Scandalous (22 page)

Priscilla released a small sigh of satisfaction and snuggled against him. The doubts she had been feeling were dissolving quickly. She loved John, and last night
had been a perfect expression of that love. Though he might not realize that he loved her yet, his words indicated that he had at least found last night to be just as wonderful as she had. “Good. Because I liked it exceedingly.”

Again he felt his response shooting through him like fire, and he knew he was already growing hard, wanting her.

“Priscilla…” he groaned, releasing her. He smoothed his hands down over her hair, pulled loose from its pins and flowing everywhere. He twisted his fingers into her tresses. “You are so beautiful, so utterly desirable…God, I want to make love to you again.”

Priscilla smiled back at him. “Then why don't you?” she asked provocatively.

His mouth went dry at her words, his heart picking up its beat. He could not keep from thinking about lying back down on the ground with her and making love again. He remembered her passionate response the night before, and wondered what she would be like when there was no newness, no pain.

He swallowed hard and stood up, turning away. “You know why not. It would be madness. You don't even know who I am. I could be married and have seven children, so that I could not give you the protection of my name. I could be a scoundrel, so that my name would be a scandal itself, not a protection.”

“It is not your name I am asking for,” Priscilla replied evenly. What she really wanted was his heart, she knew, but for now his lovemaking would be enough for her.

“It is not just my name. It is what
I
am that worries me. I can't help wondering why Benjamin Oliver
knows me and why he wants me shut away. I keep thinking—what if I am a crook, too?”

“You are worrying about nothing.” Priscilla refused to believe that he was married, telling herself that surely he could not forget a wife and a family as if they were nothing. Besides, he wore no wedding band, and, while Mapes and Will might have stolen it, there was also no whiter band against his tanned skin where a wedding ring would have been. As for his other worries, that he might be a scoundrel, Priscilla dismissed them as rubbish. She
knew
he was a good person. Others might balk at the idea that he was an American and that one did not know who his family was, but Priscilla did not care about such things. It was what a person was that was important, not whether his family went back to the Conquest or not. Her own family was quite genteel, but where had that ever gotten them? It was all silly pride, she thought.

John took another tack. “Your father and Miss Pennybaker will be worried about us, you know.”

Priscilla's eyes flew open wide, and her hand came up to cover her gasp. “Oh, no! You're right. This is dreadful.”

She began to pull on her clothes, castigating herself for having fallen asleep last night. It did not speak very well for her, she thought, to have forgotten her father and her governess because she had been swept away by her own passion. She had been thoughtless and selfish.

Priscilla finished dressing and brushed the leaves and twigs from her clothes as best she could, running her fingers through her hair in lieu of a brush. She realized what a mess she must look. Thank heavens there would be no one to see her come in except her family.
Looking at her, others would probably suspect that she had been—well, doing exactly what she
had
been doing. Still, she didn't want the whole village of Elverton knowing it.

“Do I look all right?” she asked anxiously, giving her skirts a final shake.

“You look beautiful,” John replied, smiling, and leaned down to kiss her on her forehead.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, you look fine. Alive and healthy and like someone who had to spend the night in the woods, but none too worse for wear for having been kidnapped.”

“I suppose that will have to do.”

They left the clearing, heading back the way John had come last night. It was much easier going in the daylight, and they were able to see where to turn to take the more direct path to Priscilla's home. Soon they were able to see Evermere Cottage ahead of them. Their steps sped up. As they reached the rear yard, the kitchen door burst open and Mrs. Smithson rushed out, arms wide open.

“Priscilla! My little love!” she sobbed, then tossed back over her shoulder, “Miss P.! Master Florian! It's her! She's home safe!”

Priscilla flew into the other woman's motherly arms. Mrs. Smithson patted her, crying, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her, telling her fiercely that she ought to know better than to go off like that, then pulling her back to her massive bosom for another bonecrushing hug.

Behind them, Florian ran through the door. His white hair was flying every which way, and he wore no jacket, only his shirt, one sleeve rolled up and the other still fastened by a cuff link, and a waistcoat, which hung
open and flapping. His disarray was normal, but the lines of worry in his forehead were not, nor were the tears of relief in his eyes.

“Priscilla!” He crossed the last few steps and pulled Priscilla out of Mrs. Smithson's arms, which was no small feat. He looked at her and started to speak, but then just crushed her to his chest, saying her name again.

“Oh, dear! Oh, my!” Miss Pennybaker came out the door and fluttered across the yard, followed by the vicar, Dr. Hightower, the general and Alec.

Watching them, John groaned inwardly. So much for their hopes of keeping Priscilla's abduction quiet.

“Dear girl!” the vicar exclaimed, shaking his white head as he hobbled across the yard, using his cane.

The general and the doctor quickly outstripped him, but stopped a few feet from Florian and his daughter. Mrs. Smithson stepped aside, beaming at her employers, and Miss Pennybaker fluttered around agitatedly, touching Priscilla's hair or arm or back.

“Oh, dear! Oh, my!” she kept saying. “I was so afraid. Oh, Priscilla, it is so wonderful. A miracle! That's what it is. Wouldn't you say so, Reverend?”

“Yes, indeed…” the small man began, smiling, but Miss Pennybaker did not wait for an answer to her question, but hurried on.

“All night long we waited. We were so worried about you. All of us.” Her hands fluttered toward the rest of the group. “It is so wonderful to see you alive and well and— You are well, aren't you, dear?”

She stopped fluttering for a moment and began twisting her handkerchief in her hands instead, watching Priscilla anxiously.

“Yes, I am quite all right,” Priscilla reassured her, giving her father a final squeeze and stepping back. “Nothing happened to me. I mean, well, obviously something happened, but I was not hurt. Honestly. You must not worry, Miss P.”

At that the governess burst into tears. Priscilla went to her and pulled her into her arms, patting her back and murmuring comforting things. “Hush, now, Miss P. I am all right. I promise you. And I'm back, and—”

She stopped, for the first time catching sight of the other men. “Alec! What are you doing here? And Reverend Whiting. Dr. Hightower. General. I—I am surprised to see you all here.”

“Do you think we would stay home, knowing that you were in danger?” the vicar chided her gently. “When Florian came to my house last night to tell me the news, of course I came back here with him. I could hardly let him go through such a time alone.”

“I happened to be at the vicarage when your father came,” Alec put in. “I had driven the trap over with a few things from my mother for the charity bazaar. So I offered to bring the vicar and your father back here in the trap.”

Dr. Hightower said heartily, “They thought my services might be necessary, though you look well enough….” His last words ended on a questioning note.

“Yes, I am fine. I was not hurt. Well, I did lose consciousness for a little while, when they put that cloak over my head. He slung me over his shoulder, you see, and it was hard to breathe, what with being jounced….” Priscilla stopped, realizing that she was rattling on nervously. “Really, I am fine. You were sweet to worry, but
it's over, and nothing worse happened to me than being locked in a hut.”

“Locked in a hut! Oh, my dear!” Miss Pennybaker put her hand to her heart and looked as though she might swoon. At that, the general moved forward quickly and placed a strengthening hand under her elbow.

“There, there, Miss Pennybaker,” he told her with bluff concern. “It's all right. It's over now. No need to be upset.”

“But the scandal!” Miss Pennybaker wailed, bringing her handkerchief to her nose and sniffing. “She has been out alone all night! Worse—with a man. And everyone will know! Her reputation is ruined. She will never marry now.”

John started to speak. He wanted to tell the woman that Priscilla had no need to worry about that, that he was going to marry her. But he stopped; he could say nothing, and he knew it. He did not even know whether Priscilla would want to marry him. And until he knew who he was, he had no right to ask her.

“For God's sake,” he said as he moved forward, his inner frustration making him irritable and impatient. “What a thing to worry about! She could have been raped or killed, and when you find out she was not, all you can say is that her reputation is ruined.”

“Oh…” Miss Pennybaker moaned. “Don't say such things! I feel faint.”

The general cast John a baleful look and patted the woman's arm, saying, “Don't mind him, my dear lady. He simply does not understand. American, you know. He would not understand a woman of your fine sensibilities.”

Alec, who had been quiet throughout all this, took a
deep breath and stepped forward, with the expression of a man going to the guillotine. “Priscilla, I will marry you. You won't have to worry about your reputation or what people will say. You will be a duchess.”

“Oh, Alec…” Priscilla smiled at him. “You are very sweet to offer, but, truly, it is not necessary. Miss P., please stop worrying about my reputation.” Why had she said that right here, in front of everyone—especially John? Now he would think that it was his duty to marry her, that she would expect him to. And forcing John into marriage was the last thing she wanted. “I have no intention of marrying anyone. I am sure we can count on the discretion of our friends to keep the matter quiet.” Her eyes swept over Mrs. Smithson and the men.

Everyone hastened to agree, assuring Priscilla that no word of what had happened, either her kidnapping or her rescue, would escape their lips. Frankly, Priscilla had her doubts, especially when it came to the vicar keeping silent in face of his wife's questions. He was the dearest and kindest of men, but he was no match for his wife.

Someone cleared his throat loudly, and all of them glanced in that direction. A middle-aged man with a full walrus mustache stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking uncomfortable.

“Ah, perhaps I should not be here,” he began. “If it has turned out to be merely a case of getting lost or—” his eyes flickered over to where John stood, looking as disheveled as Priscilla “—or something,” he finished lamely.

“Constable Martin!” Priscilla gaped. “I—I'm sorry. I did not realize that you were here.”

He gave her a small bow. “Miss Hamilton. I am glad
to see that you are all right. Yes, your father sent for me. He was quite worried about you.”

“And well he should have been,” John said forcefully, coming forward. “Miss Hamilton was seized by two ruffians, the same two men who attacked me.”

“Attacked you?” the constable frowned. “Did you bring a complaint against them?”

“No. I did not. I should have, I realize, but…well, frankly, I assumed that they had left the area after they robbed me, and…”

“And who are you, sir?”

John looked at him for a moment. Finally he said, “Well, there you have me. That is another reason I was reluctant to come to you. You see, I—I don't know who I am. I have no memory.”

“What?” The word came as a chorus from the general, the doctor and the constable. Alec said nothing, simply gaping at John.

The vicar, who was a little hard of hearing, looked from one to the other of his friends, saying, “What did he say?”

“I have no memory, Reverend.” John spoke directly to the man. “I am sorry that I lied to you, to all of you. You see, I did not know who I was. And I was not sure who would be my friend and who would not.”

“No, it was I who made up the lie,” Priscilla said. “You must not take the blame.”

“Lie?” the constable looked from one to the other of them, as if he thought they might both be a little mad. “What lie? That you were seized by brigands?”

“No, that was the truth,” Priscilla assured him earnestly. “The lie was that I told everyone that John was my cousin from America. I mean, he obviously was
from America, but I had no idea who he was. We had never seen him before the night when he came to our door. He had been attacked, you see, by the two men who kidnapped me.”

“Mm-hmm…”

“I thought it would be better if no one knew who he really was. Of course, none of us
did
know who he really was, but what I mean is if everyone thought he was a different person altogether.”

“I see.” The constable's expression belied his words.

“I am making myself very unclear. I realize that, and I apologize. I've had a difficult night.”

“Of course you have, my dear,” the vicar reassured Priscilla, patting her arm. “You need not apologize to us. I can understand why you would want to keep his identity a secret…I mean, until you found out what his identity was. That is… You are right. This is a very confusing subject.”

“We thought we would see if anyone was expecting an American or had heard of one coming through Elverton. We wanted to discover who John was, but we did not want everyone to know that he had no memory.”