Punish Me With Roses - a Victorian Historical Romance (16 page)

He grinned. "I just like to live impulsively. If it makes me happy at the moment, then it sounds like a good idea."

She spotted the church, at the town center, looking very formidable. Its age was obvious, even upon the first glance. She'd never been one for history, but she was aware that the Cornish were proud of their ancient heritage. The church's steeple pointed into a cloudless sky that should have filled her with warmth. But the anxious feeling had returned.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"Yes." He slowed his pace as they approached the church. "There's a good inn on the other side of the square."

They neared the church wall and she noticed some sort of writing on one of the stones. She went to it and traced the letters with her fingers. "Who is Michael Joseph?"

"He started an uprising in the fifteenth century."

"Against what?"

"Taxes. He started the march to London to protest the taxes levied by Henry VIII." He leaned away from the wall. She could see that he wanted to leave.

"This is a memorial. What happened to him?"

He pulled at his collar. "When they reached London, he was hanged."

"Hanged?"

"England is tough on its criminals." He turned away and though she only glimpsed his expression, it had seemed uncomfortable.

She gave him his unspoken wish and left the wall.

He was silent for a few moments and they turned the corner. "I shouldn't have brought you here."

"Why not?"

"There's nothing to see. I've wasted your time."

In that moment she wanted to touch his smooth-shaven face and turn his head. She would look into his eyes and ask him to be honest with her because it was more than clear that he wasn't thinking of her boredom. There was something deeper that was bothering him and while that was obvious, she couldn't guess the reason.

"Victoria, I know you'd rather not be here."

She surprised herself by laughing. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't wish it so."

"You didn't know how little there was to see until we got here."

"But I enjoy your company, wherever I may be." She almost choked on her words. Of course, they were true, but she hadn't meant to be so bold.

He didn't respond, but he didn't turn in the direction from which they'd come as she'd expected him to. Even with the things he'd said, he didn't seem in any hurry to leave. He looked thoughtful and she wondered if there would ever be a day when she wasn't constantly guessing what was in his mind. She assumed that the only way to get away from that would be to either marry him or never see him again. If she were to never see him again, she was beginning to believe that she would experience a worse pain than that of constantly guessing. Because then she wouldn't have to guess. She would know that he had very little esteem for her and that any of his--or their--questionable behaviors had only been borne from lust.

It would have to be marriage.

But would he have her? That was why she had come, for the most part. She had to tell what she had done. Then, all barriers would be broken. There would be no confusing, uncomfortable silences. Perhaps he would confess some of the emotions that interrupted the natural flow of
his
mind. Or maybe every strange behavior he exhibited was in response to one of hers. And that could be fixed.

She looked toward him again and thought that he didn't look very lustful at that moment. If he was truly worried about her getting bored, he might improve the situation by actually speaking to her. What in the world could be on his mind?

"Alex?"

"There
is
something I can show you." He placed his hand on her arm and she shivered with delight.

She walked with him and they didn't speak until they'd reached the destination he was so eager to show her: the church graveyard. She took a deep breath, wondering at his reasoning.

He walked a small distance inside, then stopped in front of one of the large memorials. "What do you think?" he asked.

"It's morbid, it's..." She looked around, at the anticipation on his face. "It's a graveyard, for god's sake! What am I supposed to think?"

He smiled. "You don't see, do you?" He stood aside. "I suppose you're not really looking, though. Read the name on this memorial, Victoria."

She rolled her eyes and then looked. "It says Fiona Fyn." She looked back at him and jumped. "Oh, it says
Fiona Fyn
!"

"And you thought today's outing would have nothing to do with that, didn't you?"

She looked at the large stone angel again. "What does it mean?"

He smiled. "
That
is a question I can answer. John couldn't bear that the only memorial to his wife was a shoddy tombstone in the overgrown corner of the churchyard. The church you see here is far enough from Coverack that they didn't know who Fiona was. They accepted a memorial to a suicide because they didn't know that it was one. So what it means is, John loved his wife very much."

Alex watched Victoria's eyes fill with tears. In the corner of his mind, he hoped that nobody was paying attention to them. The rest of him concentrated on wrapping his arms around her.

Then he kissed her. He could hardly contain how pleased he was by the feel of her trembling in his arms. To think that he affected her so made him heady with his own power. He held her so tight that her whalebone stays felt hard against his chest. Such a reminder of the prudish layers she wore beneath her outer shell was an erotic message. He wanted to liberate her from her corset and free her young breasts from their tight confines. Her warm, supple mouth made him think of other warm parts of her body. He thought of how shocked she would be if she could have heard his thoughts. On the other hand, she might be half-tempted.

She murmured with delicate pleasure, her eyes only half shut. Here was a woman who actually wanted to see his face when he made love to her. Look into his eyes when he proved his mettle. Although she was innocent--

He gently pulled away.

She looked up at him with desire, her heavy-lidded eyes begging him to finish what he started.

Alex shook his head. "I think we've gotten a little off-track."

"But..."

"I don't want you to think that I brought you here to seduce you."

"I don't think that at all, Alex."

"But I should know better."

She felt the sun bearing down on her back. She wanted to lead into her confession, figuring that she'd waited long enough. But she wanted it to come about in the conversation naturally, rather than just blurting it out. "Why don't we speak about something else?"

"Like what?"

She looked around the church cemetery. "What are all of these graves right over here?"

He looked to where she pointed and frowned. "Shipwreck victims."

"That's terrible! There's so many of them."

"Yes," he said. "Some of them are victims of wreckers. They used misplaced fog lights to lure ships to crash into the rocks. Then they'd steal their goods. What do you think about smugglers now?"

His arrogant question took her by surprise. "I think that they're not all wreckers."

He sighed. "But they all break the law. Why should some of us take pains to be lawful while others go unpunished as criminals?"

She didn't want to hear what he was saying. She wanted to tell him about her past, but he was showing her--before she'd said a word--that he wouldn't understand her actions. "Don't you think one should decide things on a case by case basis?"

He shook his head. "All criminals should be punished."

In what other way could he tell her that her love for him was doomed?

Love
. She hadn't really thought about in that way until that moment. But she supposed that it wasn't until that moment that she truly felt it. She had wanted to tell all, make things right. Now she couldn't. Not only would he never respect her after knowing such a thing, her life might even be in danger.

He could turn her in!

Alexander must have noticed her wounded expression. At that moment, she imagined it was impossible to try to hide it. He said, "Let's leave this morbid place. It's made my conversation sour."

"If that's what you believe."

"Well..." He gave her a little smile that made her heart leap. "Perhaps I
do
need to consider your point of view."

But now he was just being polite. She was sure of it.

"Maybe this was a mistake."

She sighed. "You say such things, but I think you've created your own misery. I thought we were having a lovely time until you started complaining about it. Then you showed me the graveyard and..."

He slowly turned his head, looking around St. Keverne Square as if seeing it for the first time. "You can blame me for ruining your entire day...perhaps your entire life. Or maybe it's the other way around."

Her mouth fell open. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"I don't know."

As she fiddled with her hat, she said, "No, you don't. Your ranting has made neither of us very happy. And it's affected the day probably more than you'd ever suspect."

He was genuinely surprised to hear her say such a thing, but then she
had
been more forthcoming lately. And maybe that was what she was referring to. He'd hoped for confidences and then he'd used his own big mouth to ruin whatever hope he'd had. He wanted to scream then because right when she'd trusted enough to confide in him, he'd somehow decided that it was better that he didn't know anything. His intentions had been good, but she had a cute saying about hellish intentions that certainly applied then.

His feelings for her were undeniable and he'd only just realized it. Without having any time to think about it, he'd decided that he might avoid knowing about her past. Then his conscience would be free. It was ridiculous. Crazy notions like that were what prompted his barrage on the law and morality. Those were his opinions until recently, but now...he was so confused!

"Alex?"

"Victoria...I'm sorry."

Her eyes widened. "You don't need to apologize for your beliefs. Why do you think they would bother me?"

Suspicious again. That was what he had done. Genius.

"Let's say then that I regret being so longwinded and argumentative."

"Oh well, no matter."

"I had thought that the true attraction of St. Keverne would be the company," he said and offered a wide grin, "but there are far better places to see than this old town. Shall we go?"

He offered her his arm.

She hesitated. "But...you're not upset?"

"Of course not."

Victoria looked as though she'd been spun around in an errant game of Blind Man's Bluff. In a way, she had. "Leaving probably is the best idea."

He moved closer to her then. Somehow, he would fix things. "You seemed changed, Victoria."

She met his curious stare unfalteringly. "Why would you say that?"

"It seems as though we're back to that night we met. You know, when you lied about your name." He started to walk and she followed. "Walls, just like then. Without any good reason that you could give me, except that you felt it was dangerous to confess your real name... Clavering." He stopped. "Your real name is Clavering."

Her response was undeniably fearful. "Did I say that?"

He met her gaze and knew--even if he hadn't known already--that she was being deceitful. "Yes, in the drawing room. You told me your name was Clavering, but you've been using the name Fyn."

"Fyn is my uncle's name." Her hand was shaking. She caught his gaze and moved her hand behind her back.

"And Clavering is your real name."

"You must have misheard me. I believe I said Claybourne. That is my parent's name." She stepped farther away from him. "I think it's time I go home."

He followed her. They both knew her mistake, but she couldn't know that it meant anything to him. In fact, if she knew that he already knew all about her, she'd realize that the revelation of her name meant absolutely nothing.

He watched her ride away long enough to see that she wasn't going to look back. She wasn't just playing coy. It was obvious that she really did want to get away from him and that was something to think about.

He mounted his own horse figuring that he'd catch up to her easily. He planned to follow her back to Coverack because he couldn't let her go unprotected. She wouldn't have to see him, but he'd be there just the same.

He always wanted to be there for her which led his thoughts toward his largest problem with the entire situation. Once and for all, he had to figure out the truth. The truth of his feelings for her; the truth of her intentions; the truth of what his father really hoped to gain from it all; and the truth of what he would do if he knew without a doubt that she was guilty.

Bringing Victoria to the village had certainly shown him a few things about himself and he wasn't sure if he liked what he'd discovered. Not only had he dashed his intentions the moment they'd entered the square, he'd felt as poorly as he'd hoped she would feel. He'd wanted to push a confession out of her by surrounding her with death. She had seemed a little affected by the churchyard, but he'd been the one who'd wanted to draw her into his arms the moment he thought of what would happen to her if she was accused of murder. When he'd told her of the death of Michael Joseph, after she'd seen the memorial stone, he'd barely been able to stop himself from dragging her out of the town and into hiding. She didn't deserve to be hanged any more than the rebellious village blacksmith had.

But, his conscience reminded him, maybe she did. If she really had killed those two men, no matter what his weakness wanted him to do, she deserved to be punished. Alexander suddenly found himself thinking that women should be spared such an end and he had to laugh bitterly when he realized that he never would suggest it concerning any other woman.

The churchyard, with its tribute to so many innocent deaths, had done to him what he'd hoped it would do to her.