Punish Me With Roses - a Victorian Historical Romance

by Juliet Moore

  Alex smiled, knowing that the old man liked him. He was starting to like the old coot himself. It was insane. He was becoming best friends with a suspected murderess and confirmed smuggler. And he had never been more comfortable in his life.

  "You didn't have to do this," he said, following her out of the dining room.

  "I know, but you are upset."

  "Trust me, the longer I look at you the happier I become." He felt surprised at the words coming out of his mouth, as though he had no control over them.

  She blushed and started to walk upstairs.

  "Where are we going?"

  "Since the garden is both small and overgrown, I thought we could walk in the gallery."

  "And analyze pictures of Fiona?"

  "That's the strange thing. There aren't any." She walked ahead of him, her skirt swishing up the scarlet stair runner.

  He shrugged at the odd response and climbed the rest of the stairs. On the second floor landing, he turned to her and smiled. "I'm a fool for running in here and screaming like a maniac."

  She waved away his apology. "Don't become sheepish, Alex. It doesn't suit you."

  "Can you understand why I did it though? Rafe Randel is a dangerous man. I always thought that there was something strange about him and now he's proven it in an extremely unwelcome manner."

  She opened the gallery door. "My uncle and I also take it very seriously. He's forbidden me to go near him."

  "That's it? He should be run out of town!"

  They stood at the threshold of the gallery, arguing in the upstairs hallway. "But he didn't really do anything. It was more like he tried to do something."

  "Regardless! The important thing to consider is that he wanted to do something, he just didn't succeed."

  She looked at him, her hands firmly on her hips. "It happened to me, so I should be the one with the final say. Since nothing came of the incident, I've moved past it. I truly had the feeling that he didn't mean any harm... although I can't figure out what purpose his actions could have had." She looked through the open door. "Let's just forget about it. I've left it in my uncle's hands."

  "I would have thought that he, of all people, would be the first person to punish him," Alex mused.

  "Can we drop the subject?"

  "If that's what you want." He entered the large room before she did, signifying that the conversation was finished. "But I promise to keep an eye on both of you."

  "If you must," she groaned.

  He didn't realize his company was such torture.

  She stood beside him and he finally noticed what she was wearing. He remembered the dress from the day in the drawing room. Those were fond memories indeed.

  "Do you see what I mean, Alex? Empty spaces on the wall at the very end. There's only that picture of my uncle as a young man and then that's it."

  He hadn't noticed anything in the gallery besides her, but now he looked. "I see that."

  "But you can tell that there were once pictures there."

  "Maybe the picture of Fiona in the drawing room was taken down from here."

  "Even if that is so, that doesn't explain the other missing pictures. Shouldn't there be one of Richard?"

  Alexander sat down on the damask covered bench. "Have you spoken to your uncle about it?"

  "Of course not! Every other thing I've spoken to him about hasn't exactly been greeted with a smile." She looked at the empty space beside him, then looked away.

  "Sit down, Victoria," he said.

  She did.

  "Although we didn't come in here for this purpose, I just thought of something." He placed his hand on her arm and smiled. "Why don't we ask your uncle if he feels it's possible to bring good out of harboring a murderer?"

  Chapter 8

  She jumped up from the seat, grasped her throat with her fingers and looked at him as she backed away, disgusted by the smile on his face. So he thought it was fun to taunt her?

  "Victoria?" He stood up to approach her, but stopped when she sneered at him. "I didn't mean...anything."

  "Tell me what you meant."

  "I had an idea that we could find Richard and bring him back."

  "You used the word 'murderer.' What did you mean?"

  "Your uncle thinks his son is a murderer. That's what he means, isn't it? When he says his wife was killed?"

  The horror that had gripped her faded, but it was still a struggle to remain calm. "Yes," she replied quietly.

  "Then? You hated the idea so much?"

  She took a deep breath. "I was a little bothered by your extreme language."

  His expression was sympathetic. "I apologize then." Alexander moved his hands from his knees to his thighs in a nervous motion. "I guess I'm not used to women's delicate sensibilities."

  If only I could tell him it isn't his fault, she thought.

  "I just wanted to know your opinion. Do you think John would turn him away? Perhaps if we told him Richard wanted a reconciliation? Maybe he does."

  "He knows where his father lives, Alexander. If he was interested, he would have come home on his own."

  "Even so."

  She sighed. "I think it's a stretch, but I suppose it's worth a try. Will you send someone?"

  He smiled. "I'll go myself."

  She wondered if he really cared about her family that much, then she realized that he must. Otherwise, why would he do any of the things that he'd done? What reason would he have to help her?

  The important question was why he cared about it. She felt right then that the only answer could be that he did because he cared about her. She was so glad she had come to Cornwall, no matter what had driven her there.

  But her reasons for being in Coverack were constantly on her mind. She'd killed two men and Alex had to be told.

  He stood up.

  "So soon?" she asked, before he'd announced his intention to leave.

  "I'm sorry I have to make it so short, but I came here on impulse when I heard about Rafe. There are quite a few things I need to take care of before tomorrow."

  She nodded. When was she going to tell him?

  "Before I leave, I have once last thing to ask you." He grinned affably and waited for her to stand up. "Would you like to go to St. Keverne? It's another small town up the coast, and as you've seen so little of the local sights--"

  "I'd love to go."

  "Great."

  They said goodbye and discussed a day to go, but she found it hard to keep her mind in the present. Mentally, she was traveling to St. Keverne already, spending time away from everything with Alexander, confessing the secret she so desperately needed to get off her chest.

  It was the perfect time to do it because they wouldn't be in Coverack. They'd be strangers in that town. She could tell him about her past comfortably. Alone.

  Alone except for the man she trusted enough to know the whole truth.

  * * *

  The very moment she entered St. Keverne an anxious sense of foreboding settled over her. She glanced at Alexander to see if he felt any of the breathless anxiety that she was experiencing, but he didn't seem to be affected. He smiled at her from his horse, and her attention was diverted to his muscular thighs as he edged the animal forward. And when he spoke, the feeling had left her completely.

  "We can stable the horses at the inn ahead." He looked away and she stared at his chiseled profile. His gaze returned to her face. "Is there something wrong?"

  "No." She was quick to answer, even considering the truth of the situation. "Should there be?"

  "You look anxious."

  She closed her eyes momentarily as a wave of dizziness made her lightheaded. "It's the sun."

  He nodded, but he was obviously more perceptive than she'd thought. The inn truly was right ahead and a moment later, she was dismounting. She thought that she'd feel better once she was walking on solid ground, but the feeling really hadn't disappeared. If anything, it became stronger.

  She didn't pay attention to Alexander's conver
sation with the stable boy, except to note that he didn't have any idea how long they'd stay in the village. She suddenly felt worried that the day would end too soon. For some reason, she was always worried about not having enough time with him. But it was probably a foolish concern. She wasn't going anywhere, unless she was forced. It was a frightening thought.

  "Would you like to go to the church first?"

  She smiled. "I'm really not in the praying mood."

  He looked at her askance. "That's not what I'd intended."

  Her heart skipped a beat and she stared ahead to avoid looking into his eyes. From the beginning, he'd had a mischievous look to him. "Is it one of the things I shouldn't miss seeing?"

  He didn't answer her immediately. He put a light hand on her arm to steer her to the right and said, "I'm afraid I misled you a little bit. Nothing here is that important, but I'm glad to be here with you. It was a good excuse to get away for the day."

  "How can I be angry at such a flattering confession?" She hoped he would treat her confession similarly.

  "It doesn't bother you that this outing has no significance beyond a man trying to impress a woman with the local sights that aren't local or impressive?"

  "Not at all." She took a deep breath so as to not lose her courage. "Sometimes things can be far more significant than ever thought at the time."

  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."