Melissa and The Vicar (The Seducers Book 1)

by S. M. LaViolette

  He didn’t think she’d planned to meet the squire on Friday because she wanted to. But he did think she would meet him if she thought it would protect him: poor, innocent dunce Magnus, so happy in his pampered cocoon of ignorance and privilege. He knew she could give her body to another man without caring, but that didn’t make it any better. If anything, it made it worse. Didn’t she value herself at all? Didn’t she value the things they did together? Or was bedsport just sport to her?

  He ran his hands through his hair and groaned, his wet head making him aware that he’d been so busy being outraged he’d forgotten his hat at the vicarage. He should go home or he’d soon be soaked through. But he couldn’t.

  His mind slipped to the other subject that had occupied him ever since leaving the Felix farm. He’d asked John Felix straight out if he would give evidence if Magnus offered him a tenancy on his land and the man had said no. It was just . . . inconceivable.

  But then, it wasn’t. Felix had nine children, two grandchildren, and himself and his wife to feed and support and the notion of moving to Lincolnshire was as frightening as transportation to Australia to such people.

  The house where they lived was ragged and small and Barclay did nothing to keep it up. And the land where Felix scratched out his living was fertile enough, but there wasn’t enough of it.

  Perhaps the vicar was right; perhaps the only way to deal with this problem was to find every pretty young girl in the area a job somewhere far away from here. Perhaps he was not just naïve but tilting at windmills.

  Magnus desperately wanted to talk to his father. He’d never given much thought to the management of the huge Darlington estate, but his father owned over fifty thousand acres and employed hundreds of people on that one property alone. But his father was a beloved master, or at least the people who worked in the house and worked his land appeared satisfied. Certainly Magnus had never seen any families as desperate as the Felixes. But had he really looked? He hadn’t lived at home—except in the summers and on holidays—since he was nine. And the last thing he did when he visited his parents was inspect their tenant farmers. Perhaps there was poverty everywhere?

  He thought of Cecil and his love of the outdoors; did that extend to seeing to the people who would one day be his? Or did he just see to his own pleasures?

  Good Lord. Each door he opened just led to another. He’d been living in his own little world and he’d been doing it for a long time.

  Magnus looked through the misty moonlight and saw his feet had taken him toward Mrs. Tisdale’s cottage. The little house sat not far ahead, looking exceptionally sad and lonely. He squinted—to be honest, it looked almost . . . abandoned.

  Magnus could see even before he reached the front steps that the windows were without their coverings, and when he looked inside, he found the front parlor was utterly empty. Everything save for the fireplace screen was gone. He walked around the house, a foolish action—what did he expect to find? That only the parlor had been stripped?

  He tried the back door and found it was unlocked—not unusual in their small community, where thievery was rare.

  His feet echoed eerily as he walked the bottom floor and then climbed the stairs. The rooms up here were just as empty. He stood in Mrs. Tisdale’s room and stared out the window into the quiet of the night. What had happened? Where had Sarah gone? And why did he feel this was yet another thing his wife might know about and withheld from him?

  Well, there was only one way to find out just how—or if—Melissa was involved in this mess, and that was to talk to her.

  It was time to go home and speak with his wife.

  Chapter Twenty

  Melissa felt him slip in beside her. She did not move to look at the clock; she did not want him to know that she’d remained awake, unable to sleep, worried.

  He must have been exhausted because his breathing was almost immediately deep and even. Unlike what had been his practice, he did not touch her. In fact, he stayed at the very edge of their small bed. She knew something was very wrong. One of the first things he’d insisted on after the night she’d gone to him in Devon was that they always share a bed.

  “Why would I ever want to sleep anywhere else but with you, Melissa?”

  She’d smiled at the time, realizing it never occurred to him that she might prefer privacy, at least occasionally. But the truth was, she’d become accustomed to another person in her bed, to Magnus. He was a tactile man and reached for her often, not just to take her sexually, but to hold her. And now he could not seem to lie far enough away.

  She must have fallen into an exhausted, uneasy doze because when she woke just before first light, she was alone. Wrapped in her dressing gown and slippers she found her husband at his writing desk, fully clothed but not in what she teasingly called his vicar suit. She swallowed, lightheaded. It had come, and far sooner than she’d expected.

  He must have heard her because he looked up. He did not look like Magnus—at least not as she knew him. His sky-blue eyes had become wintry and opaque, like a wall of ice. And his beautiful face seemed to have changed overnight, the elegant, soft lines now hard and chiseled: it was almost as if he’d been transformed in some way.

  He turned back to whatever it was he’d been writing. “I am resigning my curacy effective immediately. I’ve arranged to have the Sleeping Ferret’s post chaise come round at noon. That should give you plenty of time to pack and get ready. It appears their wagon is not available, so anything larger that is ours will have to be collected later.”

  The room fell silent but for the scratching of his quill. Anger began to seep in along with shock. Why was he behaving this way? Hadn’t she told him this would happen? And now he was acting as if she’d sprung some new scandal without his knowledge.

  “And is this all the explanation I am to get, Magnus?”

  She had already known just how furious he was when he did not stand when she entered the room; Magnus was the most courteous man she’d ever known. Ye he remained seated and kept writing. “I didn’t know you needed me to tell you anything. I assumed you’d get it all from Barclay when you met him on Friday.”

  Melissa closed her eyes. How, just how, had this happened? She opened them to find Magnus staring at her, his anger white-hot now.

  “I’m sorry. I was—”

  “You are sorry about keeping things like this from me? Or sorry about getting caught?” His tone was like the cruel, hard point of a whip. He signed whatever document he’d been writing—his letter of resignation? And sanded the piece of paper before turning back to her. “I expected that one day somebody who knew you from your past life would surface. But I never thought I should have to endure the added humiliation of it being him. And you have known for some time, have you not?”

  Melissa could only stare. His anger was like a blast furnace—she would become consumed if she came closer, if she engaged him. Besides, she could see he had no interest in listening to her right now.

  “As I walked last night, trying to wrap my mind around this—around why you would keep such a thing from me—it occurred to me why you left so suddenly back in July. You must have seen him—or he saw you—at the Summer Fête.” He stopped, his blond eyebrows arched as sharply as scythes.

  “Yes. Daisy saw him and came to me. That is when we decided to leave.”

  He nodded, his nostrils pinched and white while he folded his letter, his hands shaking. “So, knowing you were leaving, you accepted my offer, told me you loved me, and then fucked me.”

  Melissa had never heard him swear before. Even when he’d been angry at The White House, he’d not resorted to raising his voice or vulgar language. She’d heard the word countless times in her life but never before had it sounded so . . . harsh.

  “Magnus.”

  His head jerked up.

  “Will you let me speak? Will you let me at least try to explain?”

  He sat back immediately, folding his arms over his chest and resting one top-booted ankle
on his opposite knee. “Please do.”

  Melissa leaned against the wingchair, not ready to sit. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you about the squire knowing who I was. But the reason I never mentioned it is because until recently I thought you knew.”

  An unpleasant expression took control of his face. “And you think I wouldn’t have said something if I knew? That I would have come back here, blithely, if I knew?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know what you would have done. But the reason I believed what I did is that I couldn’t think where else you would have learned who I was. I know Sarah didn’t tell you.”

  “No, she didn’t say anything until—” He stopped, uncertainty and discomfort joining the other emotions flickering across his face.

  “Don’t worry about Sarah’s part in it—I know now what happened. It must have been Mrs. Tisdale who told you.”

  “I thought you knew,” he said, confusion joining the other expressions clouding his face.

  “Not until I encountered the squire, several days ago, while walking to see Sarah. It was then that I learned you didn’t learn the truth from him. I know this because he used the threat of exposing me to—”

  “To force you into having sexual relations with him.”

  She grimaced. Good Lord. Just what had Barclay told him? “I didn’t do anything, Magnus. I was—”

  “You were to meet him on Friday—today—to tryst at Sarah’s cottage. Yes, Sir Thomas told me in some detail what the three of you would do.”

  “I would never have done that, Magnus. You must know that.”

  “What were you going to do?”

  That was the sticky part. Well, the stickier part—and the agonizing part, as well. She could hardly tell him she’d planned to be gone by Friday—both out of Sir Thomas’s range and out of Magnus’s life. She was torn between gratitude she didn’t have to leave him just yet and fear about whether she would ever be able to make herself do the right thing.

  “I don’t quite know,” she said untruthfully. “I was working on something.”

  “And did that something include Sarah leaving Mrs. Tisdale’s?”

  She blinked. “You saw them?”

  “Them? Who, them?”

  Well, that answered that question. At least this was one thing she could tell him the truth about. “Daisy and Joe came to help her move. They were there only yesterday but they wanted to be gone before the day was out. It sounds like they were.”

  “What is going on, Melissa?”

  She slid into the chair with a sigh. “I bought the house and land from Sarah.”

  “What?”

  “Barclay knew who Sarah was and he’d—” She bit her lip. Why did it always seem so difficult to tell her husband ugly things? Things she wouldn’t have blinked about telling Joss or Hugo or Daisy?

  “I can imagine what he did if he had leverage over her,” Magnus said, interrupting her thoughts. “Go on.”

  “He was going to buy the land for a fraction of its worth and Sarah was going to take it, just to get away from him. She and Daisy and Joe have some idea of opening an inn and posting house and they are going to pool their money. So, I offered them full price for the property.”

  It was his turn to blink. “You have enough money for such a purchase?”

  “I had an offer for the buildings in London. I didn’t sell the business,” she added before he could ask. “Just the buildings.” When he said nothing, she cut a nervous glance at him. “You told me I could do what I wished with the proceeds of such a sale. So, I did.”

  “That is a very kind thing to do for your friends.”

  She shrugged. “I owe Daisy and Sarah this much at least—this chance at a new life. This way they’ll have enough to purchase a decent inn.”

  “And The White House—who purchased that? Do they understand it can no longer operate? I told you I wanted it closed—I want no connection existing between that place and you.” Thunder had rolled back into his eyes, which had begun to clear only a minute earlier.

  “I don’t know who the purchaser was.” That was, as far as it went, the truth. “But I know there will be no business called The White House.” That was also true.

  His jaws worked as he stared holes through her. “It seems you think of everything.”

  Melissa hoped he would always continue to think that way. Unfortunately, she suspected he would one day learn that she had actually left one large loophole in the deal she made with Hugo, Laura, and their other, unknown, investors. They had to close The White House, but they could open for business under a new name. While she felt guilty for lying, she also felt anger at Magnus. Who was he to say what other people could do to earn their crust? And she’d haggled hard for the price on the building so it was not as if she’d given them a bargain. They’d paid for it, it was theirs, they should be able to do what they liked.

  “And just what were your plans for the property you acquired here?” he asked, pulling her back to their conversation.

  “My immediate goal was simply to keep Barclay from exploiting Sarah any further. But I had thought that—”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, perhaps it would be nice to keep the cottage for a woman, or women, who might need a place of peace. The way Mrs. Tisdale needed it.”

  He nodded his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “And what about Barclay? What was your plan for him? Especially since you would now be going to an empty house without even another female to help if you should need it.”

  She took a deep breath and prepared to tell him yet more lies. “The truth—in all honesty—is that I didn’t have anything planned yet. I expect I would have let him go there and become angry. And then he would have come to the vicar, which is what he threatened. I’d like to think I would have told you by then, so you were not unpleasantly surprised, but I’ll admit I was in no hurry to destroy our life here.”

  “It is not you who has destroyed our life, Melissa—if, indeed our life has been destroyed—it is Sir Thomas, or—likely, the vicar—indeed the Church—and the good people of New Bickford.”

  Melissa wanted to weep for the bitterness she heard in his voice; it was the first time he’d sounded so resigned, so . . . jaded. So much like her. She leaned forward and caught his attention. “Won’t you tell me what happened yesterday? Please.”

  He glanced at the clock on the mantle. “We must get ready—there are still a few things I have to do. I will tell you in the carriage on our way to London.”

  She sat back in surprise. “We are going to London?”

  “For the time being. I would take us to my property in Lincolnshire, but it is still under lease. I shall have to see if the tenant can be compensated to leave early. If not, it is a yearly lease which renews each January.”

  “But . . . London? Magnus, are you sure? If there is ever going to be a chance of somebody seeing me, it would most certainly be there.”

  “That is rather the point, Melissa.”

  “What?”

  “My parents will soon be in town, if they are not already there, having come to engage in wedding matters. It is time you meet them and it is time they know how things stand. Especially now that a man like Barclay is on the loose with such information. I will not run and hide from the fear of exposure. The truth is either already out—or soon will be. I would like to prepare my parents rather than having them learn your identity at a dinner party.”

  He hesitated, his eyes searching her face for something.

  “It is my intention that we will live at Briar House. I have never liked society, even when my mother convinced me to live in London for a Season. I have no interest in the vapid existence of Town life. I suspect you are not eager for socializing in London, either. So, we shall keep to ourselves after my brother’s wedding.”

  The longer he spoke, the hotter her face became. This. This is what she’d known would happen: horror, rejection, judgment, and—eventually, although he might not understand this yet—isolation
as even those people whom he believed loved him set him at a distance, if not giving him the direct cut.

  “But—”

  “Please, Melissa. Do not belabor this point. We are married and the lies must stop. We were going to tell them in any event when we went for the wedding. What difference does a week or so matter?”

  She didn’t tell him that she’d not planned to be in London in a week or two.

  “Telling the truth to my family is the first step in our new life together. Will you come?”

  She met his weary, deadened gaze and said, “Yes, I will come.”

  He nodded, his expression lightening slightly. “Things appear rather dire now, but I have faith in you, us, and our chances for a life together.”

  Melissa looked at his beloved face, knowing he was desperate for an answer from her. So she said, “I also have faith, Magnus.”

  After all, what was one more lie?

  ∞∞∞

  The ride to London had been mostly silent, but not bristling with hostility as their last carriage ride had been. Melissa knew that was because her husband was not as immature and grudge-bearing as she was. Magnus’s anger burned white hot but only briefly.

  By the time he finished telling her the whole sordid tale of his interaction with Barclay, the Felixes, and the vicar he no longer looked angry with her, merely exhausted.

  She hadn’t commented when he’d finished. What could she say? And so they had lapsed into silence for the remainder of journey, each of them busy with their own thoughts.

  She knew Magnus thought that beating on the squire and arguing with the vicar meant the end of his career, but Melissa suspected the money and power that worked so well to protect Sir Thomas could also be employed to bring Magnus back into the Church. He might have a living in the Outer Hebrides for a few years, but he was part of the ruling class and they took care of their own.

  It was terribly unfortunate that Lord and Lady Darlington were already in town and were there to greet them when they arrived at ten past seven that evening.