it, but then he remembered what Corinne did whenever she couldn’t sleep. She read.

  She wasn’t in her room. He knew it.

  She’d gone to the earl’s library. Will grinned. There was always a library window open. After all, he’d been the one to break the latch almost fifteen years ago, and it had never been fixed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Corinne had wanted to eat dinner in her room, but Lord Bossley had insisted on her company. He’d informed her they would leave at first light in the morning.

  He was also the one who had brought up the topic of Will. He expected to see him before they left and seemed confident Will would show himself this night.

  Corinne prayed Will wouldn’t. She wanted him safe.

  Of course when she did retire for the night, she had trouble falling asleep. She didn’t bother to undress. Who knew what would happen this night? Her mind was exhausted with worry, but fear kept her awake.

  At one point she dozed a bit, but that sleep was plagued by dreams. Nightmares, actually. They were of her wedding to Freddie, or a figure she assumed was him. In the dream, she couldn’t make out the face of the man beside her, but she did know that Will watched. Her dream self caught a glimpse of him in the vestibule. She wanted to run to him, but a power so strong she couldn’t fight it pulled her toward the altar. The other dream image still strong in her mind was of flowers. Colorful, exotic flowers. Someone kept repeating, “Botanicals of Barbados.”

  With that phrase echoing in her mind, Corinne came awake with a start. She knew she could not return to sleep. If that dream wasn’t enough to keep a woman awake, she didn’t know one that was.

  And that nonsense about plants, what in the world could that mean . . . ?

  She remembered the book down in the library with that same title. There was something in that book, a sheet of paper that she’d only glanced at, but she now found it was stuck in her memory. A sheet of recordings.

  Restless, she lit a candle, threw on a dressing gown, and left her room. All of the clothes she’d brought to Glenhoward weeks ago were still in the wardrobe, as if waiting for her return. A maid had been assigned to her. When awake, the muscular woman had dogged Corinne’s every step. However, asleep in the attached servant’s room, the woman’s snores were so loud that they threatened to disturb the whole house.

  Corinne picked up the lamp and went downstairs with the vague purpose of searching out the book that haunted her dream.

  Lord Bossley’s butler sat in the front hall. He came to the stairs as she reached the last one.

  “My lady, is there something I may do for you?”

  “I can’t sleep. I’m going to the library for a book.”

  “I shall accompany you,” the servant said respectfully, but firmly. Corinne nodded. What else could she have done?

  Of course she was incensed. She’d given Lord Bossley her word of honor she wouldn’t run away, but the man was taking no chances. He didn’t realize she loved Will more than her own freedom, more than her own future. She said she would marry Freddie if he let Will be free, and so she would.

  However, if Freddie thought he’d beget an heir by her, he was wrong.

  She’d thought long and hard about it over dinner. She was no fool. Freddie would force himself on her, but women talked to each other. She’d overheard her sister and mother speaking. There was a way to prevent children. Corinne would use any means at her disposal, and that thought alone had allowed her to eat in Lord Bossley’s c
ompany and not gag.

  “I resent being watched,” Corinne said when they reached the library. “You may stay out here while I choose my book.”

  “Leave the door open, my lady,” the butler said, again with that respectful authority.

  Her response was to go into the library and shut the door.

  He opened it.

  She made as if to slam it again, but then smiled and shut it three-quarters of the way. A compromise. The butler took a step back and stood guard.

  Corinne crossed over to the area of the library she’d investigated the evening of the dinner party. The curtain she’d hid behind was to her left. She wished she could pull it back and discover Will hiding there now. She longed to have his arms around her. She needed to hear him say all would be well.

  The book on the botanical life of Barbados appeared as if it hadn’t been moved since she’d returned it to the shelf. She pulled it down and took the few steps over to the reading desk by the window.

  Her hands shook as she opened the book and found the paper she’d carelessly stuffed back in it. She spread the sheet out on the desk and studied it a moment.

  The document was what she’d first thought—a page torn from a recording book, probably from a church. The list included births, deaths, and marriages, with a bit of detail on each.

  But what had caught her eye that night, without her consciously realizing it, had been Lord Bossley’s name—and the name William.

  Corinne drew the lamp closer to better study the entry:

  Baptism, May 18, 1782 William Dunleavy Sherwin, son of James Dunleavy Sherwin, sixth earl of Bossley and his wife, Lady Aimée Bossley. Date of birth, April 14, 1782. Godparents—Major General James Cunninghame, HM Governor of Barbados and Lady Lucinda Belmont. First male child and heir.

  This William would have been of the same age as her William. But this William was Lord Bossley’s heir?

  She frowned, trying to make sense of it. Lord Bossley’s wife was not named Aimée, and what did it mean to have the French spelling? Perhaps he’d been married before . . . ?

  The paneling on the far side of the wall from the desk opened.

  Startled, Corinne pushed the paper under the book, hiding it. She could not let it be taken from her, not now that she’d discovered it.

  And then to her joy, Will stepped inside the room. He was smiling at her. He’d come, her heart joyously wanted to cry—and Bossley was expecting him. Corinne was certain of it.

  She quickly put one finger to her lips, a warning for him to be quiet. She pointed to the partially open hallway door.

  He nodded his understanding. He was aware the whole house was being guarded.

  She picked up the book and took the precaution of placing it back on the bookshelf before offering the torn record page to him.

  Will ignored the paper, preferring to take her in his arms instead, and she happily let him.

  He felt so good, so solid. She buried her face in his neck, inhaling the scent of him, reveling in the feel of his body next to hers. They kissed, kissed again. Silent kisses this time. Furtive ones. They reminded her that they might not have much time.

  “Will, you must see this,” she said in as quiet a tone as she could. She handed him the record page and pointed to the name William. “I found this hidden in the pages of a book on botanicals in Barbados,” she said.

  Will had to turn toward the light to read the faded writing and frowned as he digested what was written. “1782 would be the year I was born.”

  “Was Lord Bossley married to another? Could he be your father?”

  Will shook his head. “I don’t know. We look nothing alike.”

  “This is the key,” Corinne said. She placed a hand on Will’s arm. “Freddie might not be his heir. But I don’t understand why he would deny him. Everyone knows Bossley dotes on his son. Will, you must learn the story behind this page.”

  “Let’s go to Barbados,” he said. “We’ll find the story there. Come.” He started to pull her toward the secret doorway.

  Corinne held back. “We can’t both go, Will. If we do, Lord Bossley will track you down.”

  “We’ll outrun him.”

  “He’ll take his temper out on the people of Ferris,” she said.

  “It was Amanda,” he said. “Amanda gave me up.”

  Immediately she understood the situation. “She was jealous.”

  “I’m done, Cory. We were betrayed out of jealousy and spite. From now on, I’m thinking of myself and you. We are all that is important. Let’s leave now.”

  He took her hand, but she didn’t move.

  Still keeping her voice very quiet, she said, “Innocent people will suffer. Lord Bossley will think nothing of herding anyone he wishes and accusing him of being the Thorn. You are the one who told me how bad things were before you became the Thorn.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “She’s just a girl, Will. A child, really, Will.”

  “It’s time to think of myself.”

  Corinne took a step back. “You’ve lost your faith, haven’t you?”

  “What?” He shook his head, as if denying her words.

  “You’ve lost it just when I’ve found mine. Will, who you are, what you’ve done for the people in this parish has given me courage. Before I met you, I wondered if life meant anything. We live, we breed, we die—such a waste. That’s because I had nothing of meaning in my life. But being with you, watching you give your faith, your courage, your kindness to others, well, I saw how meaningful life could be. I don’t know what you were like before the Thorn, but now you are a man who has the power to bring people together. Who makes them understand that each and every one of us is important. You can’t run away.”

  “I can’t lose you.”

  “You will, though. At some point when we are running around the Continent or America or wherever we go to hide, you will lose me. We’ll have nothing between us. We won’t stand for anything. Just like my parents. Or Lord and Lady Bossley. We’ll be empty.”

  “Cory, you are asking me to give up loving you.”

  “No, I’m asking you to have faith in that love.”

  And the moment she said those words, she realized they were true. “I had this jumbled, confused dream about my wedding. I couldn’t see the face of the man I would marry, but I knew you were there—and I remembered seeing the record page.” She looked down at the paper still in his hand. “There’s a riddle here, Will. One that can change our lives.”

  “You are being superstitious—”

  “I have a feeling—”

  “No, Corinne. No more feelings, no more giving to others, no more being patient or believing. I want you, here and now, and if I must defy God—”

  She shut him up with a kiss. A deep, full-throated kiss.

  For a long, sweet moment, they savored their love.

  Corinne pulled away first. “You still have faith,” she accused lightly. “Our lives are here, Will. I know it and I’m asking you to trust my instinct.”

  He made an impatient sound and looked down at the paper she’d thrust upon him. “You would have me go to Barbados? Can I return before you marry?”

  “There must be a way to find an answer here,” she said. “Someone must know what this means . . .” Her voice broke off as inspiration struck her. “Tarrington. Lord Tarrington. Lord Bossley was sending the chest to him. I heard him say that the night we first met in the library.”

  Will tucked the paper in his pocket. “Whatever you wish, Corinne, just come with me now—”

  The hallway door opened. Lord Bossley and the butler entered the room. His lordship was fully dressed, as if he had anticipated this moment. Corinne gave a cry of alarm and Will stepped in front of her, protecting her from harm.

  “Surprised to see us, Will?” Lord Bossley said. “I’m
happy to report Major Ashcroft proved himself useful and found the chest. He’s on the hunt for you. Of course, now that I have Lady Corinne what I don’t need . . . is you.”

  The butler held up a pistol.

  “No,” Corinne yelled, but Will was faster.

  He shoved her to the ground, leaping over at the same time and disappearing behind the paneled door leading to the next room. The bullet bounced off the wood harmlessly.

  “Catch him,” Lord Bossley ordered his butler, who was already giving chase.

  His lordship walked over to Corinne and yanked her to her feet. “Don’t kill him,” she pleaded. “I didn’t go with him. I’m honoring our bargain.”

  There was the sound of a scuffle in the next room. A man grunted and then a weight dropped to the floor, followed by the crashing of a window.

  Lord Bossley dragged Corinne over to the door. In the wan light from the lamp in the other room, they could see the butler on the floor. He attempted to rise. Blood streamed from his face. “He hit me,” the servant told Lord Bossley. He reached up, dabbed at the wound. “He jumped out the window. I lost him.”

  “Call those useless guards,” Lord Bossley said. “Have them start beating the woods for him.”

  The butler scrambled to his feet. Ignoring his wound, he hurried to do his lordship’s bidding. Within seconds, the halls filled with the shouting of orders.

  Lord Bossley frowned at her. “Don’t smile,” he advised her. “He is gone to you. Major Ashcroft found a chest of French gold in Will’s hideaway. We have him for treason now. He’ll be brought to justice. I promise you that.”

  “You promised me his life for my cooperation.”

  “I pray you don’t forget that, my lady. I am a powerful man. Will’s fate is in my hands.”

  “If you catch him.”

  The earl’s response was to jerk her around and march her out of the room. She spent the rest of the night heavily guarded.

  The next morning, an irritated Lord Bossley took her to London, their coach surrounded by a full company of outriders—a sign if there ever was one that Will was still free.