The Seduction of Scandal (Scandals and Seductions 5)

by Cathy Maxwell

  Her children dutifully obeyed. Maggie cradled the cat on her shoulder as if she carried a baby. The cat looked back at Will, staring at him with sphinx-eyed wisdom all the way out of the church.

  Will stood where he was until the door in the vestibule shut behind them.

  “That was amazing,” Lady Corinne said.

  He could feel heat rise up his neck at the compliment. He turned away, embarrassed, and started for the pulpit. “I didn’t do very much.”

  “Will, you cut the cat open and saved its life,” she countered.

  Keeping his attention on his notes, all too aware of her watching him with admiration in her eyes, he said, “I guessed. It was a cat. I felt I couldn’t cause any harm.”

  He expected her to leave. She didn’t. He could feel her studying him. “What?” he said at last, impatient with himself as much as with her. He was too aware of her. She was almost overwhelming.

  “You don’t want to feel as if you are a part of them,” she said. “But you are. And you did know exactly what to do. Have you studied medicine?”

  “I read a book on anatomy,” he muttered.

  “This is more than that. You knew,” she insisted. “Just as you knew how to care for my wound. You were born with a gift, Will, something passed on to you . . . perhaps by your father?”

  Immediately, Will rejected the idea. His mind closed against it. He could feel the wall come down. “My father? Chances are my mother never knew who my father was. He probably was any number of sailors who docked in Barbados port. As for my mother, I prefer not to think how much my father paid to bed her. I’ve heard the whores there can be had for a penny and the streets run rampant with their by-blows.”

  “You’ve heard? But you don’t know?” she challenged. “I’m surprised you haven’t gone on a quest for the story.”

  “Lady Corinne, this is not an argument. I understand a woman’s desire to romanticize my parentage, but a man can’t afford such nonsense. I live in the here and now. By the way, speaking of wounds,” he continued briskly, “does your wound bother you?” He realized he’d been so focused on keeping a distance between them that he hadn’t thought about it.

  “It’s healing,” she said, sounding almost cheery in spite of his set down. “I use the salve all the time. Please don’t be late for supper.” She gifted him with her dazzling smile and left, her step so light that she was practically skipping.

  Did the woman understand the power of that smile? How it made him want to follow her?

  Or what hearing her praise did to him? It was as if she chipped away at the armor he’d built around himself as protection.

  And what would be left after she was gone? He feared the answer.

  Maybe she didn’t understand that she could hurt him. He wasn’t like her usual swain. Freddie wasn’t the sort to be heartbroken. He had few feelings for anyone other than himself.

  But Will wasn’t made of the same stuff as Freddie. He had something to lose. Even her criticism of his not knowing the facts of his birth rankled a bit.

  He waited until it was past dark and he knew she would already be in bed before he returned to the rectory. There were errands to keep him busy. He checked on Maggie and her cat. The story of his operation had spread through Ferris. There were many nods of approval as he walked by. The lads still didn’t invite him in for a drink at the pub, but those sitting out front nodded and tipped their hats to him.

  Most of these men couldn’t have known he was the Thorn. He had no idea what they thought of him, because he kept his distance and they didn’t attend services. He could have entered the pub without an invite, but he chose not to.

  Upstairs, Will couldn’t resist a glance past her open doorway to be certain she was all right.

  She slept and looked like an angel, her face relaxed in repose and her silky hair spread out over the pillow. He backed away, moving to the safety of his own room.

  The next morning, a Sunday, Will made certain he was up and gone to the church before Lady Corinne rose. There, he busied himself preparing for the service.

  He was pleased that the pews started filling a good half hour early. Will walked up and down the aisle, greeting parishioners.

  The time was almost ready to start. Will went over to his chair beside the pulpit. His deacon would start the service.

  However, before the man could offer the opening prayer, Lady Corinne arrived in the back of the church. She was wearing a bonnet and a dress of blue wool.

  Her bonnet couldn’t have been the one Mrs. Gowan had given her. Will had seen it, and the hat had been very shabby. This one was white, with a sprig of cherry blossoms tucked in a red ribbon. Her dress was the one he’d brought to her from the poor box, only it now fit far better than when she’d first taken a needle to it.

  She came down the aisle and took a seat next to Rachel Gowan. She kept her head bowed as if in deep prayer.

  He scoffed at her prayerful demeanor. What she was really doing was worrying about his reaction once this service was over. And she was right to be worried. He’d ordered her to stay out of sight and now here she was, parading around Ferris. She placed far too much trust in Mrs. Gowan’s assurances.

  If Will could have picked her up and carried her out of the church without making a scene, he would have done so.

  As it was, he was forced to quietly fume while she flouted his authority—and then another parishioner arrived, one Will had never expected to see in his church.

  Seth Pearson had to be carried in a makeshift sedan chair. Four of the local lads, none of them churchgoers, held the poles bearing him up. His family—Maggie carrying a doll this time, not a cat—followed him in.

  The lads carried Seth to the front left side of the church. Sarah and the children sat beside Seth. The lads took the pew behind theirs.

  For a moment, all Will could do was stare in amazed silence, much as the rest of the congregation was doing.

  Since the attack, Seth rarely went out. He’d lost the use of his legs and could no longer grind the parish’s grain into flour. He didn’t even try but left the work to others, who lacked his touch and would have appreciated his advice. They said the days were miserable for him. He’d refused all visitors and spent his time drinking.

  And now he was here, looking cleaned up and sober. Because of a cat. God did work in mysterious ways.

  Will turned to the deacon and gave him a nod. The service started.

  Corinne knew Will wasn’t happy with her. She almost wanted to thank Mr. Pearson for claiming Will’s attention and taking it off of her. One didn’t have to be a resident of Ferris to realize all were surprised by this man’s appearance.

  Maggie saw her looking in their direction and waved, a smile transforming her face. Corinne had to wave back. A small one, suitable for church. She turned her attention back to Will and saw him frowning.

  She frowned back. She didn’t have to fake her frown. She wasn’t happy with Will’s avoiding her. He was being rude. He was being judgmental.

  She was thankful Mrs. Gowan was there next to her.

  The service started. It was the traditional, the standard. He took to his pulpit and surprised her at how ill at ease he was. She would not have thought that. She had expected a thought-provoking sermon, and there was one, somewhere in his ramblings. It was his delivery that was difficult. He was stiff, tight, self-conscious. Certainly his awkwardness was not because of her. She couldn’t have made him that poor a homilist in a week.

  Thank the Lord he was a better highwayman than he was a minister.

  After the service, Corinne quickly joined the tide of people leaving the church. She skillfully managed to bypass Will at the door, as Mr. Pearson had been carried to him and most people were interested in speaking to both of them.

  Out in the yard, Maggie came over to see her. The child was smiling and assured Corinne
that kitty was doing well before hurrying off to run circles around the gravestones with the other children.

  “This is a wonderful day,” Mrs. Gowan confided. “I didn’t think we’d ever see Seth Pearson back in church.”

  “What happened to him?” Corinne had to ask.

  “An accident,” Mrs. Gowan said, starting to sound distracted, as if she didn’t want to discuss the topic. She began to turn away.

  Corinne placed a hand on her arm. “Please, I believe I know it includes Lord Bossley. What is happening? What is going on? And who is that Simon Porledge?” At the sharp, questioning look Mrs. Gowan sent her, Corinne pressed on, “Yes, I’ve heard of him but I don’t know the story. Tell me about it. Please.”

  “It doesn’t involve you and I’m certain Mr. Norwich would not approve.”

  “Mr. Norwich doesn’t approve of anything I do, including attending church,” Corinne said, nodding over to where Will stood visiting with parishioners. He saw her and, although he kept smiling, his eyes promised there would be a reckoning.

  Good. He’d have to talk to her for a reckoning.

  “I mustn’t involve you in this,” Mrs. Gowan protested. She smiled her regret and moved off.

  “I can tell you,” Mandy said.

  She’d been standing to the side, obviously mooning over Will. He definitely had made a conquest in her.

  It stood to reason she would know the story. A young girl with an infatuation would know everything she could about the object of her desire.

  If Corinne had pangs of conscience about asking Mandy, curiosity squelched them.

  Mandy motioned for her to move closer to the cherry tree, away from the others. “Everyone thinks I don’t know what is going on, but I do,” Mandy said and proudly told Corinne the story of Lord Bossley’s man breaking the miller’s legs so badly that he’d not been able to walk again.

  “They thought he was going to heal,” Mandy confided. “But his legs are crooked and give him great pain. He can’t ply his trade or anything.” She lowered her voice to add, “It’s the Thorn that keeps them fed. He brings money to the family and to others in need in the parish. We’ve all been safe since the Thorn started guarding us. Some would have lost their homes where their families have lived since the beginning of England if it wasn’t for him.”

  Guarding them. What an interesting way to look at the highwayman’s actions. He was providing more than justice. He offered protection.

  And now Corinne understood Will’s motives. He robbed to feed his flock, to take care of those who needed help. No wonder the villagers wanted him to trust in their silence.

  Corinne gazed across the churchyard to where he stood, tall, handsome, forthright—and that is when she fell in love.

  He was St. George and Sir Galahad combined. He was noble beyond any man she had ever met. And he was also very handsome.

  “Isn’t he the most wonderful man?” Mandy asked, summing up Corinne’s thoughts completely. “You are so lucky to be his cousin,” she continued, reminding Corinne of her role.

  “Yes, I am,” Corinne agreed. She gave Mandy’s hand a little squeeze. “Thank you for sharing that information with me.”

  “Don’t tell anyone,” Mandy warned.

  “I’d never betray him,” Corinne said.

  “Neither would I,” Mandy agreed. Her mother called her name. She shot a cross look in the direction of her parents. “They treat me as if I’m a child,” she said, “but I must go. I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Rosemont.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mandy.”

  The girl smiled a look of farewell and hurried off.

  As for Corinne, she was wanted as well. Will was frowning at her again. He nodded toward the rectory and started walking, expecting her to follow.

  “I’m a man, Corinne.” That’s what he’d said to her the other evening, and that one line had haunted her dreams for the last two nights.

  The time of the promised reckoning had indeed arrived.

  Chapter Ten

  Will was ready to set Lady Corinne in her place. He wanted her to stay at the rectory and out of sight. She might have believed she was safe in Ferris, but she risked recognition, and someone from the garrison—or a member of the gentry—could ride through at any time.

  He had a list of people who could endanger both of them.

  Still wearing his vestments, he waited for her inside the rectory sitting room, his hands clasped behind his back, his face set in a serious mien.

  The kitchen door opened. He heard it close and her footsteps across the kitchen floor. She entered the sitting room, smiling at him.

  Please, God, her smile. He had to frown so that he wouldn’t smile back.

  Before he could say anything, she said, “The service was lovely, Will, and I know you don’t want me going out and about, and I won’t. I also know that you really have just my best interests in mind. I’m very fortunate to have your care and concern. You are the most noble, handsome, generous man of my acquaintance. I admire you greatly in a way I’ve never felt toward any other.” And then, before he could gather his stunned wits, she crossed over to him and kissed him.

  She pressed her lips to his and held them there for the barest minimum of a moment.

  But what a moment it was.

  Will couldn’t think. His mind ceased to function. She was kissing him. She had risen up on her toes and kissed him. It felt completely right and natural—and he wanted more.

  But before he dared to reach out, to take hold of her and kiss her the way he wanted to kiss her, the way he’d dreamed of kissing her, she released her hold. Lowering her heels to the ground, she stepped back, turned, and walked up the stairs.

  For a moment, Will stood, stupefied. He heard her humming.

  Twice now that she had called him handsome. Him. Lanky him.

  She might have meant it.

  Upon hearing her come down the stairs, he panicked. Women weren’t attracted to him. Well, some were . . . but never the ones he wanted. Lady Corinne was on a pedestal. She couldn’t have admired the likes of him.

  More important—he had nothing to offer if she did.

  Knowing he couldn’t talk to her right now, he walked into the kitchen before she reached the sitting room.

  And so he opened the kitchen door and escaped. He walked back to the church. He needed to change from his vestments as it was, but here was sanctuary.

  Here he could sit searching for the remnants of peace her presence disrupted.

  Lady Corinne admired him. But she shouldn’t have. She was a duke’s daughter, a fixture in the highest rankings of society.

  A footstep sounded behind him. She was here. She walked to where he was sitting, stood close to him. The light scent of her swirled around him.

  “Another woman would be angry that her gesture had been rejected,” she said.

  Will didn’t speak. He didn’t trust his voice.

  “My grandmother had a sense of things. A knowing. I have a touch of it. If it wasn’t for that, Will, I’d be hurt. You think I don’t know how challenging this is for you? You have no sense of your own worth and you can’t see me as anything other than the duke of Banfield’s daughter.”

  “I see you as the woman my foster brother planned to marry.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  He turned to her then. “Only bad can come from this, Corinne. You believe you can weather the scandal of jilting my foster brother. You’ve seduced yourself into believing all will be right and therefore you take frightening risks. I can’t compound the scandal of you jilting Freddie by taking you for myself. If not for Lord Bossley’s saving me from the streets, I don’t know where I’d be. And here I am—stealing from him, Corinne. My own foster father. But I don’t do it for myself. That’s my one saving grace. I don’t take from him for my own sake. But if I take you, it
will be for myself.”

  “And I’m telling you, Will, this is where I was meant to be.”

  “You couldn’t have noticed the fact years ago when I fell at your feet?” he wondered, half jesting. “Then we could have avoided all of this messiness.”

  Her shoulders rose in a small, graceful shrug. “I don’t understand the ways of the world any better than you do, Reverend. I know only what I feel. And I’ll be honest, Will, this is a new emotion for me. I’m not certain all that it is . . . but I believe it might be love.”

  “Might?” He stood, latching onto the word. “Might be love? It can’t be. We are not free to love.” There, he’d made the decision. “Go back to the rectory now, my lady.”

  “Will, I don’t think you are listening to me—”

  “I am. I have enough complications in my life without this one. And you’ve created enough problems in yours that you don’t need a parson who is also, what did you call me, a thief and a hypocrite. It’s the hypocrite that bothers me the most because you are right. I owe loyalty to Lord Bossley, and yet I’m torn over what he is doing to these people. To love you would mean I must choose to walk away from both. I can’t do it, Corinne. For whatever reason, my roots are here.”

  “I know,” she said. “And it makes me love you more.”

  “A love like that is only successful in one of those tragic novels where love withers and dies. Don’t be like that, Corinne. Love whomever you wish, but escape Freddie and me. Give your love to someone who can return it freely, clearly.”

  “I can’t do that, Will. It is already gone. It’s yours.”

  God in Heaven.

  How easy it would have been to take her in his arms. She stood as proud as a duchess and yet unafraid to be vulnerable to him. She was everything he’d dreamed of, and the real woman was more intelligent, more imaginative, more honest than he could ever have predicted.