A Clandestine Courtship (21 page)

“Tell me.” She sat on a garden bench.

He paced twice before continuing. “I wondered why the Bridwells believe so many of John’s lies – Mrs. Bridwell repeats slanderous gossip at the drop of a hat, and her husband is nearly as vehement. It is not a trait I usually associate with a vicar.”

“Some people thrive on scandal.” She shrugged.

“Like Miss Hardaway in Ridgefield, or Lady Beatrice in London.” He shook his head. “Gossips are found everywhere, but they rarely repeat proven lies. Destroying their own credibility would set them up as laughingstocks and lose their audience for future tales.”

“What is your point?”

“Mrs. Bridwell delights in repeating known slander, especially about you.” He joined her on the bench. “At first I thought that it was spite born of envy. You are everything she is not – beautiful, talented, kind, and possessed of a social position she can never achieve. Or it might have arisen from guilt – you still look after the poor and ailing, a job she ought to be doing.”

Her cheeks heated at the unaccustomed praise. Her eyes fell to the hands twisting in her lap, but she remained silent, unsure how to respond. This was exactly the sort of flattery she had hoped to avoid. Yet warmth suffused her skin.

“But neither of those explains her vehemence. Then there is the vicar. Not only does he rip at your character, but he considers John a reasonable man.”

“Hardly surprising. John controlled his living. No one ever criticized John in public, and I doubt anyone discussed him with Bridwell even in private, so he may not have known the truth.” She twisted away, presenting her back. “We’ve been through all this. What purpose is served by repeating it?”

“Why does Bridwell continue his praise even though John is dead?”

“To hold his position. As John’s brother you will applaud his loyalty.”

“He might think like that, I suppose. But I could not keep him here even if I approved of him. My father promised the post to your brother and paid for much of his schooling. The plan was to bring Howard here as a curate until your father retired, then give him the living.”

“I know, but that is ancient history. Howard was still at the university when Father died. Even if the post had been offered, he would have turned it down – as you would know if you had been here. He and John were mortal enemies. John was furious that your father had paid all Howard’s tuition in a lump sum that the school refused to refund. Howard was better off making his own way from the start.”

“But everyone knew Howard was being trained for the post. They loved him as they loved your father.”

“Which was reason enough for John to look elsewhere.”

“How did he explain it?”

“That was easy enough. He did not want the post to sit vacant while Howard completed his schooling.” She had been too mired in grief to question events. The Bridwells had come to officiate at the funeral, then stayed. And it wasn’t as if the change had left her homeless – though John would have gloated if it had. She had married Frederick two months earlier.

For the first time, she wondered if John would have tossed her father out with the other servants if he hadn’t wished to torment her.

“Did you ever wonder why John chose the Bridwells?” James asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She shook her head. “I assumed the bishop filled the vacancy, though I knew John could evict them if they displeased him – which was another reason Howard would never have accepted it. Your father was shortsighted to believe it would have worked.”

“Or blind. He could never admit that his heir was wanting.” He sighed. “I did some checking. Not only did John request Bridwell, he had to fight to get him here.”

“Why?”

“The bishop was ready to remove Bridwell from the clergy.”

“What?”

“My secretary visited Bridwell’s last posting. He had become entangled with a girl who wound up dead, but the evidence was murky. Bridwell was one of three men who might have killed her. John’s testimony exonerated Bridwell and focused attention on another man – who was ultimately hanged.”

“So he brought Bridwell here.” Fury sharpened her tone.

He nodded. “John swore Bridwell was innocent, then offered this post to allow the town to put the matter to rest. Some had been questioning whether justice had been served, but they accepted his solution. Bridwell was grateful, and John gained a vicar loyal solely to him.”

“But why would Bridwell care?”

“I think he was guilty – evidence later showed the other man could not have done it. John probably had proof all along. Blackmail would explain why Bridwell supported him against everyone else in the parish.”

“But that would also give him a motive for killing John.” She had twisted back to stare at him.

“True. Who would ever suspect a vicar?”

“Then why continue supporting him?”

“Think, Mary. If he changed, people would ask why.”

“Of course. And if he continues, you are bound to send him away.”

“But I may be wrong on every count. I haven’t one shred of evidence.”

“Have you spoken to Squire Church about this?”

He shook his head. “Isaac’s prejudices aside, every man in the area had reason to hate John. So I must ask myself what Isaac’s grievance was. If a vicar had cause to kill – and had already done so – why not a magistrate?”

“I cannot see him killing anyone.” Her hand gripped his arm. She had never considered any of her friends as potential murderers. Yet he was right. Everyone had hated John.

“I did not mean to distress you, Mary,” James murmured, covering her hand with his. “Do you care so much for him then?” His stomach twisted at the thought. He had not taken Isaac’s claim seriously when the man announced that he would take her to wife. Had she formed a
tendre
for him?

“I care for everyone,” she said sadly. “It distresses me to think of my friends and neighbors as potential killers. It was easier to think of the culprit in the abstract than to assign him a known face.”

“Perhaps I should cease sharing my information with you.” He stared into her eyes. Was this a crisis of nerves, or was she protecting someone?

“No. Not knowing would be worse.” Her voice was breathless, stirring the fires that she ignited every time they met. Her hand trembled. Those blue eyes were deep pools, swirling with conflicting emotions. But fear was not uppermost today. Nor was anger. He saw curiosity. Desire. Heat. Uncertainty?

“As you wish,” he whispered, moving close enough to blur the sight. “We will share.” Everything.” His lips touched hers. Lightning burst through his head as her hand clenched tighter.

He fought to keep it light, keep it nonthreatening, keep it simple. But his free arm slipped around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

She tensed.

Don’t frighten her,
he admonished himself, holding part of his mind aloof so he could think. She dragged at his reason like opium, drawing him toward mind-numbing rapture with a promise of sensual pleasure. But the promise was a lie, at least for now.

Her lips softened as he brushed them lightly, then trembled as he angled his mouth across them. But she did not draw back. Her fingers released their grasp to slide around his neck. Her bosom pressed into his chest, each breast the perfect size to fill his hand, each point stabbing new desire into his loins.

He needed relief, craved it beyond even his next ragged breath. He wanted to deepen the kiss, wanted to pull her closer until every curve of her body touched his, wanted to rip—

No,
he reminded himself again. This was not the time. He could fantasize later. One wrong move would wipe out every gain he’d made.

But it was already too late. His arm had tightened, imprisoning her against him. She stiffened, fighting free of his grasp.

“No!”

He let her go, knives stabbing his heart at the terror blazing in her eyes.

“Stop!” he ordered as she scrambled to her feet. “I won’t touch you again.”

“What—” She glanced back, her terror gradually fading when he made no move to rise.

“You cannot rush into the house until you have yourself under control,” he reminded her soothingly, though he had to swallow his pounding heart before he could talk. “You have guests.”

“Of course.” Her mind must be working again, for she was smoothing her gown and checking her hair. He spared a moment to exult that she had lost herself in that kiss.

“Sit down, Mary. Your face is white. If you swoon, I will have to catch you. I don’t want to break my word about touching you.”

She gingerly resumed her seat, but she was practically falling off the end of the bench.

He sighed. “What just happened?”

“Nothing, my lord. I told you once before that I was not available for dalliance. You should have listened.”

“I am not interested in dalliance. I could never dishonor you so.” It was true, he realized in shock. His desire was stronger than ever, but he would never be content with merely bedding her. He needed more. Much more.

“Stop,” she begged, but her eyes had widened in horror. He cursed himself for losing control of his face, allowing her to see his intentions. “I will leave as soon as my sisters are settled. You have no place in my future or I in yours.”

“Leave?” His head swirled.

“Now that Justin is home, I have no reason to stay. My widow’s portion will support me quite nicely. For once I will be able to live where and how I choose.”

He remained silent. What could he say? He had rushed his fences, pushing her into a decision he could not like. But argument would achieve nothing.

Her reaction to what had been a fairly chaste kiss showed just how rough Frederick must have been with her. He had no further doubts that she feared intimacy.

And the signs had been glaringly obvious – she flinched from any touch, froze at every compliment, grew fidgety if a man stood too close, and fled any hint of warmth. He should have listened harder to that voice warning him to proceed with caution. She had not been ready for a kiss.

But she was remarkably responsive. The kiss hadn’t terrified her half as much as her reaction to it – which would make her even more wary.

So he must fall back on light friendship, doing nothing to agitate her until he could win her trust.

But he
would
have her. That kiss had opened his eyes. No more dithering about the strength of his desire. No more debate over her place in his life. He loved her. Forever. Her recoil could not have hurt this deeply if his emotions were not fully engaged.

He quickly brought his face under control, thankful that she was nervously shredding the flowers she had clipped instead of looking at him.

He had a new goal – marriage. But first he must reestablish their partnership.

“I will not return to the house,” he decided aloud. They both needed time to settle. “But I will be back. We still have John’s murder to solve and questions about Frederick’s death to answer. Neither of us can learn enough singly. But I promise I will never hurt you. Nor will I touch you again without your consent.”

“Stubborn, aren’t you?” But only the slightest irritation twisted her face. “I will tell your friends that you were called away.”

She watched him leave, then wrapped her arms around her waist and shivered. What was she to do? She had understood his message, for he had hidden nothing. He wanted her – in his arms, in his bed. As his wife? That last had been less clear, but no more acceptable. Why couldn’t he have chosen someone else, someone who wanted what he could offer?

She did not. It wasn’t just the marriage bed she feared, though that was terrifying enough. He was an earl, with endless social obligations, including visits to court. She was a vicar’s daughter, who had never been more than ten miles from Ridgefield.

Somehow she must dissuade him. He could be relentless in pursuing his goals, as his determination to uncover John’s killer proved. It was one trait the twins had shared. But she could never wed again, especially into the peerage. Lords had to produce heirs. She had married Frederick in ignorance and tolerated him only because he had never returned to her bed. If she had to face
that
regularly, she would throw herself into the quarry.

James would not live in London, leaving his wife to run the estate. And how was she to face the gossips? They had raised their brows when she’d married Frederick, for she was unworthy to be a baroness. No one would accept her as a countess.

Are you sure? demanded that insidious voice. You would not be the first to leap to so high a station. And you enjoyed that, didn’t you?

Heat returned. Yes, she had enjoyed it. Too much. She had never dreamed that kissing could feel so good.

Her lips tingled. She had never been kissed before. George had considered it improper outside of marriage, and Frederick had been too intent on
that
to bother. So she hadn’t expected the warmth, the melting desire, the sheer
pleasure
a kiss could bring.

Lies, of course. Like everything else, it was a plot to lure her into bed. But she would not succumb. She must keep her mind on truth and see that he understood the reality of their separate worlds.

Consoling herself that he would eventually admit defeat, she returned to the house, arriving in the drawing room doorway just as Justin finished a toast.

“—and may your futures be blessed.” He turned and smiled. “There you are, Mary.” His eyes narrowed for a brief moment. Could he tell what she had been doing in the rose garden? He must know that James had arrived with his friends. Heat crept across her face.

“What is the occasion?” she asked to distract his attention. Even the girls held small glasses of wine.

Caroline jumped up, but Edwin touched her arm. “Breathe first,” he murmured.

She complied. “I have accepted Edwin’s offer of marriage.”

“Wonderful!” Mary hugged her closely, suppressing her own fears. Edwin was a good man, she reminded herself. Quiet, studious, and loving. Very like her father. He would never hurt his wife. “Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you. I will cherish her.” He met her eyes, his own reflecting honesty.