Raven's Bride

Chapter One Norfolk, England, 1661 Anna pulled her thin cape closer about her shoulders and stared blindly down into the open grave. The surface of the coffin at the bottom of the pit was rough and scarred. One of the top planks was warped out of shape, pulling away from its fellows, as if it were ready to leap up and let in the light of the cold spring morning on to the body of the man who lay inside the crude wooden box. Papa would like that, Anna thought to herself with a small smile. He had always loved the spring, when the days were getting longer, when little white lambs were born on the hills, and when daffy-down-dillies pushed their yellow and orange heads out of the earth to drink up the early sun. He would not like to be shut up in a dark coffin and then buried under the earth. But Papa did not know that he was being buried. He was dead now. Dead. A small lump of earth thudded against the top of the coffin. Little pieces of it broke off and skittered away to the sides of the grave. Anna looked up, startled. Beside her, her mother brushed her hands together to dislodge the sticky pieces of earth that still clung to the frayed fabric of her gloves. She had thrown the first clod on top of the coffin. She motioned to Anna, wordlessly indicating that Anna should follow her example. Anna bent down and took a handful of the damp clay that lay heaped beside the grave. She tossed it down onto the coffin, where it stuck in an unsightly blob on a corner of the warped plank.

The clay had stuck to her hands also. She clapped them together to rid herself of the dirt. The gravediggers took this as their signal to begin to fill in the grave. As Anna and her mother stood by, they loaded shovelful after shovelful of wet earth into the pit. The first shovelfuls landed with a hollow thud on the lid of the coffin. Soon the wooden top was covered, and the rest of the earth fell almost noiselessly into the grave, until it was heaped up higher than the surrounding grass. Beside her, Anna could hear her mother coughing. She reached out and took her mother’s hand. It was as cold as ice, despite the thin gloves that covered it. She tugged gently on her mother’s hand. “Come, Mother,” she said. “Papa is buried now. You must not linger in the cold. You are still not well.” She paused for a moment while her mother coughed again, then added softly, “We lost Papa to a chill on the chest. I would not lose you, too.” Her mother resisted the slight pressure of Anna’s hand. “Just a moment more,” she said softly, as she stood looking at the place in which her husband of twenty-five years had just been buried. Anna could see her mother’s eyes fill with tears. “I loved your father dearly.” “Papa loved you, too,” Anna replied, brushing away, with the back of her hand, the tears that insisted on creeping down her cheeks. She took a well-worn linen handkerchief from her pocket, dabbed at her brimming eyes and handed it to her mother. “He would surely scold me if he were to see you out here. ‘Take your mother inside,’ he would say. ‘This chill wind will do the cold on her chest no good. You must look after her, now that I cannot.’” Anna pulled her mother gently again, and this time her mother

allowed Anna to lead her away from the grave to where the other mourners were gathered by the entrance to the churchyard. The first to greet Anna and her mother was Squire Grantley. He clapped his heels together and held out a red-veined hand to Anna’s mother. “My dear Mrs. Woodleigh,” he said. “My commiserations on your loss. But—” And he turned his eyes up to Heaven and let out a pious sigh. “—it was the will of God, against which no mortal man may stand.” “The will of God, indeed,” Mrs. Woodleigh murmured politely. “And the lack of a warm coat,” Anna muttered under her breath, as she gazed with disgust at the baubles decorating the front of the squire’s jacket. When King Charles II had been restored to the throne the year before, Squire Grantley had cast off his customary black coats, and ever since he had been dressing in increasingly outlandish garb. A yard of the fine lace on the jacket he wore now would have cost more than the woolen coat that would have saved her father’s life. The squire dropped Mrs. Woodleigh’s hand and turned to Anna. “And my dear young Anna,” he said, and gave her a smile which Anna thought must be meant to be reassuring. Instead, it made her think of a sly and vicious fox. She wanted to turn her back on him and run. “Your servant, sir.” The squire stepped towards her, his arms outstretched as if he meant to take her hands and embrace her, but Anna put her own hands behind her back and quickly moved backwards to avoid him. His face was thin and pointed, and his hair was the same reddish brown as a fox’s coat. He wore a decidedly vulpine mustache, of the same color as his hair. Even the smile on his face was just like the look on a fox’s face when it has discovered

that the chicken coop is open and the farmer with his gun is nowhere in sight. The smile on the squire’s face faded slightly as Anna recoiled from him. “My dear young Anna,” he repeated, letting his hands drop down to his sides. “A poor fatherless girl now. I am sorry for it.” He didn’t sound in the least bit sorry. He sounded as if he were licking his lips in anticipation of snapping up a delicate morsel for his supper. Anna bowed her head, trying not to show her distaste. “Come, Mrs. Woodleigh, you and your daughter must take tea with us now that this unhappy affair has been concluded.” Mrs. Woodleigh took one of the squire’s arms. Anna could not refuse the other without obvious rudeness. As lightly as she could, she placed her hand on the deep cuff of his jacket. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and arranged his thick wool cloak so it covered both of them. “Snug and warm now?” Anna shivered and was silent.

“My wife and I have been most concerned about your situation,” the squire said, as he sipped a glass of port in front of the blazing fire. “Mr. Woodleigh, may he rest in peace, may have been a sainted man, but he was not rich. His death has deprived you of the income from his living in the church. You can have barely enough to subsist on.” He stopped for a moment before adding, “And the new church is no longer so kind to the widows and children of the old Reformers.” Mrs. Woodleigh colored. Anna gave a tight smile. “It is kind of you to be concerned about

us,” she said, “but there is no need. Mama and I have sufficient for our wants.” The squire’s meanness had been why her father had never been able to save any money, she thought hotly. Every penny he could spare from his own family went to help the villagers who were most in need. He brushed her words away with the languid wave of a bejeweled hand. “My...ah...wife and I have decided that our three girls are getting too old to be left in the charge of their nurse all day. Dear little Chloe, Persephone and Diana need a governess now. My...ah...wife and I would like to offer you the post of governess, wouldn’t we, Margaret? You would have your room and board, of course, and then two pound a year on top of that.” Anna’s smile eased. “I would be glad of such a situation.” The pittance she earned would make her mother’s slender purse stretch that much further, and she would have all her food provided. Little as she liked the Grantleys and their spoiled girls, she would suffer much worse to be close to her mother. Lady Grantley put down her embroidery on the arm of the chaise longue and gave a weak cough. “Indeed,” she said, in a cold tone. “Miss Woodleigh is not exactly what I would have wished for in a governess, but I suppose she will have to do, until I can find someone more to my liking.” Anna raised her eyebrows. Lady Grantley could certainly find a more accomplished governess for her daughters, but not a one who would work for less than two pound a year plus her board. It was the wages of a chambermaid or a serving woman. “Indeed, ma’am.” Squire Grantley gave his wife a smile of fat satisfaction. “She can sleep in the little room in the attic next to the upstairs maid. She

will be in nobody’s way up there.” So, she was to rank the same as an upstairs maid. Not a good start. Lady Grantley ran her eyes up and down Anna’s figure, cloaked in her black wool dress, and pursed her lips into a thin, tight line. “It is as well that you are in mourning, for I do not approve of governesses wearing colors or fancy stuffs and ribbons. And, mind now, you are to make arrangements for your own washing.” Anna’s heart sank still a little lower. Her washing would cost her at least two pence a week, if not more. Months would go by before she could buy that pair of boots she so badly needed. She should have realized that the Grantleys’ offer would harbor a sting in its tail. Despite their noisy piety, they had never before shown any charitable leanings. Squire Grantley downed the rest of his port with a long gulp. “We have two rules in this house: follow the ways of the Lord—” And he looked at Anna with a predatory smirk. “—and do as you are bid by your lawful master.” Anna knelt in the small room she shared with her mother in their modest lodgings at the edge of the village and began packing her meager belongings into a small traveling case. She had little to take. Two sets of underclothes, three pair of darned stockings, a second black dress and a half-dozen books. The small case was barely half full when she had finished. She carried it through to the kitchen where her mother and Mistress Weaver, their new landlady, were drinking a cup of warm ale in front of the kitchen fire. Mistress Weaver hurried to her feet and poured Anna a cup. “So, Anna,” Mistress Weaver began, “you are all for leaving me

already to be a governess for those little devils up at the Great House.” Mrs. Woodleigh’s face was wrinkled in a frown. “You need not go if you do not want to, my love,” she said to Anna. “We have enough for the two of us, if we live cautiously and do not waste what we have.” Anna kissed her mother. “I want to.” Mrs. Woodleigh tapped her fingertips on the scarred top of the old kitchen table. “I have noticed the way the squire looks at you, Anna. If I thought for a moment that the situation he was offering you...” Her voice faded and then broke off altogether. When she resumed, her voice was soft and low, as though she were talking to herself. “No, I cannot think of such wickedness.” She looked steadfastly at Anna. “It is a comfort to me that you are so close. You will be able to walk out to see me every Sunday.” “And don’t you forget,” added Mistress Weaver, “that that there squire is a no good man who ought to be whipped from one end of the village to the other. His wife is so jealous of him, and with good reason, too, that she doesn’t have a maid in her service that doesn’t have red hair or a squint.” She gave a grim chuckle. “If he tries any of his nasty tricks with you, my dear, just remember that between a man’s legs is where it hurts him most.” “Mistress Weaver,” Mrs. Woodleigh said in a sharp voice. “That is not fitting for a young girl’s ears.” Mistress Weaver thumped her tankard on the tabletop. “Stuff and nonsense. If every young girl knew that, then there’d be a lot less of pain and suffering in the world.” She turned to Anna. “Between his legs. Don’t forget, mind.” It was late afternoon before Anna could tear herself away from the warm, friendly kitchen. She parted from her mother with wet eyes

and began her walk to the Great House, her case bumping against her legs with every step she took. She was leaving a warm cottage, where she was loved and cherished, for a cold attic room in a grand house where she must go to work for people who knew her little and liked her less. It was not a comforting thought. She was met at the servants’ entrance of the Great House by the housekeeper, a thin-faced woman whom Anna had never known to smile. The housekeeper led Anna up the back stairs to the attic floor. “This is your room,” she said sourly, as she opened a small door at the top of the stairs and showed Anna in. It was cold up there, right under the eaves of the house. Anna shivered in her shawl. Her room was dank and airless. There was one tiny window set high in the wall, too high for Anna to look out of unless she stood up on a chair. A small, narrow iron bedstead stood in one corner. In the other corner was a rickety table on which stood a chipped earthenware jug and a cracked basin for washing. There was nothing else. Anna put her case on the bare wooden floor at the foot of the bed. “Thank you, Mrs. Hawkins.” “Breakfast is at six sharp,” Mrs. Hawkins said. “Dinner at noon and supper at five. You have missed supper for tonight.” Anna looked up at the housekeeper. Was she then expected to go without food until the morning? “Will not the cook give me a piece of bread and cheese?” she asked. “Since I have come too late for supper, I would not expect anything hot.” “There’s to be no food eaten by the staff except at mealtimes, at the master’s orders,” Mrs. Hawkins said. “You won’t get a crumb out of cook until tomorrow morning at six.” With those words, she left.

Left alone in her cheerless room, Anna sat on her narrow cot, blinking away tears. Her stomach hurt from want of food. She had eaten little at breakfast, and since then had only had half a cup of tea and a mug of ale. There was nothing for her to do but to wait until the morn, and eat her fill at breakfast. The tiny window let little light into her room. The housekeeper had left a stump of candle in a heavy iron candlestick on Anna’s table, with the strict injunction it was to last out the month. Anna didn’t dare waste it on reading. She sat in the gloom, thinking about her father and about how her life had changed in just a few short days. A sennight ago, she had been Anna Woodleigh, daughter of the vicar of their village. Her father, though strict in his religion and harsh on what he saw as his own failings, had loved and spoiled her. He took her on visits to all the villagers with him, and in the evenings, he had taught her all that he had learned at the university. She had not known sorrow or discontent. Now she was Anna Woodleigh, governess to Squire Grantley’s three daughters. Her father was dead. The vicarage in which she had grown up was now the abode of a stranger. Her mother was in meager lodgings in the village. And she was alone in her rapidly darkening room, cold and hungry. Silent tears began to run down her cheeks. When her room had grown so dark Anna could no longer see her hands in front of her, she pulled off her dress. There was a nail roughly hammered onto the back of her door. Anna felt around in the dark until she found it, then hung her dress over it. It was icy cold in her room without her dress on. Anna washed hurriedly in the cold water in her jug and then crawled into bed. The straw mattress was so thin she could feel the iron bars of her cot through it. There were no sheets, but only two rough blankets.

Anna wrapped herself in the blankets and then covered herself with her shawl. She was shivering with cold, but in the end she managed to doze off into a fitful sleep. She was awakened some time later by the creaking of her door. She lay still, wondering whether the draft had blown her door open in the night. There had been no latch to close it. She was just about to turn over and try to doze off again, when she heard soft footsteps coming into her room. With a start, she sat up and opened her eyes. The moon had risen and was shining in through her tiny window. It bathed the room in a soft glow. In the dim moonlight, Anna could see the figure of a man at the end of her bed. She wrapped her blankets tighter around her. “Who is it?” she demanded. Her voice sounded very loud in the stillness of the night. “Anna, my dear,” came a voice which Anna recognized as belonging to the squire. “There is no need to be alarmed.” “What do you want,” she demanded. “Why have you come here?” The squire sat with a thump on the small cot next to Anna. “What do you think I have come for?” he said, as he grabbed Anna, still wrapped in her blankets, and pulled her onto his knee. “You are my servant now. You must not question what I tell you to do. You must just be an obedient little girl and do as you are bid.” He bent his head towards her, nuzzling his pointed nose and scratchy chin into her neck and breasts. Anna struggled to get free, but he held her fast in her cocoon. At last she managed to get one arm out of the blankets. She grabbed the hair on the back of his neck and pulled on it as hard as she could. “Let me go, you beast,” she hissed at him, as she yanked. “You…you vile lecher.” The squire drew his head up. His eyes were glittering with anger.

He drew his hand back and slapped Anna hard on the side of her face. Anna felt her head snap sideways with the force of the blow. She put her hand to her face. The squire’s ring had cut her just below the eye, and she could feel drops of blood trickling down her cheek. “Now then,” he said, his breathing heavy, “you’ve got a taste of what happens to servants who don’t do as they are told. I would advise you not to try that trick again or you might find out to your sorrow just how angry I can get when I am crossed.” No one had ever raised their hand to her before. She sat in silent shock, her head ringing with pain, as he reached around her and unwound her blankets. She was wearing only a shift underneath. She shivered as the cold night air touched the skin of her bare arms. “Cold, eh?” the squire asked with a chuckle, as his eyes feasted on her near nakedness. “You won’t be cold for long, I can promise you that. You’ll soon have a better covering on you than a couple of blankets. You’ll be covered by a man, and for the first time, too, I’ll warrant.” Anna gazed around desperately for a weapon. Her eyes fell on the iron candlestick that the housekeeper had left for her on the table. If she could just get her hands on that, she would have a chance of escaping. But she knew it was just out of reach. The squire pushed the neck of Anna’s shift down until her breasts were exposed. His greedy hands covered them, pinching and squeezing them so hard that it hurt. A small moan of pain escaped Anna’s lips. The squire chuckled again. “So you like that, do you?” He bent his head to her breasts and took one of them in his mouth, sucking and biting on it,. It hurt.

Now was Anna’s chance to get the candlestick. She stretched forward, leaning out as far as she could go. She could almost reach it. Her movements had the added effect of pushing her breast further into the squire’s voracious mouth. He grunted with pleasure, and began bucking into her groin with his hips. Anna could feel the hardness of him through the layers of cloth that separated them. The candlestick was almost within reach now. Anna leaned a little closer towards the table. The squire grunted again, opening his mouth as wide as he could to take as much of her breast into his mouth as he could. Anna’s fingers closed around the candlestick. She felt a surge of hope swell inside her. She eased back a little away from the squire. He had transferred his attention to her other breast now, and his hands were pushing up the hem of her shift. Anna held her legs pressed tightly together. She felt him try to grope in between her thighs with his furry paws. He raised his head from her breast for a moment. “Open your legs for me,” he ordered. Now was her chance. Anna raised the heavy iron candlestick in her hand and brought it crashing down on the side of the squire’s head. He looked surprised for a moment, then toppled over, striking his head again on the edge of the bedstead and then slithering to the ground. Anna disentangled herself from him as he fell. She grabbed her dress from the nail, tearing it a little in her haste, and pulled it over her head with trembling hands. She had to get away before Squire Grantley woke up again, or he would be sure to come after her. She eyed the candlestick uneasily. Ought she to hit him again before she left? She dare not

risk killing him with another blow to the head. Then the words of Mistress Weaver came back to her. “Between the legs. That’s where it hurts a man the most.” Her mind was soon made up. She did not want to soil her hands with the blood of a man, but she could not afford to be caught. Raising the candlestick high above her head, she brought it crashing down on the squire’s groin with all her might. Then she picked up her small case and hurried away down the staircase as fast as she could go. The moon was still out, and the moonlight was just bright enough to show her the way. She clutched the valise with her few simple possessions in her arms as she ran. Each night noise seemed to her to be the sound of pursuit. Each bramble that snatched at her legs as she passed was the hand of the squire reaching out to catch her. She was sobbing with fear and exhaustion when she finally reached Mistress Weaver’s cottage. She banged on the door with all her might. “Let me in,” she cried. “For the love of God, let me in.” The door was opened in a trice. Anna’s mother, clad in a voluminous white nightgown, peered out into the dark with an anxious look on her face, while Mistress Weaver stood by with a candle. Anna stumbled in and threw herself on her mother’s breast, sobbing with relief. Anna’s mother cradled her close, stroking her head and wiping away the tears from her eyes. “My love,” she whispered over and over again into Anna’s hair. “You are safe now. Nothing can hurt you here.” Meanwhile Mistress Weaver was bustling about heating a pan of milk on the fire. When it was steaming hot, she stirred an egg into it, added a splash of ale, and brought it to Anna. “Come now,

dearie,” she said as she put an arm around Anna’s shoulders and drew her to a bench. “Drink up this now, and tell us all about it.” Anna took a sip of the hot milk. It warmed her from the pit of her stomach. In a shaking voice, she recounted all that had happened to her since she had left the cottage that afternoon. Mrs. Woodleigh looked very grim when Anna had finished her tale. “He did not touch you more than you have said?” she asked, the tremor in her voice betraying her anxiety. “You are not holding anything back out of fear?” Anna shook her head. “No, Mother,” she said. “I swear that he did not touch me further.” Mistress Weaver harrumphed. “That’s not to say that he won’t the next chance he gets. You need to take her away from here, Mrs. Woodleigh, the first chance you get.” Mrs. Woodleigh nodded. “I’m afeared you’re right,” she said, her voice shaking a little. She hugged Anna tightly. “It is all my fault. I had not thought that even a king’s man could sink so low. We will have to leave. This very night, if we can.” Anna looked up from her milk. Her heart had stopped pounding quite so fast, but her legs felt as wobbly as swamp mud. She did not think she could go any further. Still, to escape the squire she would run until she dropped down dead. “Where can we go?” she asked. “We have no friends but in the village, and no relations that I know of.” Anna’s mother shook her head in sadness . “I was a grand enough lady before I married your father,” she said. “My family lived in a manor house quite as big as the Squire’s, just fifty miles from here. My step-father disowned me when I married your father, and swore he would never receive me again. I swore, in my turn, that I would never ask him to.”

Anna saw a tear trail down her mother’s cheek. “I have been punished for my pride,” Mrs. Woodleigh said. “Now I would give anything to be taken in by my family, but I have not spoken to them for twenty years. I know not even whether my step-father is still alive. Or my step-brother either. He was always a kind-hearted man.” “You must send him a letter at once,” Mistress Weaver said. “Tell him that you are on your way.” Mrs. Woodleigh blinked away another tear. “There is no time to send him a letter.,It will take at least a sennight to receive a reply, and we must leave at once.” Mistress Weaver nodded. “Yes, that would be best. But how will you get there? I have not even a donkey cart you can borrow.” “We can walk,” Mrs. Woodleigh said. The doubt was clear in her voice whether they could make it. “It is not more than fifty miles.” There was a short silence. Then Anna spoke up. “Is it not the day that Rafe Ericson, the miller, goes to market? He always leaves before dawn. If we hurry, could we not ask for a ride from him? He would take us over halfway there, and we could walk the rest. Then we could leave this very night.” Mistress Weaver clapped her hands together. “Just the very thing,” she crowed. She bustled to her feet and threw a shawl around her shoulders. “Now, just you get your things together, the two of you,” she ordered, “and I will go and talk to Mistress Ericson. Old Ericson will be coming round to fetch you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, I’ll warrant you.” In less time than Anna thought was possible, she and her mother were sitting amidst huge sacks of flour, while the donkey cart bumped and shuddered its way down the road.

Anna peeked in the small sack Mistress Weaver had handed to them just as they left. It was food, just as she had hoped. She took out a couple of apples. “Mother, will you eat an apple with me? I am hungry.” Mrs. Woodleigh took the apple with a small, sad smile, and the two of them munched companionably as they bumped along. Anna felt her heart grow lighter with every mile that took them further away from the squire. Each mile brought her and her mother closer to safety. Mid-morning had arrived before they reached the market town where the miller was taking his flour. Anna and her mother clambered out of the donkey cart, rubbing their protesting muscles. Anna’s eyes felt heavy with weariness. She had not been able to sleep sitting up in the bumpy cart. She knew her mother had had no rest either. Slowly the two of them shouldered their bundles and started to walk. They still had many miles to travel. By late afternoon, they still had more than five miles to go, and Anna was dropping with weariness. Her mother, she could tell, was in far worse shape. Anna had taken her mother’s bundle some hours ago, and her mother had barely had the energy to complain. She was plodding along, putting one step in front of the other, her back bowed and her eyes never lifted from the road in front of them. Every so often she stumbled and nearly fell. They would never reach the manor house by nightfall, Anna decided. She pulled her mother off the path and into the shelter of a nearby hayrick. She settled her mother against a bale of hay and spread some loose hay over her. At least they would keep warm tonight. Mrs. Woodleigh immediately closed her eyes. Anna shook her awake again. “Come, Mother. You must eat first. Then you may

sleep for as long as you like.” Anna undid their sack of food and took out the last of the rabbit pie and the rest of the small beer. She eyed the food hungrily, but there was not enough for the two of them. Her mother needed it more than she did. Her mother was lying back with her eyes closed. Anna fed her the pie in small bites. “Keep plenty for yourself,” Mrs. Woodleigh said in a weak voice, when not even a third of the food was gone. “You are young. You need the food more than I do.” “I have already eaten,” Anna lied. “Now you must finish this little bit of pie to keep your strength up.” Her mother looked confused, but she obediently ate the rest of the pie and drank the ale Anna gave her. When the food was gone, Anna curled up close to her mother and pulled more straw over them. She fell asleep almost at once. Throughout the night Anna was wakened several times by her mother’s coughing. The coughs racked her body and set her shivering and shaking. Anna cradled her mother closer to her, and smoothed her hair over her brow, until they both fell asleep again. When dawn broke, Anna’s mother was still in a fitful sleep. Her mind was wandering, and every so often she raised her head, looked around her with unseeing eyes, and muttered something unintelligible. Anna hated to leave her in such a state, but she knew her mother had to have help or she would die for sure of an inflammation of the lungs. She could not let that happen. She had promised her father on his deathbed that she would look after her mother. It was a glorious spring morning outside, but Anna barely noticed. She ran to a tiny trickle of a stream she had noticed the previous

night and filled up her flask with cool, clear water. She sponged her mother’s face and helped her to swallow a few mouthfuls of the water. “Keep safe,” Anna whispered. “I will be back as soon as I can.” Then she kissed her mother gently on her burning forehead and left. Her mother had described the manor house to her so well that Anna was sure she would be able to find it. Still, it was nearly midday before she came to the wrought iron gates with the pair of standing lions that signaled her ancestral home. Anna staggered through the gates, exhausted, thirsty and hungrier than she ever remembered feeling in her life. The winding drive through the old oak trees seemed interminable. Her feet felt like lead. Her breathing was labored, and her stomach pained her with each breath she drew. At last the manor house came into view. Tall, red brick, with steep gables, just as her mother had described it. Anna stopped for a moment to pray aloud that she would find help here. She started when a deep voice materialized at her elbow. “You need assistance?” Anna turned around and came face to face with her guardian angel. Her angel was not handsome, but his eyes were the deepest, kindest shade of brown she had ever seen. She trusted him at once. She knew right away that she had found the help she needed. He would save her and her mother both. “My mother is sick,” she panted. “I left her in a hayrick along the path. I have walked since dawn to reach you here. Please, we need your help.” Anna knew, even as she spoke, that her guardian angel would look after her. The relief of being safe was too much for her to

bear. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift away into blackness.

Chapter Two Lord Ravensbourne looked at the unconscious girl crumpled at his feet. What had she said before collapsing? Something about her sick mother and a hayrick? He bent down and picked the girl up, cradling her in his arms. She weighed barely more than a feather, and looked as unkempt as a seagull after a storm. Her black dress was muddy at the hem, her shawl was tattered, and there were bits of straw sticking in her hair. Her face was pale and wan, and her cheeks had the sunken look of one who has not eaten much for several days. For all this, though, she looked well brought up. The poor child must be desperate to be driven to beg a stranger for help. He carried the girl into the manor house and rang for the footman. “Take the carriage and a couple of grooms,” he ordered, as soon as the footman appeared. “There is a sick woman in one of the hayricks along the road—Heaven knows which one. Look in every one until you find her, and don’t come back without her.” The footman hurried away to do his bidding. Lord Ravensbourne carried the girl upstairs and put her on the bed in the chamber next to that occupied by his sister. She was still asleep, or in a faint, he knew not which. He knocked abruptly on the door of the adjoining chamber and strode in. His sister was curled up in the window seat, a French romance in her hand. She lifted her head when she saw him enter. “Tom,” she said, her voice registering surprise. “What do you want? What have I done now? Are you come to scold me for spending too much on my latest bonnet? Well, and if you are, let me tell you that Georgina Perkins spent at least three pounds, seven shillings and fourpence on...”

Ravensbourne cut her off mid-sentence. “I do not care if you spend every penny of your dowry on bonnets,” he said brusquely. “I need your help. Come with me.” He led her to the adjoining chamber, where the young girl was lying on the bed. “She begged for help and then fainted at my feet as I was coming in from the stables,” he explained. “I don’t know what to do with her.” Charlotte ran to the young girl’s side. “Oh, the poor thing,” she said, as she knelt by the side of the bed. “She looks as though she is half-starved. And her face.” She smoothed a lock of hair away from the girl’s face, and Lord Ravensbourne saw a small cut that still had a trickle of dried blood crusted on it. The area around the cut was bruised and discolored. “Send the footman up with a tub of hot water, and ask the housekeeper to heat up a bowl of broth. She needs a bath and some food.” “I’ve sent the footman and the grooms off to find the girl’s mother, who’s lying sick somewhere in a hayrick between here and the village,” Lord Ravensbourne said. “Well, then ask one of the maids to carry it up,” Charlotte said easily. “And make sure the water is good and hot. We don’t want her catching a chill.” Ravensbourne shrugged. He would not ask a maid to carry the heavy tub up the stairs when he had a pair of perfectly good arms himself. He rolled up his sleeves and set to work. By the time he had wrestled the large, copper tub up the stairs, and brought in enough buckets of steaming hot water to fill it to the brim, the young girl had wakened again and was sitting up against the pillows, sipping broth, while Charlotte hovered anxiously nearby. When he drew back the screen to announce the bath was ready,

the girl turned her face towards him, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Your sister has told me that you have sent a carriage for my mother. I must thank you. She has a chill on her chest and is not well at all. I should have gone with your men to show them the way.” The girl was older than she had first appeared. When she had collapsed at his feet, Ravensbourne would have put her age at no more than twelve. Now, her violet eyes turned on him in gratitude, he would revise his estimate up to sixteen, maybe even seventeen. And very beautiful. Even the ugly bruise disfiguring part of her face and the tattered black dress she was wearing could not hide the fact that she was quite exquisite. In fact, she was more than beautiful. She was irresistible. Ravensbourne felt an instant reaction to her in his loins. He shifted uncomfortably, willing his body not to betray his thoughts. By the Lord above, he was no longer a lad to let himself be ruled by what hung between his legs. “You could not have gone with them,” he said, more gruffly than he had intended. “You were quite insensible. They will find your mother on their own.” The beautiful violet eyes of the stranger filled with tears at the harshness of his tone. “Oh, Tom,” Charlotte said, as she took the empty bowl from the young girl and set it aside. “Do not be a ninny. It was not Anna’s fault that she swooned.” Ravensbourne shrugged. Indeed, he had not wished to be harsh. He had merely been unsettled by his reaction to the stranger. By way of apology, he held out his arms. “Your name is Anna, is it? Come, I will lift you into the bath before it gets cold.” The girl shrank back on to the bed and shook her head. Two bright

circles of color reddened her cheeks. “N...no, no,” she stammered. “I am quite able to manage myself.” To prove her point, she swung her legs over the side of the bed farthest away from him and stood . The bravado of the effect was spoiled when her legs had not the strength to support her, and she had to grab the bedpost in a hurry to save herself from falling. Ravensbourne strode around the bed and caught her just as she was about to collapse at his feet for the second time that day. Not heeding her protests, he caught her up in his arms as a mother would carry an infant and placed her behind the screen on a stool next to the tub. “Take off your dress,” he ordered her, as she made no effort to move. “You need a bath.” “I cannot undress with you here,” Anna said. Tom heard a quiver in her voice, as if she were trying not to cry. “You must leave.” “Oh, nonsense,” Charlotte said, as she came up behind Anna and started to undo the long row of buttons down the girl’s back. “You will need help to get into the bath—you cannot even stand up by yourself without falling over. I cannot lift you in by myself, and none of the maids are any stronger than I am. The housekeeper is old now, and she has the rheumatiks in her joints besides. The cook is needed in the kitchen. The footman is away fetching your mother, and he has taken the grooms with him. So there is no one left but Tom. He will have to lift you in.” Anna clasped her dress to her chest and shook her head. “I do not need a bath,” she said stubbornly. Ravensbourne laughed. “My dear child,” he said, “I have dogs cleaner than you are. You need to be dumped into the tub and scrubbed from head to foot before you are fit for decent company.”

Anna’s face flamed, but she held tight to her dress. “I will not have a bath,” she said. “You cannot make me.” Ravensbourne took pity on her. The girl was evidently terrified of undressing before him, and trying desperately not to show it. “I will shut my eyes,” he said. “On my word as a gentleman, I will not look at you. I will lift you into the bath and retire at once. Your modesty will be safe with me.” Anna looked up at him, her eyes wide. “You promise?” Ravensbourne nodded. “I promise.” She turned to Charlotte. “Will he keep his word?” Angry words rose in his throat at her doubt, but before he could utter them, Charlotte nodded. “Of course he will, silly. Tom never breaks a promise.” “Then shut your eyes now.” Ravensbourne shut his eyes and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He could hear the soft rustle of fabric as Charlotte helped Anna to step out of her clothes. He tried not to imagine what she looked like without them. He would honor his promise in spirit as well as in deed. “I am ready now,” Anna whispered at last. Ravensbourne stepped forward, his eyes shut, and banged his shins on the edge of the tub. He swore under his breath. Charlotte laughed aloud, and he thought he heard Anna give a stifled giggle. He held out his arms. “Come here,” he demanded, “so I can lift you into this damned bath and be done with it.” He felt rather than heard Anna move into his arms. “I’m here,” she whispered. With care he took hold of her, wrapping one gentle hand around her shoulder and arm, the back of his knuckles brushing against her soft, full breasts. He could feel a jolt of pleasure traveling up

his arm from the contact. He didn’t move his hand away. He was not strong-willed enough to resist the pleasure that this small contact with her gave him. His other hand skimmed the smooth, cool flesh of her rounded buttocks and thighs, before settling on her knees. He picked her up, holding her tight against him for a moment. She flinched away from his touch, and he could feel her heart beating like that of a frightened bird. She was but a child. He must remember that. Gently he lowered her into the tub. “There you are,” he muttered, as he felt the warm water lap against his forearms. Then he turned his back on her, opened his eyes, and strode past the screen into the chamber. He could hear sounds of soft splashing from behind the screen. He sat down on the bed and closed his eyes again. Hearing the young girl washing herself in the bath was playing havoc with his imagination. She was obviously in need of help. Hungry, destitute, and with a sick mother to care for. With a face like hers, bruised and battered though it was, it would not be long before someone or other offered her their protection—at a price. Might it not just as well be him as another man? Lord Ravensbourne felt his face grow hot at the very thought. He mentally kicked himself for his base thoughts. His charity was not dependent on such ignoble conditions. It was his duty as a landowner and as a God-fearing man to extend a helping hand to those in need. He was no usurer, to demand that his charity be repaid with interest. It had been too long since he had last visited Polly, the innkeeper’s pretty daughter from the next village. He would ride over and visit her tonight. He liked her well enough. She was

plump and cheerful, and knew how to please a man. He would visit her more often, indeed, except he disliked the thought of having to share her favors with every passing fop. Still, unless he would sow bastards around the countryside, which he was loath to do, he would have to make do with professionals such as Polly until he took a wife. His mind was favorably engaged in imagining what services he would require of Polly that evening when a horrified gasp startled him out of his reverie. He opened his eyes and beheld in front of him a sight that made even the delicious thought of Polly fade into nothingness. Anna stood in front of him. She had just risen from the tub and stepped around the screen, and her glistening dark hair hung over her shoulders in wet curls. Her breasts were larger than he would have imagined them. They were truly a woman’s breasts, beautifully proportioned, pear-shaped, with puckered rose-pink tips. His fingers ached to take them into his hands, to feel the delicious weight of them, to draw them towards him, into his mouth, to touch and taste them with his tongue. Hurriedly he moved his eyes from her breasts before he gave into the temptation to reach out and take them in his hands as he longed to do. His eyes moved lower, drinking in the sight of her as though she were his only hope of salvation. The rest of her body was as beautiful as her breasts. Her hips were rounded and lush. Despite his good intentions, his gaze focused on the triangular patch of curls between her legs... Her hair was as black as sin—and just as enticing. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and reached out for her. His movement broke the spell Anna was under. She whirled around with a gasp, tottered three steps, and fell to the ground.

“Tom,” came Charlotte’s scandalized shriek, “whatever are you doing here?” Ravensbourne picked the insensible Anna up again and laid her on the bed. With trembling hands, he drew a coverlet over her naked form, as much to remove temptation from his view as to keep the girl warm. “I was waiting to lift our guest out of her bath again,” he said, his voice harsh with guilt and self-condemnation. “Unfortunately the two of you decided you could do without me, and look what your foolishness has lead to. The poor child was startled when she saw me, and she has fainted again.” “I thought you had left,” Charlotte said miserably. “And Anna wouldn’t hear of me calling you back again. She insisted that the bath had completely revived her and she could manage by herself.” She sat down on the bed beside Anna and started to chafe one of the girl’s hands between her own. “She looks familiar somehow, doesn’t she?” Ravensbourne shrugged his shoulders. “I know I have never seen her before in my life. I would not quickly forget such a face as hers.” Charlotte clicked her tongue in exasperation. “I didn’t mean that I had ever seen her before either,” she said. “It is just that she looks so familiar.” She cocked her head on one side and considered Anna thoughtfully. “Grandfather’s second wife was supposed to have been a beauty. There is a portrait of her in the gallery, painted when she first married Grandfather, that looks decidedly like Anna. They have the same black hair, and those unusually colored eyes, rather like amethysts. I have never seen anyone else with eyes of that color. Do you think Anna might be our cousin?” Lord Ravensbourne considered his sister’s suggestion in silence for a moment. He had never heard that he had a cousin, but

Charlotte’s idea did have some merit. Those violet eyes were most uncommon, as well as most uncommonly beautiful. Besides, if she were related to him, it made sense that she would come to him for help. The sky was lightening into the silvery gray of early dawn when Anna awoke. It was still very early, but she could not wait until the house was stirring before she knew how her mother was faring. Hurriedly she rose from the bed. Her long sleep and the food that kind Charlotte had pressed on her had revived her. She felt strong enough to scale a mountain this morning. The black dress she had worn the previous day was nowhere to be seen. Hanging over the clothes horse in its place was a pretty confection of yellow silk, along with a fine linen shift and a pair of silk stockings. Anna did not like to put the dress on, as she was still in mourning for her father, but she had no choice. She stuck her nose into the small wardrobe in the corner of the chamber, but it was empty. Unless she wanted to prowl the corridors of the house stark naked, she would have to wear the yellow. It was a little long for her, and too tight in the bodice, but it would do. Crossing the room on her stocking feet, she opened the door of her chamber and peered out. The corridor was deserted. She slipped along, opened the door adjacent to hers a crack and peered in. She closed it again just as fast. That was not a spare chamber for guests. The bottles of perfumes and lotions on the dressing table, the lace cap discarded carelessly on the floor, the pretty plumcolored bonnet with pink ribbons tossed on the chair, all told their own story.

The chamber on the other side of the young lady’s boudoir was empty. The curtains around the bed were drawn back, and the bed unoccupied. With a sigh, Anna crossed to the other side of the corridor. If her mother had indeed been found, she must be in one of these chambers. There were not many more to search. She pushed open the door of the chamber closest to the great staircase. The first sight that met her eyes was a large pair of black boots lying on the rug. Gentlemen’s boots. She gave a slight gasp. Her mother would not be in there. She was pulling the door closed behind her again when a voice interrupted her. “Who is there?” it demanded. She recognized that deep voice, husky now with sleep. “Come in here so I can see who you are.” Anna fought the urge to flee into the safety of her own chamber. She would find her mother with far greater speed if she could conquer her panic for long enough to find out where she was. She pushed the door ajar and stood in the doorway, from where she could escape into the corridor if she had to. “I apologize for disturbing you, my lord,” she said, in her bravest voice. “I did not mean to wake you.” Despite her efforts to keep her voice calm, it broke as she explained. “I was looking for my mother. Did your men find her? Is she well?” There was a sigh from the man in the bed. “I should have guessed it was you. Yes, we have found your mother. Wait outside just a moment.” Almost fainting with relief, Anna pulled the door closed and leaned against the far wall, her whole body shaking with the after-effects of her fear. It seemed but a minute before he opened the door to his chamber again. He had taken that minute to dress himself in a pair of

breeches, the pair of boots that Anna had seen on the rug, and a white linen shirt. His jacket was slung over his shoulder. He hadn’t taken the time to button his shirt all the way, but had merely tucked it into his breeches. Anna felt her throat constrict at the sight of his bare chest. He was not at all like the squire, who reminded her of a sly fox. No, this man was not a fox. He was a tawny lion from the wilds of Africa, or a fierce, striped tiger from the Indies. She gazed in wonderment at the sight of his golden-brown curls peeking over the top of his white linen shirt. He didn’t disgust her, as the squire had. In fact, it seemed as though suddenly there was no air in the corridor. She could not breathe. He grinned when he saw her gaze focused on his torso. “I hope,” he said, “that you are admiring my chest one half as much as I am admiring yours.” Anna crossed her arms hurriedly over her breasts and dropped her eyes. Lord Ravensbourne’s smile made her feel as though she were standing naked before him. Again. “I wasn’t admiring your chest at all,” she muttered under her breath. “What a pity. But, please, do not stop looking at me,” he said, “or I shall feel honor-bound to stop staring at you.” Anna didn’t know what to say. She hung her head in mute embarrassment. “And that would surely be a shame, as you have the most beautiful chest a man could wish to be staring at. But come,” he added. “I should not be keeping you waiting in this drafty hallway. I will take you to your mother.” Her head lowered to hide her blushes, Anna followed him along the corridor to the last door on the left. “Your mother’s in here,” he said, as he pushed the door ajar. “The

housekeeper has been sitting up with her.” Anna peeked in. An elderly woman was sitting in a rocking chair by the bed, her head nodding in sleep. The sound of a faint cough came from the person in the bed. Anna tiptoed into the room. “Mother?” she whispered, as she drew back the bed curtains. Her mother was lying in the bed, her eyes open. “Anna, my love,” her mother said. Her voice was weak and tired, but it was lucid and gentle. “I am glad to see you.” Anna felt tears prick the back of her eyelids. She knelt on the floor by the bed and took her mother in her arms. “Mother,” she cried in relief, “you’re better.” “Indeed,” her mother answered. “The hot posset that the kind cook brewed up for me last night did wonders for my cough. That, and knowing you were safe.” Ravensbourne came to stand beside them. Anna could feel his presence as he towered above her. “Safe? What trouble were you in?” His voice was rough and husky, but not harsh or demanding. The housekeeper in the rocking chair woke at the sound of his voice. She got stiffly to her feet and withdrew into the corner, looking a little shamefaced at being caught asleep, when she should have been watching by the bedside of an invalid. Anna’s mother looked up at the newcomer. “Ah, you must be little Tom,” she said after a moment. “Though to be sure, you were in short coats when I last saw you. You were a child of six or seven when I left home to be married. But you are unmistakably your father’s son. And Edward, your father, how is he?” “He died these two years ago,” Lord Ravensbourne replied. “Why do you ask?” Mrs. Woodleigh wiped a tear away from her eye. “So Edward is dead. I am sorry for it. He was always good to me. If only my pride

had not kept me away these many years…” Over the last several minutes, Anna had watched a puzzled look grow on Lord Ravensbourne’s face. He seemed to be grasping at something just out of reach. Suddenly his face cleared. “Aunt Lydia?” he ventured. “My father’s younger step-sister?” His voice grew in confidence and conviction with each word he spoke. “You are Aunt Lydia, aren’t you? You used to sit me on your lap and sing to me, and bring me sweetmeats back from the town.” Mrs. Woodleigh nodded. “Yes, I am your Aunt Lydia, though I am not the giddy girl I was when I ran away. I have come back to beg you for aid. My husband is dead, and Anna and I have no one else to turn to.” “But why did you not write when you found yourself in such a position?” Lord Ravensbourne said. “I would have sent the carriage and an escort for you, even if you had been as far away as Cornwall, or over the sea in the wilds of Ireland. It is not fitting that you and my young cousin should be forced to sleep in hayricks like beggars.” “We could not wait to write,” Mrs. Woodleigh replied. “It was not safe for us to stay.” “Not safe?” “My husband died five days ago. Anna needs a father to protect her.” Lord Ravensbourne raised his eyebrows in a silent query, but Mrs. Woodleigh refused to explain further. “We will not trespass on your patience for any longer than we have to,” she said. “All I ask is the use of an empty cottage on your estate for Anna and me. I have a small pension, and we could have a garden and keep chickens. If you would be so kind as to take us in, God would bless you for it,

and we would not cost you much.” Anna nodded. “And if you could help me find a post as a governess or a nursery maid in a respectable house with no gentlemen in it, I would be most grateful, and the drain on your purse would be the less.” Lord Ravensbourne looked at her and then burst out laughing. “Come now, a governess? At your age? You would be younger than your charges.” Anna drew herself up to her full height. “I am nineteen, my lord,” she said. “I am quite old enough to be a governess, and my father has taught me well.” Lord Ravensbourne raised his brows briefly before turning towards Anna’s mother. “Aunt Lydia, I bid you welcome to my house. From now on, it is your house, too. I will not hear of you moving out to a cottage.” He turned back to Anna. “And, my pretty little cousin, there will be no more talk of governessing. No cousin of mine need earn her bread while I have a crust to share with her.” Squire Grantley stared out at the light drizzle misting his fields and swore viciously under his breath. He had not found a trace of that damned slut Anna Woodleigh yet, and he had been searching for her for a fortnight and more. By Christ’s bones, when he found her, she would rue the day she had crossed him. He slapped his switch against the side of his high-top leather boot. He would take pleasure in taking his whip to the bitch’s sides. Each ache and pain she had caused him he would repay her tenfold. He fingered his groin, still bruised and tender from the blow she had dealt him. He still did not know whether his shaft would ever rise again. It would be no more than she deserved

were he to strip her naked and beat the faithless tart until she begged for mercy. As for those pious hypocrites, the villagers who had helped Anna and her mother run away, they would be duly punished. This very afternoon. The light drizzle turned to a downpour before Squire Grantley had ridden halfway to the village. By the time he reached Mistress Weaver’s cottage, he was wet through and steaming with anger. He strode through her cottage door and flung his crop in the corner. “You have nothing more to tell me about the whereabouts of Mrs. Woodleigh and her daughter?” he asked. Mistress Weaver, startled, dropped her cooking pot in the fire and whirled around to face him. “I’ve already told you all I know,” she said, and gave a small curtsey. “Mrs. Woodleigh told me that she was going to pay a visit to some relatives of hers.” The squire laced his fingers together behind his back and paced up and down. “Their names?” “I’ve already told your worship that I don’t know their names. Mrs. Woodleigh didn’t tell me their names.” “I have an arrest warrant for Anna Woodleigh for malicious assault. Keeping her location a secret makes you an accessory to her crime.” His hearing was sharp enough to catch Mistress Weaver’s muttered, “Crime? Fiddlesticks.” “It is plain to me,” the squire said, his voice icy with fury, “that you know more than you are revealing. I will not tolerate such open flouting of the law.” He stepped outside and beckoned to the grooms who had accompanied him. “Pull the roof off this cottage. Immediately.” They hesitated. “But it’s rainin’, your honor,” one of them said.

“Pull off the roof. Now. Every shingle that is left on that roof in an hour’s time will be worth ten strokes of the whip on your miserable hides.” He smiled to himself in satisfaction as Mistress Weaver, rain and tears streaming down her wrinkled face, watched helplessly as her pathetic possessions were trampled into the mud. She deserved to be made a pauper. Rafe was working in his millhouse when the squire rode up an hour later. He doffed his cap at the squire. “Tie him to his millwheel,” Squire Grantley ordered. With some muttering and mumbling, the grooms obeyed, looping loose shanks of rope about the miller’s bony wrists. “Where are Anna and her mother?” he demanded of the old man. “I dropped them in the market town, as I told your worship,” the miller replied truculently. “I don’t know where they went after that.” Squire Grantley flicked his riding crop so the tip of it lashed the miller’s chest. The miller winced in pain, but didn’t cry out. “What road did they take?” he demanded. “I was unloading sacks of flour at the time. I didn’t see which way they went.” The squire flicked his riding crop again. This time it cut through the miller’s threadbare shirt and raised a red weal on his skin. Tears sprang into the miller’s rheumy eyes. “Where did they say they were going?” “They didn’t say.” The miller’s voice was hoarse with pain. Another flick of the squire’s wrist and another red welt on the miller’s chest. “Who were they visiting?” “I...don’t...know.”

Another flick. Another red weal. “I am your master. You will answer me.” Flick. The miller’s eyes rolled up and his head slumped forward onto his chest. Squire Grantley pulled him up by his hair, but the miller was in a swoon. He spat on the packed earth floor in disgust. He would get no more information out of the miller that day. He turned towards the miller’s wife, who was wringing her hands and weeping in the doorway. “Let this be a lesson to your husband not to aid those who break the law,” he said. He rode home in no better temper than he had started out. Despite the small measure of satisfaction he had gained from doling out due punishments to Mistress Weaver and the miller, he was no closer to finding his young runaway, Anna. He had personally searched the market town for days, but had found no trace of the fugitives. He would widen his search now to the surrounding areas. Maybe they were hiding out in a small village, or on a farm nearby. If so, he would soon flush them out. It was possible, he decided with a frown, that they had decided to make for Norwich, to the north. It was the only city of a decent size in this part of England. Maybe they were hoping to lose themselves in a crowd. If they were indeed hoping so, they would find themselves sadly mistaken. He had watched young Anna grow up from a coltish girl to a woman of surpassing beauty. He had watched her and wished for her and waited for her for year upon year. She belonged to him. He would not tolerate his prize being snatched out from under his nose. He would find her, he vowed to himself, if it were the last thing he

did. And he would teach her such a lesson that she would never run from him again.

Chapter Three Charlotte picked idly at a scrap of lace on her gown. “The dower house was refurbished from attic to cellar. You must have spent a fortune on getting it ready for Aunt Lydia and Cousin Anna.” Ravensbourne raised his eyes from the ground at the sound of his sister’s voice. “What did you say?” he asked, flicking his whip and beheading a patch of daisies on the turf beside the path. His mind had been miles away from his sister. He had been thinking about his cousin. About the clarity of her beautiful amethyst eyes. About the enticing swellings of her breasts, hidden though they were under the plain black of her mourning gown. About the rest of her luscious, ripe body... He had seen her unclothed once, and that sight was seared on his memory. Each curve, every hollow of her body was etched on his mind. He could not sleep at night for thinking of her, for imagining her in his bed beside him, responding to his every caress... “I said,” Charlotte said, as she poked him in the side with her elbow. “That you are a miserly, old spoilsport to flinch at spending a few pounds to hold a fabulous ball for me this summer, when you must have spent at least two hundred pound on getting the dower house ready.” Ravensbourne shrugged his shoulders and didn’t answer. Truth to tell, he had spent much more even than Charlotte had guessed. Two hundred pound would not even account for the half of it. He had told himself, as he had given the orders for the new roof, for numerous repairs to the inside of the house, and for the new furniture, that he was just preserving his heritage. He ought not to let the fine old building go to rack and ruin for the want of a few

pennies spent on it. All the time, though, he knew that the money he spent on restoring it would have been far better put to use in improvements in his farming techniques, in buying extra livestock, or in settling more tenants on his lands to work the fields now lying fallow. No, he had restored the house for Anna, so she would have a comfortable place to live which she could call her own, and where she could feel safe and secure. Most importantly, it was close enough to his own manor house to allow him to watch over her and keep her from harm. Several times now she had asked him to recommend her as a governess to a quiet family, but he did not want to let her out of his sight. He wanted Anna. He wanted her with a fierce ache that left him no room for any other emotion. He couldn’t think of anything else but her. He had altered the dower house for her, and her only. It had been agony over the last few weeks sleeping under the same roof as she did. Each time he saw her, his manhood stirred and sprang to life with desire. Each time she looked up at him with her frightened half-smile, he had to fight an ever increasing need to take her into his arms and kiss her until she melted into him. The lightest touch of her hand on his arm, or the swish of her skirts against his thighs as he escorted her into dinner, made him desperate to plunge into her soft, sweet body, until she cried out under him with pleasure. He wanted her so badly his body hurt all over. But Anna was terrified of him. Oh, she hid it well enough most of the time, but her fear was still there, lurking under the surface of her composure. He didn’t know what had made her and her mother leave their last

home so precipitously. Whatever it was had left Anna with dark circles around her eyes, as though she was afraid to sleep at night. Once, when he had startled her dozing in the window seat, she had screamed in fear and whirled around at him, the book she had been dreaming over raised in her hand ready to strike at him. “If you married Georgina Perkins and her dowry—” Charlotte’s voice cut into his thoughts. “—you would be able to hold a ball every night for a year, and spend a thousand pound on the dower house if you wanted to. You could even buy that piece of pasture land over on the south border that you have been wanting,” she added slyly. Ravensbourne shook his head. Charlotte belonged in Bedlam if she thought he would ever marry the Perkins girl, even with all her thousands. The mere thought of taking her pasty white skin and skinny hen’s legs to his bed was enough to give him a fit of the deliriums. “I have no wish to give a ball every night for a year, I bought that piece of land last week for a good price, and Miss Perkins has bright red hair and freckles.” Charlotte turned her head on one side and pursed her lips. “Georgina has wonderful auburn hair and beautiful skin.” “She is simple-minded.” “Nonsense. She is simply sweet-natured and kind.” “She bores me to tears.” “You have only met her twice.” “I have no wish to meet her a third time.” Charlotte was silent for a few moments. “Anna has no dowry.” “She does not need one,” Ravensbourne said abruptly. “She is beautiful enough that suitors will be standing in rows outside her door as soon as word gets out that she is here. She will have to

fight off the men who come a-courting her.” “They will come courting,” Charlotte said, a little sharply. “I have no doubt of that. But will they have marriage on their minds?” Anna picked her way over the yard towards the horse market, her arm in her cousin’s, and holding her skirts above her ankle to keep clear of the mud. She had never been to a horse market before. There were so many beautiful animals to admire, so many people bustling about haggling over their purchases, such a smell of sweat and horse manure, and so much noise—the haggling of those looking for a bargain, the neighing of the animals, the shouts of the men selling hot sausages on sticks, the creaking of harnesses and the crack of ropes. She felt overwhelmed by the assault on her senses. Lord Ravensbourne steered her to a quiet spot where she could take her bearings, in a corner where a pretty gray mare was tethered behind a makeshift barrier of rough-hewn logs. She dropped her cousin’s arm and seated herself on the barrier. The mare came up to her and nosed into Anna’s hand, looking for a carrot or a lump of sweet sugar. She stroked the neck of the beautiful animal and blew softly into her ear. “You are a beauty,” she whispered, in a soft, soothing voice, not wanting to upset the delicate animal with a loud, rough noise. As pure bred as the mare was, she was bound to be highstrung and nervy. “A real beauty. You’ll make some lady a fine mount, I know you will.” The mare snickered and nuzzled into Anna’s neck with her soft, warm nose. “Yes, I know you’re adorable,” Anna said, as she pushed the mare’s nose away gently with the palm of her hand, “but I’m afraid

you’re not for me, my love. Mother wants a quiet little donkey and a small cart, not a fine lady’s mount like you are.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Ravensbourne watching her as she petted the mare. His dark eyes sent an uncomfortable shiver of awareness along her spine. Her cousin’s eyes were as black as sin and twice as full of temptation. They made her feel strangely uneasy, hot and cold at the same time. She had never had such a confusing and complicated reaction to a man before. Her feelings had always been so simple. A man was good and kind, like her father, or he was evil, like the squire. At any rate, she was sure Lord Ravensbourne could not be completely a good man, or she would not feel so uncomfortable around him, as if she would be wise to flee his company while she still could. He had been very kind to her and her mother, she reminded herself sharply, and she was a foolish girl to be troubled by what looked like hunger in his eyes. She ought to see deeper into his heart and judge him by his actions, not on the basis of a foolish fancy. But the squire had seemed kind, too, in offering her the position of governess. And the squire, God rot his soul, had had the same look in his eyes before he had… She shivered again, feeling cold, despite the sun beating down on the back of her neck. Sometimes, in the dark of night, when the wind rattled her casement window, and the dower house creaked and groaned like an aged woman with the rheumatiks in her joints, she hoped in the black and bitter depths of her wicked heart that she had killed Squire Grantley.

The rest of the time, she was terrified she had killed him. She had not checked him for a pulse before she left. If she had been guilty of his murder, God would not let her sins remain unpunished. Sooner or later, whether or not the law of man ever caught up with her misdeed, divine retribution would fall on her. The gray mare whickered softly and pawed the ground, impatient with being ignored. With a sudden start, Anna brought her mind back to the present. She would not darken the day with her evil remembrances and her even more wicked thoughts. She had a task to perform. Giving the mare one last pat, she turned away from her with some regret. She didn’t long to possess the horse herself—she had not the means to keep even a modest hack, let alone a mare fit for the new queen herself to ride. The mare’s spirit, combined with her gentleness, had attracted Anna from the moment she had walked into the marketplace, and she would like to stay and breathe in her soft animal scent longer. But her mother needed a donkey cart. She turned away from Lord Ravensbourne and the hungry look in his eyes, and accepted the arm of his uncle, Mr. Melcott, who had materialized at her elbow and was murmuring offers of assistance in her ear. Mr. Melcott, a wool merchant from London who was staying with Lord Ravensbourne for some weeks, had accompanied them both to the small horse market in the nearby village. “I know you have some business to transact,” she said to her cousin, dismissing him as politely as she could to escape from his unnerving gaze. “Do not let me delay you. Mr. Melcott has offered to help me conduct mine.” Lord Ravensbourne looked black at her words, but, after a long moment of silence, he nodded. “Send the footman to find me

when you are done. Melcott, you know where I am.” And he strode away without another word. Mr. Melcott tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, just as her father had done when he had been alive. “You like the mare?” he asked her, his voice grave. “Who would not?” she answered lightly. “But she would not do for my purposes. She is far too well-bred to lower herself to pull a donkey cart. I doubt her pride would suffer her to be harnessed to such an indignity. She would kick up her heels and off with her traces in no time at all.” “You are too pretty a young lady to ride in a cart. Were you my daughter, I should give you a carriage to ride in, and fine jewels to wear.” She was little pleased at the implied criticism of her father. Besides, she disliked the tone in his voice. “Better ride in a cart than have to walk.” Melcott, with his sober black woolen cloak, his tall-crowned hat and the plain buckles on his black shoes, dressed just as her father had done. With his weather-beaten face and slightly hooked nose, he even looked a bit like her beloved father. In temperament, however, they were far apart. Her father had been loving and gentle, while Melcott seemed distant and at times severe. Melcott had returned to Norfolk, the place of his birth, to remove himself for a while from the dissipations of the king and his new court in London. During his time in London, Melcott had built himself up as a prosperous wool merchant and was now retired to the country to enjoy the fruits of his labors. Anna’s father had approved of hard work and making your own way in the world, lamenting how frivolous England had become under the restored monarchy, and how silks and satins and

foppery had replaced sobriety and religion and the love of the Lord. Mr. Melcott, too, clung to the old ways, just as her father had done, though with more fire and brimstone and fear of the Devil than her father had ever preached. Although Mr. Melcott’s talk sometimes revolved more around profits and losses than Anna thought could be easily reconciled with Christian charity and the grace of God, he seemed to be an honest, hard-working man. He didn’t look at her as if she were a sweetmeat ready for his palate. He didn’t cause her stomach to be filled with uncomfortable flutterings, and her face to burn when he did so little as glance at her. She felt safe with him. The sun was getting high in the sky before Anna found a smart blue cart for her mother to ride in, and a dun brown donkey with sad, silent eyes to pull it. With a small gesture, she pointed out her choice of animal to her escort. He pursed his lips for a moment, then gave a considered nod. “That one looks sturdy enough.” They stepped up to donkey’s owner, a quiet woman in a faded shawl. On one hip she balanced a thin, pale baby, while a ragged urchin clung to the hem of her tattered gown. “What will you take for the donkey?” Melcott demanded. The woman named a price Anna thought reasonable. She opened her mouth to close the deal on the spot, but Melcott forestalled her with a quelling look. “I’ll take care of it,” he said to her in a low voice. “It is my Christian duty to see that your youth and inexperience aren’t taken advantage of.” He turned towards the woman and gestured dismissively at the animal. “He looks like he’s had a hard life.” The woman fixed her gaze on the ground and shuffled her feet

together. “We allus took good care of him.” Melcott circled the donkey, taking care to keep well away from its wicked-looking back hooves, before forcing the donkey’s mouth open with a practiced hand and examining the beast’s teeth with a critical eye. “How old is he? Nine? Ten? Eleven years?” “Seven, sir.” Melcott raised his eyebrows and looked disbelieving. “Seven? Are you sure?” “W...we raised him from a foal,” the woman stammered. Melcott stood silent for a moment, then named a price just under half what the woman had asked for. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. I just couldn’t take that for him. He’d be worth more than that cut up for my lord’s dogs.” He raised his price by a small margin. The woman hesitated. He rapped his cane smartly against the ground. “Take it or leave it. It’s my final offer.” The woman's forehead creased into a frown, but at last she nodded. “I’ll take it.” Melcott stepped back again, a satisfied smile on his face. “There, you see, I got you a good bargain, just as I said I would,” he said in an undertone to Anna. “The beast would fetch double that tomorrow, if you were to take him to the big market in Norwich and sell him there.” Anna stepped forward to pay, her small stock of coins heavy in the leather bag. She counted out the price that the woman had asked for at first, and after a couple of seconds of hesitation, added an extra precious silver penny. The woman needed the money far more than she and her mother did. She would not forget her father’s lessons in charity, even though he was no longer with her

to remind her of them. The woman stared at the money Anna put into her hand and raised a pair of eyes that shone with an almost desperate hope. Anna closed the woman’s hand over the money, and was rewarded with a sweet smile. The man with the cart to sell had bold eyes, a thick, red neck, and a strident voice. “Hey, pretty miss,” he called to her, as he saw her eying the cart uncertainly. “Come give me a kiss, and I’ll give ye a fine bargain on the cart, and whatever else yer may take a fancy to. What say ye to that now?” The knot of men standing around him, foaming tankards of ale in their hands, laughed uproariously at his suggestion, and crowded around her, encircling her in their midst. Their breath smelled of sour ale, and their bodies of rank sweat. Their voices were coarse and mocking. Anna stood in the middle of the throng, clutching Melcott’s arm in a death grip, and willing her legs not to shake. Like wolves, they needed only to smell the fear on her and they would attack. “Come give me a kiss instead,” offered one of them, as he swiped the ale foam from his coarse lips with the back of his hand, “and I’ll give ye something better than a bargain.” “Nah, ye don’t want to kiss him, my pretty,” shouted a third. “He’s been eating onions, like, and his breath stinks worse than common. As for me, my breath is as sweet as any fine lady’s.” “Yeah, when she speaks out of her arse,” said another, and there was a burst of ribald laughter. They were crowding her now, nigh on close enough to touch her skirt. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she thought she would die. She looked up at Melcott, begging him

without words to rescue her. “Don’t let them worry you,” he said, his voice betraying his unease. “They mean no harm.” He moved half a pace in front of her and waved his stick at them. “Be off with you now, there’s my good lads, or I’ll have the law on you.” His words had the opposite of their intended effect. Instead, the men’s mood turned ugly. The first man stopped in his tracks and gave Melcott an evil glare. “What did the old parson say?” The group closed around them, and their voices grew louder and more angry. “Old Crop-ear called us his ‘good lads’ and threatened to set the constable on us. What do you say about that, eh?” “I’d say he needs to be taught a lesson.” “And his piece of skirt, too.” “She needs to learn the difference between a puffed-up old bag of wind and a real man.” And he jutted his hips out in an obscene gesture. Anna could almost see them salivating as they drew ever nearer. “I bet she’s dying for it.” “What do you say, fellows? Onion-breath reached out and brushed the back of his hand across her breast. She shuddered at his touch and shrank back into Melcott’s side. “She’s a pretty filly, and no mistake. High time she was broken in.” “And ridden by a proper man, too. Not an old dotard with a wizened up prick so small that she canna tell whether he’s coming or going.” There was another burst of laughter and they crowded closer, jostling Melcott out of their way, heedless of his shrill protests and

yelps of pain as he was tumbled to the ground. Anna stood, frozen with fear, as Melcott was rolled beneath their boots. She knew they would have no more pity for her sex than they did for Melcott’s age. It seemed an eternity of fear, waiting for the horrid inevitable, before their hands were groping and pawing at her hair, her clothes, her breasts. She tried to fight them off, but she had only two hands, and she was slow with a benumbing fear. And there were so many men to fight off. The pounding of her heart and the rushing in her ears drowned out all other sounds. Dimly she was aware of a high-pitched keening. Then, all at once, the crowd around her lessened. Lord Ravensbourne appeared like an avenging angel, picking her tormentors off the ground one by one and tossing them aside like the dirt they were, until he reached her side. Anna felt a wave of relief so strong she could barely stand wash over her. Her legs buckled at the knees, and she had to grab on to her cousin’s arm to hold herself upright. He picked her up in his arms as if she were a feather. “Did they hurt you?” He sounded angry enough to throttle them all singlehandedly. Anna shook her head. “No,” she whispered, clutching the front of his jacket as if he were her hope of salvation. “You rescued us before they had time to do much more than just frighten me.” Lord Ravensbourne took a purse full of coins from his pocket. “Here’s a fair price for your cart,” he spat, as he tossed a handful of silver onto the ground in front of the cart-owner, who lay sprawled in the mud where he had been thrown. “And consider yourself lucky you are still alive to spend it.” “They meant to hurt us,” Melcott complained in a high-pitched

whine, as he picked himself up and limped after them to the carriage, shaking the dust off his jacket and knocking the dents out of his tall-crowned hat. “They were king’s men for sure, and have no respect for Godly men. They were panting for my blood. You have my gratitude for your timely rescue.” Lord Ravensbourne inclined his head to his uncle. “I am glad I was in time to be of assistance. And you, my dear young cousin,” he said, as he lifted Anna into the carriage, and tucked a rug around her lap, “can cease your trembling now. You are safe.” Anna nodded obediently, but for some strange reason, her teeth were chattering violently, and she could not will them to stop. Lord Ravensbourne held out a hip flask to her. “Drink,” he commanded her. “It will warm your insides.” Anna took a swig of the spirits inside and felt it burn all the way down her throat to make a fire in her stomach, repelling the icy cold that had her in its grip. “Another,” he commanded her. Anna took another gulp. Her head was spinning now, but at least she was no longer shivering. A dizzying sense of thankfulness washed over her, and she silently gave her thanks to her Creator. Twice now He had sent Lord Ravensbourne to her in her moment of need. Twice, Lord Ravensbourne had saved a life. First her mother’s. And now hers. God must have a strange sense of humor, she thought fuzzily, as she drifted off to sleep to the gentle rocking motion of the carriage, to send her a fine Lord to be her guardian angel.

“Anna, Anna, come see the present Tom has bought you.”

At the first sound of Charlotte’s voice, Anna put down the book she had been reading and rose to greet her visitor. She had been home a week since her near disastrous visit to the horse market and had not ventured outside since, except to tend to the vegetable patch in the back of the dower house. Even then, she felt better when her mother was within sight. Charlotte had come to visit her every day, usually escorted by Mr. Melcott, and Lord Ravensbourne had come to see her three times. They had all been very kind to her, and respected her wish to remain indoors. She had stopped shaking every time she heard a footstep she didn’t recognize, and her sense of being stalked by wickedness and haunted by terrors she could not see was lessening day by day. Charlotte dashed in, panting, her normally tidy hair blown all to pieces by the wind, and grabbed Anna by the hands. “Come. Now. You cannot stay indoors on such a glorious day.” Judging by the strength in her grasp, she was in no mood to be thwarted. Anna let herself be dragged outside. It was good to feel the sunshine on her face and the wind in her hair again. Charlotte was so carefree and so high-spirited, and the day was so perfect, that Anna felt the last remnant of her ghosts leave her. The air was warm and hazy with the heady fragrance of midsummer. On such a beautiful day, what could one be other than happy? Charlotte was setting a punishing pace, and Anna struggled to keep up. “Where are we going?” She panted as Charlotte pulled her along, showing no sign of stopping. Charlotte gave a wicked grin. “I shan’t tell you.” Anna was intrigued. “So, what is this present, then?” she asked, with as much breath as she could muster.

“I shan’t tell you.” She pulled her hand out of Charlotte’s and flopped to the ground for a rest. “And why did Lord Ravensbourne buy me a present anyway?” she asked suspiciously. Charlotte laughed. “If you don’t know the answer to that one, you’re a simpleton. You’re young and beautiful, and he has rescued you twice over. What could possibly appeal to any man more than that?” And she took Anna’s hand again and set off once more. Anna mulled Charlotte’s words over in her mind all the way ’round the side of the manor house and to the door of the stables. As soon as she was inside, though, she forgot all about them in her surprise. “Beauty,” she cried, as she caught a glimpse of the gray mare she had fallen in love with at the market. She hurried over to the stall and stroked her neck. The mare whinnied with pleasure and nibbled gently on her fingers. “How did you get here?” “So, do you like your present?” Anna turned around. Charlotte’s face was wreathed in smiles. “The mare?” she asked, hardly daring to believe it was true. Charlotte nodded. “She’s a pretty animal, isn’t she? She’s a bit like my Duchess that Tom bought me when I outgrew my old pony.” A sense of unease pervaded Anna’s thoughts. “But I am not Lord Ravensbourne’s sister. I am only his cousin by marriage. We do not even share the same blood. He cannot make me such a present.” “And why not?” asked a deep, masculine voice. Anna turned to face Lord Ravensbourne himself. He stood in the doorway to the stable, silhouetted against the sunshine. His jacket lay over one arm, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his

elbows. His shirt was open, nearly to the waist, and his chest and forehead both glistened with a sheen of new-formed sweat. Her conscience stirred uncomfortably. As much as she would have loved to accept the proffered gift, she searched around for a suitable excuse for refusing. “I…I have nowhere to keep her,” she stammered. That much was true, at least. The dower house had no stables attached to protect the mare in foul weather, and they had little land on which she could graze. “You shall keep her here.” Lord Ravensbourne gestured at the empty stalls. “We have room enough for her.” “And I…I shall have no time to ride her.” This was slightly less true. Besides tending to her mother, working in the garden, and reading books borrowed from her cousin’s library, she had few duties. He lifted his eyebrows expressively. “No time?” “My mother needs me.” “Then you shall have to rise earlier, before your mother is awake, and take your exercise then.” In her mind’s eye, Anna pictured herself riding Beauty over the fields in the freshness of the early morning, the dew still shimmering on the grass, the sun barely making its presence felt in the crispness of the early morning. She desperately wanted to accept Lord Ravensbourne’s gift. She would never look on Beauty as her own—her conscience wouldn’t allow that—but to have his approval to ride the lovely mare… She closed her eyes, the better to see her dream. “So, shall we consider the matter settled?” Anna’s eyes shot wide open again. “But…” “But what?” She lowered her eyes and said the first thing that came to her mind. “But, I have no riding habit…”

Charlotte made her way towards the stable door. “Come, cousin, don’t be such a ninny. I have five riding habits and I cannot wear all of them at once. You shall have whichever one you like best. We shall go and ask Mary to alter one of them for you this afternoon. The purple one, I think. It will match your eyes.” Anna stayed put. “But…” “I shall enjoy riding with you early in the morning, just as the sun gets up, when all the rest of the world is asleep,” Charlotte announced, on her way out the door. “Come on. We’ll have to hurry if Mary is to have time to alter your dress by the morning.” “But…” The corners of Lord Ravensbourne’s mouth were twitching in a smile. “Uh-huh?” Anna stamped her foot. She did not like to be laughed at when she was in deadly earnest. “But I have never been on a horse before. I cannot ride.” “Then I will teach you. Tomorrow at dawn.”

Chapter Four The sun was barely up the following morning before Anna had risen. She washed in the pitcher of cold water on her armoire before dressing herself in the deep purple riding habit that Charlotte’s maid, Mary, had altered for her the previous afternoon. She looked at herself in the glass. The dress was now the perfect length, just skimming the floor, but it was still a little too snug in the bodice. She lifted her arms above her head to test the fit. The material was stretched over her breasts, but the seams held firm. Satisfied, she laced up her boots and tiptoed down the hall and out the front door. The grass was still wet with dew, which sparkled in the first weak rays of the early morning sun. Anna hurried through the wet fields, her heart pounding with excitement and apprehension. Today was her first riding lesson. She could not wait for the moment she was sitting on the mare, galloping through the fields, feeling the wind in her face as she rode along. But however early she was, Lord Ravensbourne was there first, standing in front of the stable door, the two horses saddled and bridled and waiting. He had been so kind to offer to teach her, she didn’t want to keep him waiting. She picked up her skirts and ran the last hundred paces. She was panting when she reached him. “Am I late?” “Not at all. The horses have only now been made ready.” He handed her the reins of the gray mare. “Shall we start the first lesson?” There were only two horses ready—hers and his. “But where is

Charlotte? Has she gone on ahead?” Lord Ravensbourne threw his head back and laughed a rich, deep laugh. “Charlotte? Surely you did not expect her to rise from her bed this early in the morning without being forcibly ejected from it?” “But she said…” “Charlotte is training to be a fine lady. Her notion of true gentility is to lie abed every morning until noon drinking chocolate, then staying up late dancing whenever she can. Thankfully, she has not much opportunity in the country to become very dissipated or, to tell truth, she would put the queen and all her ladies-in-waiting quite to shame.” Anna shuffled her feet together. She didn’t want to offend her cousin, but the situation did not seem right. She was sure her father would not be happy were he to look down from Heaven and see her now. “I should not be out riding with you alone. Mama gave her permission reluctantly, and only then because I assured her that Charlotte would be riding with us.” “Are you afraid of me?” Lord Ravensbourne’s voice was low and gentle. Was she afraid of him? She thought about the question for a moment. She was not afraid he would hurt her—or even touch her without her permission. But, in the depths of her heart, she was afraid he might make her want to touch him. That thought scared her most of all. “Not very.” She lifted her eyes to his face to search out the truth hidden in his eyes. “Should I be?” “Do you believe I would try to hurt you like the men in the marketplace?” The very thought of it seemed to darken his face and draw his brows together in a forbidding black line. She shook her head emphatically. “No! You would never hurt me

like that.” His expression unbent a little. “Then what are you afraid of?” She hardly knew what to say. “Your eyes,” she ventured, after a moment’s thought. “My eyes?” It was hard to explain. “You…you look at me sometimes.” He laughed. “You are very beautiful. Who would not want to look at you?” In her mind, Anna saw the squire leering at her exposed bosom and calling her his little pretty. Even now, far away from him and his threats, the mere thought of his hands on her body made her sick to her stomach. She clenched her teeth together. “I do not want to be beautiful. And I do not want people to look at me.” “Doesn’t every woman desire to be a lodestone to the eyes of men? Doesn’t every woman wish and pray to be thought a beauty?” She shivered. At times, she had wished to be red-haired and marked with the pox. Her face had brought her nothing but trouble and shame. “I am not every woman.” Lord Ravensbourne reached out towards her chin with his hand. Startled by the sudden movement, she instinctively flinched away from his touch. Immediately she had done so, she wished she could recall her movement, but it was too late. She could see in his eyes that he knew full well that she was afeared of him touching her. The damage had already been done. He sighed and dropped his hand back to his side, his eyes radiating the hurt she had unwittingly caused him. “Never be afraid of me, cousin. Beautiful as you are, I will swear, here and now, that I will never touch you without your leave.” Anna felt some of the tension uncoil from the pit of her belly. “You

promise?” “I swear it. On my word as a gentleman.” He unlooped the bridles from a hitching post by the stable door. “And now for lesson number one. Mounting.” He moved to Anna’s side to demonstrate what she needed to do. “One foot in the stirrup,” he instructed her, “and then swing yourself up and on to the saddle.” Anna did as he had ordered, and managed to seat herself very creditably for a complete novice. She would be a pleasure to teach, he thought, as he took her mare by the bridle and started to lead her into the nearby field. She would be a natural on horseback. Anna beamed at him from her perch on top of the mare. “That was not too difficult,” she said, a smile in her voice. “As I gentleman, of course,” he said, with a dry smile, “I should have offered to lift you into your saddle.” Anna, perched on top of Beauty, gave him a saucy grin. “And why didn’t you? Am I, a mere cousin, not worthy of your politeness?” He knew very well why he hadn’t touched her. He didn’t trust his control over himself to put his arms around her waist and lift her onto her horse without trying to steal a kiss from her. Or taking advantage of his superior strength and position to hold her body against his. He had made a vow not to touch her—and it would be as well not to let himself be led into temptation and have his honor put to the test. He decided to turn her question into a joke—the witty repartee the king and his courtiers prized so highly. “You needed to learn how to get on your mare’s back by yourself. You will not always have a tame gentleman around to mount you.” He knew before the words were out of his mouth that he had gone

too far. Anna’s smile had been a friendly one—not an invitation to tease her and flirt with her—but his court-acquired habits were hard to unlearn. As he knew it would, Anna’s grin died, and she shot him a reproachful look. “If you were a gentleman,” she said clearly, “instead of an idle courtier with wickedness on his mind, you would not embarrass a lady with your wicked language.” He swung himself over his own horse—a fiery bay gelding. “Please accept my apologies. I spoke but idly.” Anna was no court miss to be entertained by scandalous innuendos and bon mots. He must remember that, and let her innocence guide his behavior. “An idle word makes a door for the devil to enter in by…” She stopped all of a sudden, and he turned to see what ailed her. Her face was a fiery red. “I am s…sorry,” she stammered. “I spoke out of turn. It is just something my father used to say to me. I was not trying to correct you.” “But if I am in need of correction?” “Then you must look to God and your own conscience to be your guide.” There was silence between them for some minutes as the two of them picked their way carefully over the fields towards the river. This feeling of being tongue-tied in the presence of a woman he wanted to impress was new to him. She would not appreciate the type of speaking he had cultivated at court. She was too religious for that. And he had no idea how a Calvinist or a Quaker or any other religious fanatic would court her. He had bought her the horse, of course, but that had been on a whim—a reaction to the clear affection she had shown the animal in the horse market. An apology, too, for the shame and humiliation that had ended the day for her. He ought to have kept a

closer eye on his pretty, young cousin. Melcott was insufficient as an escort. He was too old and infirm to protect Anna as she needed to be protected. He would never make that mistake again. He would keep as close a watch on her as he did on his own sister. Closer, in fact, as Charlotte was more wise to the ways of the world and better able to look after herself than Anna was. He would keep as close an eye on her as her father, a strict Calvanist minister, would have done. He’d never met his late uncle, but he’d always assumed that he was a forbidding, beetle-browed Puritan with a stentorian voice and an unhealthy obsession with hellfire and damnation. He couldn’t reconcile that image of his uncle with the fact that his funloving Aunt Lydia had fallen deeply in love and eloped with him. His uncle must have differed from the general mould. Come to think of it, he wondered how strict Calvanists ever managed to get married at all. The ones he knew were so dour and unromantic. Or how the daughters ever escaped their father’s watchful eyes for long enough to be courted. He would wager a thousand pounds that Anna hadn’t been courted before. Mr. Woodleigh must have been a real terror to have kept her suitors away. He owed her father his thanks for keeping the local lads at a distance, until he had the chance to woo her for himself. Of course, he didn’t want to marry Anna, or even to seriously court her. He just wanted her to look on him with some favor. Maybe even to have her fall just a little bit in love with him. Enough so he could steal a kiss or two from her sweet lips… They had reached the river now, and he turned their horses to head upstream. After a couple more minutes walking he reached the place he had been heading for, where a grassy bank dotted

with wildflowers sloped gently up from a quiet pool in the river. As a boy, he had come here often with his father to fish. Fat eels lurked under the bank, sliding their slippery bodies through the shallows to be caught in his net. Brown speckled trout hid by the rocks, and could often be tempted out with the lure of a fat worm wriggling on a hook. It was still his favorite place on the whole of the estate, and the spot he came to whenever he wanted some peace from the hustle of the world outside. He slipped down from his horse, flung the reins over the branch of a weeping willow, and held out his arms to Anna. “Come. I will lift you down for a bit.” Anna slipped her leg off the pommel of her saddle and slipped into his arms. In his effort to avoid the temptation of touching her, he set her down so quickly she lost her balance and sat on the grass with a cry of pain. Instantly he fell to his knees at her side. “Anna, are you hurt?” She took his arm and clambered awkwardly to her feet again. “Yes, I am hurt,” she muttered, as she rubbed her backside, a rueful expression on her face. “If I had known what riding a horse really felt like, I would have stayed abed this morning like Charlotte. My cousin has more sense than the two of us together.” He couldn’t help grinning at the pained look on her face. “It gets easier.” She hobbled gingerly a few steps towards a patch of shade and lowered herself gently to the ground, grimacing as she did so. “Good. Or I fear that you would have wasted your money on Beauty. I do not know if I shall ever be able to walk properly again, let alone get on top of that beast of torture.” “You’ll get used to it.” He tossed Beauty’s reins over another

branch of the willow, before taking a package of food out of his saddlebag. “I had Cook pack us a bite to eat. Are you hungry?” Her stomach growled in response to his question, and the tips of her ears turned pink with embarrassment. “I didn’t stop to break my fast,” she confessed. “I wanted to learn how to ride Beauty as soon as ever I could.” He swung his legs over a fallen log and unwrapped the parcel. “Bread, cheese, a hunk of cold beef and some of my favorite sweet orange cakes. What do you want?” “Everything.” He tore a hunk off the loaf of bread, cut a wedge of cheese and a large slice of beef, placed them all on a large leaf he plucked from a nearby bush, added a sprinkling of daisies for decoration, and handed the makeshift plate to her with a flourish. “My lady’s meal is served.” The bread was fresh-baked and the cheese moist and fullflavored. The both ate without speaking for some minutes. When they had finished, he gathered the remnants of their feast and stowed it away in the saddlebag. “Are you ready to ride back again?” Anna groaned audibly and lay back on the grass. “I don’t want to move. I hurt all over.” He could always offer to rub her legs to make them feel better, but he wasn’t sure that he could bear it if she were to accept. Instead of courting danger, he lay back on the soft cushion of grass in his turn, a safe distance from his cousin. “I’m in no hurry.” The warmth of the sun was starting to make itself felt. Lying there, listening to the soft murmur of the water as it flowed by and the melancholy chirping of crickets as they sang to each other, and watching the clouds change shape over head, he felt truly at peace

with the world. He needed only a fishing rod and a handful of worms to make his happiness complete. Lulled by the serenity of the scene, and no doubt tired from her early start and the unaccustomed exercise, Anna lay quietly in the grass. He listened as her breathing became softer and more regular, until she fell quite asleep. Turning on his side, he watched her as her breast rose and fell with each breath. He gave a wry grin. No woman had ever fallen asleep on him before. Not unless he had previously tired her out in a much more pleasurable form of exercise than horseback riding… He felt his body tightening and forced his mind to think of other matters. Crop rotation, he decided desperately, his eyes still glued to her breasts. He would plan out next year’s crop rotation. The fields growing peas he would leave fallow next year, and instead he’d grow barley in the wheat field and rye in the fields that he’d left fallow this season. Or should he plant the seed for a root crop there instead… It was no use. Even thinking about his crops wouldn’t work to turn his mind away from thoughts of his cousin. He knew what kind of seed he ached to be planting, and it didn’t have anything to do with root crops. The sound of footsteps on the riverbank forced him to drag his eyes away from his cousin. Hurriedly he stood up, brushing away the grass from the back of his breeches and jacket. His uncle, Melcott, armed with a fishing rod, had settled down on the bank. He looked up at Lord Ravensbourne’s hallo. “Tom, what brings you out of bed so early in the morning?” Then his gaze fell on the pair of horses tethered to the branches of the weeping willow, and his eyes narrowed and his face grew grim. “Or should I say who brings you out of bed this early? Tom, Tom, I

had thought better of you. Remember, you are not in the City now. You should leave your whorish ways behind you in that pit of filth and corruption.” Lord Ravensbourne clenched his fists in anger at his uncle’s words, then slowly forced himself to unclench them again. His uncle tried his best to be a Godly man, no doubt, and meant well. It wasn’t Melcott’s fault Lord Ravensbourne found his hectoring tones patronizing and offensive. “I have been teaching my cousin how to ride,” he said, looking down at his uncle and spitting out the words between his clenched teeth. If anything, Melcott’s face grew blacker. “Without any escort?” “Why should I need an escort? Did you think I would harm her in any way?” “She is a woman, and you are but a man. All women are temptresses by nature. They are born of Eve, and inherit Eve’s tendencies to prove the ruin of all mankind.” “She is but a girl…” “And you are but a man. But where is she?” Ravensbourne gestured behind him. “Asleep on the bank.” Melcott clambered stiffly up the bank. His face softened when he saw the sleeping figure. “She is indeed beautiful,” he whispered, more to himself than to Lord Ravensbourne. “Who would believe that in such an innocent form lies a serpent with fangs ready to strike? Who would believe that such beauty is made by the Devil as snare to catch the souls of men? And what man,” he said, more loudly this time, and fixing his nephew with a baleful glare, “would rush headlong into that snare, his eyes open, knowing full well the Devil is after him, but, like a moth to a flame, too weak in mind and body to resist the lure that will shrivel him to his very

soul?” And with one parting glance at Anna’s sleeping form, he picked up his rod and stomped away up the river. Anna woke, feeling stiffer and more sore than she ever had in her life before. She was lying on the cold, lumpy ground, a rock was poking into the small of her back, and her backside and thighs felt as though they had been beaten black and blue. Suddenly a shadow came between her and the sun. “Feeling refreshed from your little nap?” Lord Ravensbourne was standing above her, his brown eyes laughing at her. “Perfectly,” she lied, as she forced herself to sit. Her thigh muscles screamed in protest, and she had to bite down hard on her lip to stop herself whimpering from the pain. “Then I think it is time we returned home again, so your mother doesn’t worry about you.” Lord Ravensbourne brought Beauty around to her side. “Now, to repeat your first lesson. Do you remember how to mount?” Anna looked at the stirrup and willed her leg to lift itself, but it was no good. She couldn’t manage to move it more than a hand’s breadth above the ground. “I can’t get on.” “Right foot in the stirrup and then swing your body over,” he instructed her in a helpful tone. She tried again. Her legs simply refused to move. “I can’t do it,” she wailed in dismay. “My legs won’t move.” “Then, my dear cousin, there is no help for it. We will have to practice lesson number two. How to look graceful and prettily give thanks to your cousin for lifting you onto your horse.” Anna felt herself swung in the air and held there for a moment. Her

chest was pressed against Lord Ravensbourne’s. Their eyes met and held. She saw his need for her in his gaze, but to her surprise, it no longer frightened her. He was her guardian angel. She wanted him to see her as a woman. As a beautiful woman. His gaze was hot and steady. She didn’t look away. Slowly, he bent his head towards her. She held her breath and waited for the touch of his mouth on hers. His lips approached hers, and a small moan of anticipation escaped her. That small sound broke the spell that held them both captive. The moment, which had seemed to last forever, was gone as quickly as it had come. Before she knew what had happened, she was sitting on Beauty, with nothing but the dark look in Lord Ravensbourne’s eyes to remind her of what had passed between them. “Can you ride?” His voice was curt, and he avoided her eyes. She nodded her head, not trusting her voice to stay steady. Lord Ravensbourne didn’t speak again until they were back at the stables. He lifted her off her horse again, taking painful care not to touch her for a moment longer than necessary. She refused his offer of an escort back to the dower house. He bid her goodbye with a nod and strode into the stables to see to the horses, whistling as he went. Anna was glad of the pain in her aching muscles as she limped back to the dower house. It took her mind away from the confusing sensations in her heart. Her cousin had nearly succumbed to a impulse planted in his mind by the Devil—that snarer of men’s souls—and kissed her. What was worse was that she had wanted him to yield to temptation.

He had drawn back into safety the moment before their lips would have met. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Lord Ravensbourne drove his fist into the stable wall and heard his knuckles crack before the pain reached him. He slammed his fist into the wall a second time, and a third, taking a perverse pleasure in the agony it caused him. He deserved to hurt. He should be cracking open his head, not just bruising his knuckles. Anna was his cousin and under his protection. His behavior towards her was inexcusable. Instead of protecting her, he was preying on her. If she hadn’t made that noise of protest, he would have kissed her, taking her frightened immobility and shock for consent. His actions made him no better than the men in the marketplace. The thought disgusted him. He would be a proper guardian to her, he vowed to himself, and treat her as he would his own sister. Living at court, as Charlotte had done for a time, might be the best for Anna’s prospects, but he would not petition the king to make her one of Queen Catharine’s waiting women, as Charlotte had been. Charlotte had been happy there for a season, but her wealth commanded respect in a court in which gold reigned supreme, and she was plenty bold enough to discourage those who would have taken advantage of her youth and inexperience. Anna was a different matter. She was too innocent to survive among the gloriouslyplumaged but vicious birds of prey who inhabited the court. But he would dress her as befitted his ward, introduce her into society, and arrange a suitable match for her with a local landowner who would protect and cherish her as she deserved. Charlotte would have that ball she had been pestering him about.

It would serve as a fitting introduction for his young cousin to all the families in the district. He had vowed he would not touch Anna without her consent. He would keep his promise, whatever the effort cost him to exert his self-control. Melcott tied a worm to his line with a vicious twist, and lowered the still-wriggling creature into the water with a grunt of satisfaction, delighting in the sight of a dumb beast, even such an insignificant and lowly beast as a worm, thrashing about in its death throes. The worm was a pathetic creature, but even the life and death of a worm was a piece of God’s plan. The death of this worm would ensure Melcott hooked a tasty, fat fish, and hauled it gasping out on to the riverbank. The death of the fish would ensure he had a fine present to make to the village washerwoman when he visited her cottage late this same night. The fine present he would make to her of the gutted fish would ensure he was able to slake his bodily needs on her with the minimum of fuss and bother. And all without costing him a penny, or wasting his hard-won earnings in riotous living or needless expense. All this would happen because of the lowly worm, dying a slow death on the end of his hook. Would that other creatures were as easy for him to mould into the will of God as was the worm. As a devout Puritan, a true believer and one of the Company of Saints, he was familiar with God’s will in every aspect and detail of His vast plan. God wanted his true followers to proclaim His power and His glory by triumphing over every obstacle that lay in their paths. It was not God’s will that his nephew, Thomas, Lord Ravensbourne, be master of a large and prosperous estate, while he, God’s true and humble servant, had had to labor long and

hard in the wool trade to make an adequate living. How much more fitting would it be to have him, one of God’s own children, showered with worldly honors and wealth. It was not God’s will that his niece, the motherless and fatherless Charlotte, be allowed to run wild and waste her brother’s estate with her foolish extravagances—new gowns, foolish bonnets and other such fripperies, visitors and parties. How much more fitting would it be to see her tamed into the proper dutiful, wifely submission by a marriage contracted between her and one of the Brethren—preferably by one who would pay well for the chance to mould such a tender morsel to his will. It was not God’s will that his nephew debauch the beautiful and innocent Anna and introduce her to the evil in the world. How much more fitting it would be were Melcott to initiate her into the pleasures of the flesh himself. As God’s servant, it was his duty to work towards the betterment of the world. And as the Elect would rule in Heaven, so should they also rule on Earth. He had intended to deal with Lord Ravensbourne and his sister in his own time, but the arrival of Anna Woodleigh introduced a new urgency into the situation. He sat silent for a moment, his eyes idly following the last, limp twitches of the worm, as it fulfilled its destiny and was gulped down by a fine trout. With a quick flick of his wrist, he hauled the fish in, leaving it to suffocate in the air rather than risk disfiguring its beauty by ending its torment with a swift blow. The washerwoman, Devil’s spawn that she was, would be suitably grateful for such a fine-looking specimen. At the thought of the washerwoman, an evil taste filled his mouth, and he spat on the bank. He despised the washerwoman—she

had never been beautiful and was no longer even young. Her greatest virtue was her silence—he had threatened to have her burned as a witch if she betrayed his nightly visits to her. He would not have his reputation maligned because he had a man’s needs, which God had shown him an easy way to satisfy. The washerwoman understood him well, and the potions she brewed to help nursing women keep up their strength, or to ease the pains of those suffering from gout or dropsy, made her insecure enough for his threat to ensure her compliance. But Anna was different. She was no easy slut like the washerwoman, but a treasure to be hoarded unto oneself in delicious secret. He could see clearly now. She was not the Jezebel he had at first feared her to be. She did not leave a nasty taste in his mouth, but filled his soul with ravishment and rejoicing. She must be a good woman—one of those rare creatures whose price is above rubies. Indeed, she was too beautiful to be the work of the Devil, he mused, as he slit open the fish’s belly, spilling its guts out onto the shingle of the riverbed, and kicking them into the fast-flowing water with the toe of his boot. It could not be God’s will that she be made to suffer alongside her cousins. He must remember there was more rejoicing in Heaven over the lamb who was returned to the flock than over those who stayed obediently with their shepherd all their lives. Anna was one of those lost lambs. It was his duty to return her to the bosom of her Lord, and all the angels in Heaven would exult over his success. She would be one of the chosen. He heaved a sigh of disappointment at the thought she would take time to win to his will. He liked his pleasure swift and brutal. She would not be so easily dealt with as he would have liked. He

would not be able to force her, then to buy her silence with threats and her capitulation to further assaults with presents such as fine, fat fish. Besides, such a crude move would not be politic. He would not run the risk of endangering his position in the world by carelessness and lack of caution. He did not want to be regarded in the neighbourhood as a base lecher when his motives, he knew in his soul, were pure, and his actions intended only to prove the glory of the Lord. He would have to tread with great care, but also with speed. He did not have much time to spare. She must not be allowed to squander her time and her beauty on the non-Elect, her cousins. His mission was to save her from herself and from Satan’s minions who would corrupt her. No, he needed to move fast so he could tie her to him in the most elemental way possible. He didn’t know why the idea had not occurred to him before. It was so perfect. So easy. So complete. He would marry her. Once she was married to him, he would have utter control over her —over her body, over her thoughts, over her very soul. She would fulfil her true purpose on Earth—to be his helpmate and his bedmate for as long as he lived. She would never be able to escape him. There was some mystery about her arrival on Lord Ravensbourne’s estate, something or someone she had been running from—he would lay his guineas on a jilted suitor threatening violence to her in his disappointment, or some such matter. He would make it his business to find out what it was. And once in possession of this knowledge, he was a poor fool if he did not find a way to turn it to his advantage.

I am , he thought to himself with glee, like a cunning spider sitting in the middle of a web, throwing out sticky lines to catch flies with. Sooner or later, one of his carefully placed sticky lines would reach out to Anna Woodleigh and wrap her into a cocoon of immobility. Then, and only then, when he was quite sure she was helpless to fight against him any longer, would he haul her into his web to feast on her in any way that pleased him.

Chapter Five Anna shook her head at her cousin’s entreaty and planted herself firmly in the doorway of the dower house. “I do not need any new clothes,” she lied. Truth to tell, she was in dire need of more, but she had no money to pay for them. She would not ask her mother to spend their precious coins on frippery and frivolity when they had so many other needs. Charlotte gestured at the large, stately carriage waiting for them on the lane. “But you must come with me to Norwich,” she insisted. “I ordered the carriage especially early this morning so we could have all day to choose ourselves a fine dress for the ball. Tom has even given me a stack of guineas to spend. And he is usually such a miserly old skinflint when it comes to new fashions. I would not miss such an opportunity to spend his money for the world.” Anna braced herself on the doorframe. “You do not need me to spend your brother’s guineas.” She only wished she had a brother to be as generous to her as Lord Ravensbourne was to Charlotte, but she tried to bury the temptation that Charlotte offered deep in her heart. Covetousness and envy were deadly sins. “But I do need you,” Charlotte cried, tugging Anna harder. “Tom only gave me leave to spend the money after I promised that, for every guinea I spent on myself, we would spend at least two on you.” Anna slowly shook her head. “Lord Ravensbourne has been too kind to me already. I do not want to accept more of his charity.” “Charity? Stuff and nonsense. You are our cousin.” She turned pleading eyes on Anna. “Georgina Perkins went to Norwich last market day and bought the most beautiful pair of slippers you have

ever seen. She says they are an exact copy of the slippers the king’s new mistress wears at court. Of course, I do not believe Georgina ever saw the king’s mistress’s slippers when she was in London, unless it was because her uncle, the shoemaker, was mending them, but I would die to have a pair of slippers just like them. “They had heels this high,” she explained, spreading her thumb and forefinger apart as wide as they could go, “and were embroidered all over in pearls. No doubt she hoped they would win her Tom’s notice, but Tom is notoriously fickle in his attentions. He has already broken the hearts of all my friends and half my enemies, to boot. If he continues in this way, I shall not have a friend left—they will all have died of broken hearts. But, please, do come with me. I am sure we will find slippers much prettier than Georgina’s.” Anna felt herself weakening. Charlotte did so want her to go. Ought she not oblige her cousin? Besides, it had been so long since she had had a new dress. Her two black dresses were looking so shabby. Neither of them were fit to wear to the ball. She would not want to disgrace her cousins by appearing dressed as a pauper in front of their guests. “Please?” The wistful tone in Charlotte’s voice undid her. Even though she had no money to spend, she would like to go to town and see the sights. With Charlotte’s two stout footmen to accompany them, they would be well-protected. “I will ask my mother if I may come, but only to keep you company. I will not allow your brother to spend a single penny on me.” Her mother was sitting, sewing in her chamber. “Yes, you may go to town with your cousin if you wish,” she said with a gentle smile.

She pulled a small bag from the folds of her gown and took out a small gold coin. “I know it must be hard for you when Charlotte has so much and you so little. Take this with you. You may chance to find a dress you would like.” Anna hesitated, her longing tempered by a sense of duty and prudence. They had so little standing between them and want. Her mother pressed it into her hand. “Come, take it, my love. I remember as if it were yesterday how it feels to be young and want pretty things to wear.” With a glow of love in her heart for her mother, she accepted the coin with thanks, and kissed her mother on her pale brow. When Anna returned downstairs with her mother’s permission to go, Charlotte grabbed her hand and pulled her to the carriage. “You are the best cousin in the world, and I love you dearly.” Anna climbed into the carriage and gave a small yelp of surprise. “Lord Ravensbourne,” she exclaimed at the sight of him ensconced in the corner of the carriage, his back to the horses. “I did not know you were to come with us.” “I could not resist the opportunity to escort two such fine ladies into town,” he said, as he settled her in the seat opposite his. “Nonsense,” Charlotte exclaimed, as she followed her cousin into the carriage and sat beside her, spreading her full skirts wide so as not to crush them. “Tom is only worried I will spend his money unwisely. He has come to hold tight to the purse strings if he can.” Anna could see Lord Ravensbourne’s white teeth gleam in the dark of the carriage as he gave a wide smile. “Guilty as charged.” Charlotte gave a humph. “I am counting on you,” she said to Anna with a conspiratorial grin, “to help me open those purse strings as wide as the two of us ever could want.” “Waste is a sin,” Anna said, thinking of her father’s frequent

lectures on the subject. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charlotte toss her head and make a face. “But miserliness is a worse one,” she added with a grin. Charlotte looked slightly shamefaced and grinned at Anna again. “So be assured, Lord Ravensbourne,” Anna continued, “that, even though Charlotte intends to open your purse very wide indeed, she only does it out of the very strictest necessity.” Lord Ravensbourne laughed as he knocked on the panel to tell the coachman they were ready to start. “For Charlotte, the satisfaction of every whim is a veritable necessity.” The road to Norwich was long and bumpy. Anna sat curled up in her corner, as still as she could be. Lord Ravensbourne seemed to fill every square inch of space. Each time she moved her legs by so much as a whisper, she came into contact with his outstretched legs, or his crossed knees, or some other part of him. Each time she brushed against him, her flesh tingled and burned as if she had been on fire. Each time, her eyes sought his in apology, and his gave hers a knowing look, as if he suspected she had deliberately touched him. Charlotte, meanwhile, had wedged herself in her corner and fallen asleep, after proclaiming it was horribly early in the morning for traveling and she was dreadfully tired and intended to sleep the whole way to Norwich, so she could spend Tom’s guineas with gusto when they finally arrived. Anna curled herself into an ever smaller space. Charlotte snored softly. Lord Ravensbourne, slouched in his seat, his hat tipped over his eyes and a smile of unconcern playing about his mouth, continued his game of cat and mouse. The air in the carriage became increasingly hot. A pain shot through Anna’s lower leg muscle, a protest against

being cramped in such a position for so long. She would bear Lord Ravensbourne’s space-hogging techniques not a moment longer, she decided, and she uncurled herself and stretched her legs out to relieve the tension, pushing against his encroachments on her space with as much strength as she could muster. “You are a man of no honor, and your word cannot be trusted,” she hissed quietly at him, not wanting to wake Charlotte with her complaints. “You wound me to the heart,” he declared softly, with an air of mock concern. “You promised you would not touch me without my permission. You gave me your solemn word.” She glared down at their legs. “I should never have believed you.” Lord Ravensbourne held his hands out in front of her. “I am not touching you.” “You know very well what I mean. And that is not the first time you have broken your word to me.” He lifted his hat off his face. “When did I break my word? When have I ever touched you without your leave?” “When you lifted me on to Beauty, you nearly broke your word. I could see it in your eyes. You wanted to k…kiss me. You nearly did kiss me. I knew then you were not a man to be trusted.” The laughter disappeared from his eyes. “I am sorry for frightening you. It was ill-mannered and unkind.” His voice was deep with sincerity. Anna felt a finger of guilt skitter over her spine. She had not been thoroughly honest with her cousin. Telling a lie, even a lie by omission rather than by commission, was a lash that scourged the open wounds of the Savior. “I wanted you to kiss me,” she

confessed in a whisper. “I have never been kissed before and was curious to know what it was like. I would have given you leave, if you had asked.” His mouth dropped open with shock. “You would?” She nodded, businesslike again now her confession was done. “But that is a different matter. You never asked permission, so I never gave it to you. I am sure I shall find another man to satisfy my curiosity about kissing, if I am ever in the mind again to experiment with new sensations. Right now, however, I want some space to put my feet. I have a cramp in my calf from sitting so squashed up.” “Here, put your leg on my knee,” he offered. “Seeing as I have caused your discomfort with my selfish ways, the least I can do is provide a remedy as well.” She hesitated for a moment, but the discomfort in her calf was still sharp. He would not dare to be improper with his own sister sleeping opposite him. She lifted her leg and placed it on his knee, pointing her toes back up towards her and stretching the muscle to relieve the pain. “If I may have your permission to touch your leg,” he said, his grave tones belied by the mischievous twinkle in his eye, “I could help you.” The cramp persisted, growing stronger instead of weaker. She writhed with discomfort and gave her permission with a brief nod. Then his warm hands were on her leg, burning his touch through the woolen fabric of her dress. They rubbed and squeezed her leg, until all that was left of the pain was a distant memory. His hands on her leg made her feel weak with longing. What would she do if he were to run his hands higher, over her knee and up her thigh, to the secret part of her that ached for him when

he touched her like that? Would she have the courage to tell him no? Her thoughts were licentious, she reminded herself, and prompted by the enemy of the Lord. She was enough of a guilty wretch already, without adding lechery to her list of deadly sins. She would not think those thoughts any more. She pulled her leg away from his ministrations and put it on the floor of the coach again, where he had made room for her. “Thank you. The pain has gone now.” He reached out with one hand and captured her chin. Tilting her head back to force her to look him in the eyes, he asked softly, “May I kiss you now?” Anna shot a look at Charlotte, sleeping in the corner of the carriage. What would she think were she to wake up to the sight of her brother and her cousin locked in an embrace? “No. You may not.” He sighed and dropped his hand from her chin. “Then may I kiss your hand?” With a small smile, Anna held out her hand to him. He took it and held it in his own for a moment, and then turned it over, and planted a long, warm kiss on the inside of her wrist. She jumped at the unexpected intimacy and pulled her hand away. “Lord Ravensbourne!” she hissed, taking care not to wake Charlotte with her cry. “You should not have done that.” His eyes looked innocently into hers. “What is the matter, little cousin? You gave me permission to kiss your hand, did you not?” She glared at him. She had given him an inch, and he had taken an ell. “Before I give you leave to touch me again, I will weigh my words with care. I see you are an immoral, wicked man, and not to be trusted.”

It was late afternoon before they had finished their purchases, and dusk was falling by the time they returned to the manor house. Anna kissed her cousin Charlotte and thanked Lord Ravensbourne effusively as the carriage drove up to her door again. Their trip had been a great success. Anna’s happiness had been clouded only once, when she felt her neck prickle as though someone was staring at her. She had turned her head and caught a glimpse of a red-haired man who could have looked like the squire. Surrounded as she was by footmen and escorted by her cousin, she knew she was safe from anyone, but even so, she felt a shudder of dread pass through her. The long period of safety and security she had passed in the house of her cousin had lulled her conscience asleep. The sight of a man who looked like the squire had instantly awakened it again, and fiery needles of tormented guilt were pricking her soul anew. She had not seen the red-haired man again, but her reasoning had convinced her it could not possibly have been Squire Grantley. She had never known him to travel so far afield before. The chances of him happening on her in the bustling seaside town were too remote to seriously entertain. She was just nervous about being among so many people in the hustle and bustle of the busy town and was seeing danger where none existed. Besides, he could be dead. She might have killed him. A sick feeling rose in her stomach and she tasted bile in the back of her throat. She had been so frightened and had hit him so hard… She forced herself to bury that horrible memory in the back of her mind. Still, she had been left with a prickly sense of foreboding,

and she had wearied of shopping soon after. The giddy sense of pleasure had been taken off her day and replaced with a lasting uneasiness that all was not right with the world. However hard she tried not to spoil the outing for Charlotte and to enjoy the rest of the day, she could not quite shake off her disquiet. Lord Ravensbourne saw her to her door, deposited her purchases in the chamber where her mother was sitting, and greeted his aunt with a low bow and a kiss on each cheek before returning to the carriage. Anna stood in the middle of the room, a small parcel in her hand, and boxes and parcels spread around her feet. “Anna, how ever did you return with such stuff?” her mother exclaimed, as soon as the sound of Lord Ravensbourne’s feet on the stairs had died away. “With only one gold coin to spend?” Anna held out the parcel she was carrying. “I spent it on this. For you.” Mrs. Woodleigh unwrapped the parcel and unfolded a black stole made of fine wool. “It is beautiful, Anna,” she said, as she ran her hands through the soft folds with a look of delight on her face. “And just exactly what I have been wanting on cold mornings.” Her face clouded and she put the scarf down on her lap. “But how did you afford…” Anna gave an embarrassed smile. “My cousins bought all the rest. I told Charlotte that I did not need a thing, but Lord Ravensbourne insisted it was his duty as my eldest male relative to ensure I was properly dressed. It is not so very much after all. A good black dress with petticoats to wear under it for going into company, a pair of slippers, and some ribbons for my hair.” Her mother’s face was worried. “Your cousins are very good to you.”

Anna unwrapped the parcel and held out her new dress for her mother to admire. The material glimmered in the candlelight like waves on the night-black sea. “Silk,” she breathed, as she spread it out over her arm. “Isn’t it beautiful? I would not buy a color, as we are still in mourning for Papa, so Lord Ravensbourne insisted on buying me silk, instead of the wool I had picked out. The wool was more practical, but the silk was so beautiful I could not say him nay. Is he not good to me?” Mrs. Woodleigh didn’t reply. Her face looked troubled as she ran her hand over the flawless fabric. Her very silence was an eloquent reproach. Anna dropped to her knees before her mother. “Have I vexed you by taking the clothes? Indeed, I did not think you would be upset, or I would never have accepted them.” Her mother stroked her hair for some moments without speaking. “You didn’t vex me, my love,” she said. “But I do not like to see a gentleman buying you clothes.” “He is my cousin,” Anna offered, aware of how feeble her excuse sounded, even to her own ears. “But no blood relation. And he has been so generous to us— letting us live in the dower house, teaching you to ride, buying you clothes…” “And a beautiful gray mare,” Anna added, feeling a sense of guilt creep over her. “I see bad motives everywhere,” her mother continued, “but I would not like to see my little lamb come to harm. Lord Ravensbourne had not tried to take advantage of your youth and innocence?” “He has promised never to touch me without my permission,” Anna declared boldly. Then she remembered how close he had been to kissing her, and how much she had wanted him to. She

could still feel the touch of his hand on her leg and how it had made her feel all hot and shivery in the pit of her stomach. She felt her face color. “I do not like that he felt he needed to make that promise. Such promises are made only to be broken. Maybe,” her mother suggested, as she searched Anna’s face closely, “you should not spend so much time with Lord Ravensbourne. He is a fine gentleman and a friend of the king’s, and you are penniless and dependant on him for your protection. And he is only a man…” Anna felt her flush deepen, and her mother’s words struck home. Her mother was right to warn her. She should not have accepted her cousin’s gifts. She would avoid his company when she could. She did not fear Lord Ravensbourne would try to harm her, but if he asked leave to kiss her again when Charlotte was not by, she was afeared she would say yes. And that would mean forsaking her father’s teachings and her mother’s admonitions for the beguiling words of a man whom she could not bring herself to trust. Her cousin was handsome and kind. He would have the pick of all the local girls, and all the women at court, too, she would hazard a guess, when he chose to marry. She did not flatter herself that he would choose her. He liked her and indulged her as if she were his own sister, but he was not in love with her. No doubt he would trifle with her, if she gave him the opportunity—he was one of the king’s men, after all, and not one of the Company of saints as her father had been. She meant no more to him than the stable cat—useful for catching the mice who stole the horses’ grain, but not essential to his health or happiness. Whereas, if she were to be true to the deepest inclinations of her

heart, she would confess that Lord Ravensbourne was coming to mean all the world to her. If she did not wean her heart from him, she was in a fair way of having her heart set to be broken. Melcott held his stick with a firm grasp and stepped carefully into the darkness of the narrow alley. He motioned to the man waiting there for him, a large brown cape concealing his body and his feathered and beribboned hat pulled down low over his forehead to hide his shock of red hair. “In the milliner’s just opposite,” he said curtly. The man disappeared around the corner. Melcott gazed after him as if he could strike him dead by looking. In half a moment he was back again, and Melcott schooled his face into some semblance of friendship. To do the Lord’s work, it was occasionally necessary to deceive the wicked. Such deceit was no sin, but a step on the path to righteousness. “Is she the one you are searching for?” The red-haired man nodded, his face alive with wickedness and lechery. “Aye, she’s the one alright. And a merry dance she had led me, too. I will make her pay for it, good and proper, when I catch up with her again.” “It will not be as easy as you may think, Squire,” he sneered. “She has a protector now.” “Her cousin? Pah, he is nothing to me. A foolish young fop who I would spit on my sword as soon as look at him.” Melcott despised his braggadocio. The squire was puffed up with wind like a bladder and, no doubt, a coward at heart, as all braggarts were. He doubted the squire would be capable of being his nephew’s equal, even when he had the benefit of surprise on his side. Men such as he thrived on terrorizing the weak and the

helpless, and would flee any opponent who stood up to him. “He is a powerful man, and well-loved by the king.” The squire snorted. “King’s friend or no, no man is powerful enough to withstand a dagger in the back on a dark night.” “You had best not let him see your face. If you miscarry, it will be the worse for you.” The squire barked out a short laugh. “A dead man cannot name his murderer.” “If you are caught, you will hang for it,” Melcott said, his stomach tightening in anticipation. How he would love to see the squire swinging in the wind, his face purple, his tongue protruding, his fingers scrabbling at the cruel knot around his neck, as he gasped his last. Hanging was a punishment fit for godless lechers and evil plotters like the squire. Squire Grantley showed his pointed teeth in an unpleasant grin. “Not when I have you to bear false witness and claim he struck the first blow.” Melcott sucked his teeth and considered the matter carefully. “Do we have a deal or not?” asked the squire, impatiently. “I get rid of the nephew. You get the land and the money. I get the girl. If I am taken, you bear witness for me that I was defending myself from an unprovoked attack. If you are suspected, I will do the same for you.” Melcott nodded. The squire, satisfied, spat on his hand and offered it to him to shake. Melcott spat on his, and clasped the squire’s hand in his. He did not like to make a bargain with such an ungodly man, but the Lord worked in mysterious ways, and all sorts of vessels were made to fit His purpose, lowly worms and evil lechers alike. “We have a deal.” “When shall I do the deed?”

“Tomorrow sennight,” Melcott said, “my niece and nephew are giving a ball. All the neighborhood will be there. One more man and one more horse in the midst of all that throng will never be noticed. Be ready.” The squire bowed low in mockery and turned on his heel to go. “Tomorrow sennight then,” he called back over his shoulder, as he made his way down the alleyway, his boots slipping on the mud and filth beneath his feet. “I await it eagerly. By the time the day is out, you shall have inherited a landed estate, and I shall have a trim new mistress.” Melcott watched him turn the corner and gave a grim chuckle. “No, you will not, you poor, credulous fool,” he muttered to himself, as he brought his cane down on the dirty cobblestones with a resounding thwack. He was well pleased with his day’s work. “You will be lying dead in a ditch, alongside my knave of a nephew, vilified for his murder. I will have a landed estate and little Anna as well.”

Chapter Six Anna took her mother’s admonitions about Lord Ravensbourne to heart. There were no more dawn riding lessons with her cousin, no more picnics in the sun, no more walks around the grounds in the late afternoon, no more carriage rides to town. There were no more exchanges of dark looks, no more near kisses, no more touching of fingers and hands as if by accident. She steeled herself to the look of disappointment on Lord Ravensbourne’s face whenever she declined another of his invitations. She braced herself for the disappointment she knew she would feel when the day came that he stopped calling. She knew in her heart it would be easier for her to deny him now than to wait until she had fallen even more deeply in love with him, so it would kill her to give him up. Even though she knew what she was doing was right, at times she thought her heart would break. Charlotte’s quick eyes soon noticed something was amiss between the pair of them. “Have you quarreled with my brother?” she asked one morning, as they sat in Charlotte’s chamber trimming Charlotte’s latest riding bonnet with green and yellow ribbons. Anna wanted to throw herself on her cousin’s breast and confess how her heart ached for Lord Ravensbourne, how it was killing her by inches to show him a cold brow when he came to court her. But it would not be politic to confess her secrets to Charlotte and be enrolled in the lists as another of Lord Ravensbourne’s conquests. Charlotte would pity her, and she could not bear Charlotte’s pity. No, she would not wear her bleeding heart on her sleeve. “No, we

have not quarreled.” “He had been as grumpy as an old bear in the last few days,” Charlotte said, as she deftly sewed another green streamer to her bonnet. “And you have been hiding in your house and not coming to visit us over much.” Anna knotted a yellow ribbon into a rosette with steady fingers and was silent. It hurt too much to see Lord Ravensbourne, when she knew he could never be hers. Besides, it was easier to resist him when he was not standing there in front of her, his nearness making her burn with a longing she dared not name, his eyes begging her to give in to the fire that consumed her. “You have been so sad and silent, too—quite unlike your usual self,” Charlotte said. “I do hope it is not on account of Tom. He is a sad rogue and cannot live without females to adore him wherever he goes. As long as you do not take anything he says seriously, he is a perfectly agreeable man.” Anna’s heart died a little at Charlotte’s words. Her mother had been wise to warn her against a rake and a heartbreaker like her cousin. She stabbed her needle through her yellow ribbon and pricked her finger. Tears of pain filled her eyes, and she brushed them away unobtrusively with her sleeve. “I am hoping the ball tomorrow will revive your spirits. And Tom’s as well. Georgina Perkins will be there in all her finery. She would be a good match for him, but I do not believe he likes her over much. He finds her plain and rather simple-minded.” Anna felt her own spirits revive a trifle at this news. Maybe the ball would not be so unbearable if she did not have to watch her cousin make love to another woman in front of her eyes. He had been so attentive to her lately that he would almost certainly ask her to dance with him. Her heart felt giddy at the thought of being in

Lord Ravensbourne’s arms, even for a moment, without having to feel the slightest pang of guilt. Surely her mother would not take it amiss if she were to dance once with her cousin. “I am looking forward to the ball.” She suddenly felt more enthusiastic than she had for many days. “Aphra Scott promised me she would attend as well. She is anxious to see Tom again. He paid rather a lot of attention to her when they met in London last season, and no doubt she would like to renew the acquaintance. She doesn’t have as much money as Georgina does,” Charlotte said, with a considered air, “but she comes from a very good family and she is particularly pretty. Tall and blond and striking. He could do worse than marry her.” Anna hated Aphra at once. So, Lord Ravensbourne liked tall, blond women. What did it matter that she herself was short and dark? She was only his cousin. “You would like Aphra for a sister-inlaw?” “I think it would be best if he were to choose someone ridiculously rich, like Georgina, who has been mad in love with him for years,” Charlotte said, after a moment’s thought, “but he may prefer to choose someone from the court circles who is closely allied to the king. One can never have too many friends in court. I am expecting a small house party of some of Tom’s particular friends, and some of the more eligible females of my own acquaintance, to arrive this evening. The ball would be a perfect time for him to make his choice from among them.” “You are anxious to marry your brother off.” She was proud of the small triumph she had over her voice—it hardly shook at all. Charlotte shrugged. “He must marry some time and produce an heir, if he can, to inherit the estate, or it will revert to the crown on our Uncle Melcott’s death, as Uncle Melcott has no heirs.”

“And does Lord Ravensbourne agree with you? Does he intend to choose his bride at the ball?” She waited, hardly daring to breathe, for her cousin’s answer. Charlotte shrugged her pretty shoulders. “I have high hopes he will see reason before the night is out.” Anna brooded on Charlotte’s words for the rest of the day and far into the night. Charlotte did not see her as a possible wife for her brother, or she would never have discussed the possible candidates for his bride so cavalierly with her. After all, why should Charlotte ever consider her? She had neither of the essentials—a family tree traced back to William the Conqueror, or pots and pots of gold as a recompense for her lack of breeding. Even more disturbing was the side of Lord Ravensbourne’s character that she had not seen, but which Charlotte had hinted at —that he made women fall in love with him to feed his own vanity, and that he had trifled with Aphra Scott before casting her aside. Those were not the actions of a trustworthy man. She tossed and turned, this way and that, until the early hours of the morning. As the first birds were calling their early morning songs, she came to a decision. She could not bear to watch Lord Ravensbourne choose his wife at the ball. She would stay out of his way and steel herself to congratulate him when it was all over. Never, never would she confess to anyone, not even to herself, that she had fallen in love with him. For if she did, she would also have to confess her folly—she had fallen in love with a man she could not trust. He had been kind to her—she had no quarrel with him on that score. In many ways, he seemed to be a good man, though not overly Godly. But in matters of the heart, he was a wanton rogue. If she entrusted her heart to him, he would be sure to break it, and

she had not another. She woke late the next morning with a fiery headache and limbs that felt as heavy as the devil’s heart. Her mother, noticing her paleness and the dark rings under her eyes, brewed her a cup of rosemary tea. She sipped the bitter brew obediently, but the pounding in her head didn’t abate. As evening drew near, she laid the black silk dress Lord Ravensbourne had bought her out on her bed with a heavy heart. She had seldom felt less like dancing in her life. Wearily she went through the motions of getting dressed in her finery, doing up her hair, and even dusting her face with powder to hide the purple rings under her eyes. Her mother eyed her anxiously. “We will not stay late,” she promised, as Anna dropped into a chair, already fading with fatigue. “We shall sneak away after supper, and no one will miss us.” Anna was little cheered by the thought of her own insignificance. The ball was just beginning as Anna and her mother entered the manor house. Anna’s eyes were drawn, as if by a magnet, to where Lord Ravensbourne stood with a group of his neighbors. He was easily the tallest of them and much the most handsome in her eyes. His long, brown hair fell in waves past his shoulders, and his aquiline nose gave him an austerely Grecian profile. She had not thought him handsome when she had first met him— indeed, she had considered him quite plain. But his was a beauty which came from his soul, and was not obvious to those who knew and loved him less well than she did. She had never seen him so finely dressed before. His jacket was of a rich blue brocade, and his white linen shirt was frilled on the front and sleeves with touches of lace. His stockings fit his legs

like a second skin, showing off his fine, muscular calves, and his shoes were made of the same rich blue brocade as his jacket. His Uncle Melcott standing next to him looked like a crow in severe black, untrimmed with any color save for the silver buckles on his shoes. Lord Ravensbourne, in his colorful finery and precious lace, looked like a bird flown down from paradise. He turned and caught her watching him. After detaching himself from the others with a slight bow, he made his way through the crowd to her side, a dangerously wicked smile curving his lips. “You look beautiful tonight, Anna,” he said, his voice as husky as the wisps of smoke that twisted and twined from the wax candles towards the ceiling. His nearness and the warmth in his tone heated her whole body to near boiling point. He had not been so close as this to her since they had ridden from Norwich together in the carriage. She inclined her head, wishing she could succumb to the temptation she heard in his voice, but knowing that she must not. “Thank you.” “Will you dance with me?” The moment had come sooner than she had dared to hope it would. Silently, she offered him her hand in acceptance. A thrill went through her at the touch of his fingers on hers, and her eyes sought his. The warmth and feeling she saw in them was enough to make her turn her head away in confusion. “I was waiting for you to arrive,” he breathed in her ear as he led her into the throng of dancers, “so I could be the first to take hold of your hand and lead you out to dance.” “There would have been plenty of time to dance with me later in the evening, if you so chose,” she said, guilt about the pleasure she was taking in his arms prickling the back of her spine and

making her voice sound sharp to her ears. “I am hardly inundated with followers.” “But I wanted to be the first.” His voice caressed her senses, and she fought against the magic he was weaving around her. “The one your eyes linger on when I cross the room, hoping I will ask you to dance again. The one you remember days later, when you want to relive the magic of the first dance of the first ball of the season.” “You are very sure of yourself.” Anna was determined to resist his flirtatious gallantry. He meant nothing by it. She was a fool to think he ever could change—that he would ever care about any woman enough to even try. “Are all the king’s men such arrant cockscombs?” “I want to be the one you dream of when your head hits your pillow this evening. I want you to be dancing with me in your dreams.” He swung her expertly around in his arms. “Do you ever dream of me, fair cousin?” “I never dream.” Of what I cannot have and ought not pine for, she added silently to herself. “Every woman must have a dream. A secret wish that occupies her waking moments, and lulls her off to sleep at night. Will you tell me yours?” “Certainly. My secret wish tonight is that my new slippers do not blister my heels, or I shall be in agonies all of tomorrow. But I fear my wish is doomed. My slippers fit a little more snugly than they ought and are already rubbing my heels to shreds.” “Then if you must pay the price of dancing in new shoes with blisters on your heels,” he said lightly, “we must make your ball worth every pang you must feel tomorrow.” She no longer felt her fatigue. All her sensations were bound up in

the touch of Lord Ravensbourne’s hand on hers, the male scent of him intoxicating her senses, the pleasant roughness of his sleeve against her cheek when they brushed against each other. It already is worth everything to me, Anna thought to herself, as she followed her cousin’s lead. Dancing with you, on this one magical night, is worth every pang I shall feel in the morn, both on my heels and deeper, far deeper, in my heart. Too soon the dance ended, and Lord Ravensbourne’s attention was diverted by a striking-looking man in sober clothes that seemed a little the worse for wear. “I must go speak with Captain Daventry,” he whispered in her ear, as he escorted her back to her mother. “He is the best man in the world and has traveled from London to be here with us tonight. Do not move from here. I will be back to claim you for another dance as soon as I have done my duty to my guests.” Anna wasn’t left long alone to regret the absence of her first partner. A middle-aged man, dressed severely in black, soon claimed her hand for a dance. They had barely danced five measures before Anna knew his entire life history—he was recently widowed for a second time and was left with seven children from his two marriages, as well as an aged, bedridden mother, in his care. He was on the lookout, so he explained to her in all seriousness, as he stepped on her toes for the seventh time in as many minutes, for a sober, respectable woman with a modest fortune and a frugal nature for wife number three to look after him, his children, his mother and all the rest of his large household, in return for the honor of bearing his name. Anna made it clear she was living on the charity on her relations and would bring her husband not a penny of dowry, and his interest in her waned. He left her once the dance was done with a

hurried excuse. She saw him later lead out a widow with no encumbrances and a pocket full of gold she had inherited from her late husband, a knight from the north of England. An outlandishly dressed young fop was the next to claim her attentions. He danced well, paid her outrageous compliments, and tried to kiss her in a dark corner. She slapped his face and scolded him for his wickedness. The lad, who looked not a day over sixteen, caught her hand, not a whit abashed, and kissed it with great fervor, but he received his dismissal and her sharp words with a good grace. Through it all, Anna remained painfuly aware of Lord Ravensbourne’s movements. He had stayed in the courtyard some time with Captain Daventry, reappearing just in time to catch the fop’s attempt to steal a kiss from Anna. She caught his eye, and he looked gravely at her. She turned away from his gaze, feeling shame-faced, berating herself for feeling so. She had done nothing wrong. She would not be made to feel as though she had been the guilty party. When she dared to look Lord Ravensbourne’s way again, after dismissing her young fop, he was engrossed in talking to a tall, blonde woman, gorgeously gowned in a dress of grass-green silk, her puffed sleeves dripping with lace, and her neckline low enough to show off her creamy white bosom and shoulders. As Anna watched, Lord Ravensbourne brought the blonde woman’s hand to his lips and kissed it. Her face grew hot. He had looked askance at her, when she had done nothing to provoke the young fop’s attentions. Now here he was paying court to a woman who looked as if she were no better than she should be. Envy, hot and ugly, took root in her soul. No doubt the woman was one of his many admirers, one of the eligible brood Charlotte had

brought up from London. How could she hope to compete with such a siren? She was absurd to think that Lord Ravensbourne would ever love her—even just a little. Compared to the siren in green, she was a plain country mouse. She did not wait to see more. Her soul was in too great an anguish to be borne. Her mother was right—she was insignificant. No one would notice were she to leave. Her eyes hot with pain and unshed tears, she went in search of her mother, and of an excuse to escape. Her mother was chattering with a group of women around a card table. Anna approached her, feeling weary and heartsore. “I’m very tired, Mother,” she said in a low whisper. “Would you mind if I left you here and went home?” “Are you feeling unwell?” she asked, as she rose to her feet. “Stay just a moment and I will fetch my shawl and come with you.” Anna shook her head and seated her mother again. “I do not want to interrupt your evening. I did not sleep well last night is all, and I am in no mood for dancing.” Her gaze involuntarily strayed to where Lord Ravensbourne stood, his arm now draped around the blonde siren’s bare shoulders. Mrs. Woodleigh caught the direction of her glance. “I see,” she said, after a moment’s pause. “Perhaps it is for the best. But are you sure you do not want me to accompany you?” she asked. “There will be many another chance, no doubt, to catch up on all the gossip and goings-on of my childhood friends.” “I would be no good company for you tonight, Mama. Please, stay here. I would prefer to be alone.” “You will not walk home alone?” Her mother’s voice betrayed her anxiety.

“Not at all. I will borrow one of Charlotte’s footmen long enough to see me home. I am sure she will not mind in the slightest.” Charlotte had no objection to Anna borrowing her footman, though she was disappointed Anna would not stay longer. “We have but one ball a season,” she cried, “and only then if I manage to talk Tom into giving one. You cannot mean to go home before it is even half spent. For myself, I do not intend to stop dancing until I have burned down every candle in the house to its stub.” Seeing how adamant Anna was, she accepted her cousin’s departure and insisted on sending her two stoutest footmen to light her home. Anna dismissed the footmen at her door and made her way into her chamber. Her night of folly and dissipation was over now. Lord Ravensbourne had not followed her, begging her to stay, to dance with him again as she had promised, as she had fondly hoped, for just the most fleeting moment, that he might. How could he, when he had not even noticed that she had left? With a cry of despair, she unlaced her black silk dress and tossed it into the corner. What did she care for watered silk gowns, when her heart felt torn in pieces? She loved Lord Ravensbourne with all her heart. How could she not? He had saved her from the squire, and been so kind and generous to her. He had taught her how to ride Beauty. He had treated her as if she were his own sister, instead of a poor relation dependant on him for each morsel of bread she put in her mouth. And he had spoken to her heart and to her soul in a way no other man ever had. When he looked at her with his dark, dark eyes, she melted inside. When he touched her, his fingertips struck sparks from her skin, her stomach turned over inside her, and a slow burn was ignited

in the pit of her belly. But she meant nothing to him. She made her hand into a fist and thumped it onto her bolster again and again. She had fallen in love with the very worst sort of man—a king’s man, a courtier, a rake who would chew up a poor country mouse like her before breakfast, and spit out her bones on the floor without a second thought when he had done. Loving Lord Ravensbourne was a weakness—and she refused to bow down before her own human frailty. She would cast him out of her heart, and make herself whole again. She would be strong. She would not love him. Lord Ravensbourne detached Charlotte from the arm of one of her admirers and hissed urgently into her ear. “Where is Anna? She has disappeared. I cannot find her anywhere.” Charlotte turned on her heel and tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “She has gone home, my dear brother.” “Why?” he demanded. “Was she taken ill?” “She saw you flirting with that Aphra woman,” Charlotte said, her voice tart, “and she suddenly felt fatigued.” He cursed under his breath. Aphra was worse than a leech for her persistence in flirting with him, but her sharp tongue and quick wit were too prized at court for him to lightly earn her enmity. He had even thought of marrying her at one time—her beauty and breeding made her a perfectly acceptable choice—but she made it clear to him that she was not prepared to give up her life at court for a husband. He, in his turn, was not prepared to dance attendance on the king all year round for the sake of a woman. So they had parted at the close of last winter, little pleased with each other. Thank the good Lord that Aphra had now found herself a

betrothed so perfectly to her liking she had ceased to think of him in any way other than that of friendship. Ever since he had met Anna, with her kind heart and sweet nature, he had thanked his lucky stars he had not bound himself to Aphra. Anna was like a spring daffodil, standing proud in the bright dawn of a fresh spring morning. Compared to Anna, Aphra was weak, selfish and shallow, living only for herself, and for the pleasures of the moment. If he ever married, he would not choose an Aphra. When he married, it would be to a woman such as his cousin. She was beautiful, but she made no fuss over her beauty, as if it mattered little to her. In all honesty, it probably did matter next to nothing to her—she was more concerned with interior virtues than exterior trappings. Her inner strength held her upright and steadfast, when many a weaker woman would have failed. Despite her convictions, she was no joyless prude, but a woman blessed in every way. She was kind and thoughtful to her mother, gracious to old Melcott, and a merry companion for Charlotte. And to him—to him she was a sun-ripened peach he longed to sink his teeth into, to feel her firm, juicy, tender flesh in his mouth, to lap her sweet juices with his tongue as they ran down his chin… He was ravenous for her—could never get enough of her. “Be careful of Anna,” Charlotte said, breaking into his thoughts. “You have done your best to court her, despite my warnings, and she has fallen in love with you.” He gave his sister a look that warned her to hold her tongue, but she paid him no heed. “There were several respectable men here tonight whom I wanted to introduce her to,” Charlotte continued. “She must marry sooner

or later, and she could have made a good match for herself from among them.” He couldn’t think of one of his neighbors who were worthy to kiss her little finger. “Which men?” he asked, brusquely. She pointed to a middle-aged man in a corner of the room. “Georgina Perkins’ uncle for a start. As soon as he saw Anna, he asked me to introduce him to her. He would be a perfect husband for her. He is sober and devout by all accounts, and has enough money to pick a wife to please himself rather than his pocketbook when he marries.” The thought of another man with his hands on her made him seethe with rage. No other man would ever consume her—he would make sure of that. He wanted her to belong to him, and to him alone. “And if she did not like Miss Perkins’ uncle? Or any of the others? What then?” “I like Anna, and I would not see her hurt.” Charlotte’s voice was unaccustomedly sharp. “I tried to warn her against you, but I fear I said too little, too late. You know you will not marry her, so it would please me if you would leave her alone. Once she has exorcised you from her heart, she may have a chance at making a good marriage with another, more suitable man. Our cousin is too honest. She will never marry another while she is in love with you.” “Why should I not marry her?” He had never seriously considered the notion before, but now that he thought about it, the idea pleased him greatly. He would bind her to him with chains so sweet she would not choose to break them, even if she could. “You have courted her all summer, but I do not believe you have spoken a word of matrimony to her. Your actions speak for themselves.” He resented the inference, true though it may be, that he had

courted Anna under false pretenses. His intentions had changed. His actions, now, were beyond reproach. “Maybe I was merely waiting for the right moment to declare myself.” “Anna is young and innocent, and no match for you. Go and play your games with Aphra. She is too shrewd to fall in love with you and have her heart broke for her pains.” Anna’s heart broken? He shook his head as he watched Charlotte stalk away from him in a vile mood. He would not be so vain as to think so. But if it were, he were a villain if he would not heal it, if he could. It was time he was married. He was of age and master of his own estate. It was his duty to carry on the family line and beget his issue on a wife. Anna was a suitable choice. She was young and well-bred, and according to Charlotte, she was fond enough of him to accept his offer. It would be in her interests to do so. Despite her beauty, she was unlikely to receive another respectable offer. Given her upbringing, she was unlikely to accept any of the less respectable offers she would receive were she to go to Court. And he wanted her like he had never wanted any other woman before. He wanted to have her by his side all through the night, and in his company every waking moment of the day. He wanted her to be his. His mind was made up. Why waste a moment? he asked himself striding out of the front door and across to the lane leading to the dower house. He would ask her to marry him that very night. He would lay claim to his own sweet daffodil and keep her precious fragrance for himself alone. The dower house was dark and silent. In one room, a candle flickered, and Lord Ravensbourne could make out a faint

silhouette of Anna against the window, as she took down her hair. He picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it at her window. “Anna,” he called softly. “Anna, come down to me.” The curtains were drawn aside and the window opened. Anna put her head out, her arms leaning against the sill. “Lord Ravensbourne.” Her voice seemed husky, as though she had been crying. “What are you doing here?” “May I come in?” She hesitated for a moment, indecision written in her eyes. “I want to talk to you,” he entreated her, every ounce of persuasion he could summon infusing his voice. He could not bear a refusal now. “Just for a short while.” His heart beat erratically in his chest and his body sprang painfully fast to attention as she leaned over a little further, giving him a glimpse of her soft, white throat. His own throat constricted as he pictured her lying on their marriage bed, with nothing to hide the beauty of her body from his starving eyes. The banns for their wedding would be called out in church on the morrow, or the pastor would regret the day he was born. The strength of his desire surprised him. He wanted her with every fiber of his soul. He willed her to open the door to him, to come to him of her own accord. “Give me a moment.” Her soft voice came through the casement window, making his heart leap with a savage delight. “And I will unbolt the door.” Melcott stamped his stick on the ground and drew his brows together in fury. It was nigh an hour past the time Squire Grantley had promised to meet him, and, if he did not make haste, their quarry would elude them entirely.

He ground his teeth together as the minutes continued to tick by with no sign of the errant squire. Just as he was about to give up hope of conducting their business that night, he finally caught sight of him, slinking between two old oak trees in the grounds. He drew his hands together and thanked God for his merciful goodness, saving his anger for the tardy squire. “Where in God’s name have you been?” he hissed, when the latecomer came within earshot. “God’s teeth, but it was dark out there, and muddy, too,” the squire replied with an expression of distaste as he stomped ill-smelling marsh mud off his boots. “I came as soon as dusk had fallen, but the moon hid itself behind the clouds, and the night was as black as a Puritan’s conscience.” Melcott snorted at his mockery. “The girl has left already. She did not stay even for supper.” The squire cursed volubly. “My nephew, may God rot his lecherous soul, followed her soon after,” Melcott continued. “We are too late to take him going, but we will take him when he returns home again, though we stay out-ofdoors till morning to net him. Follow me, and I’ll show you where the two of them lie tonight.” “I shall die of the ague if I have to stay out in this poxy damp,” the squire grumbled, as he followed Melcott in the direction of the dower house. “The devil take me if I do not storm the house and drag the rutting bastard off her by main force.” “Even I,” Melcott said, with a sneer, his fingers itching to be around the squire’s throat, “would be hard put to it to explain that away as self-defense.” Anna sat on a sofa, her legs tucked under her, her flimsy cotton

night-rail covered only with a old woolen wrap she had hastily thrown over her on her way downstairs. She sneaked a glance at Lord Ravensbourne, who had seated himself opposite her on a hard-backed chair. His hair was tangled with the wind, and his dark eyes reminded her of those of a hawk, piercing and watchful. “I was tired.” “You promised to dance with me again. It was not kindly done to break your promise.” “You were otherwise engaged,” Anna said, unable to keep a touch of asperity out of her voice as she thought of his arms around the beautiful blonde. “I didn’t think you would notice my absence.” Or care about it, if you did, she added silently to herself. “You saw me embracing Aphra and kissing her hand?” Anna shrugged. “I don’t know what her name was.” Asmile hovered over the edges of Lord Ravensbourne’s lips. “You would know Aphra if you saw her. Tall, well-built, quite striking really. She has just become engaged to the old Count Fitzherbert, so she tells me. I am very happy for her. He has lots of money, no other children to leave it to, is nigh on eighty, and is in poor health. She is marrying him so she can escape from her poverty and her domineering father, whom she dislikes. Naturally she hopes to soon be made a rich widow, which will leave her able to do as she pleases for the rest of her life. He is marrying her in order to spite his cousin, whom he hates, and to cut him out of his estate when he dies. They are perfect for each other.” Her bone-deep unhappiness lightened a shade, and she laughed. “Lord Ravensbourne, that is scandalous. How can you talk so?” He shrugged. “She told me so herself.” She was still suspicious. “So what were you kissing her for then?”

“To congratulate her on her betrothal, and to wish her a speedy, and a short-lived, marriage .” Anna knew she ought to be horrified at his cynicism, but she was too relieved to care. Besides, there was merit in Aphra’s highly practical plan. She already had beauty and breeding, and was only needing wealth to set her up for life. Aphra’s betrothal to her ancient count would ensure that she would never feel want. Maybe her marriage was one made in Heaven after all. “So, I have given you my excuses. Now you may give me yours.” She knew what he was referring to—the attempt by the young fop to kiss her—but she refused to acknowledge it. “Mine?” “I’m waiting.” His voice was truculent. She could be more stubborn than he. “For what?” “For kissing that young whippersnapper Fordyce. Could you not even wait until he had grown up? You should feel ashamed for leading him astray in such a fashion, and trying to make a rake out of him at such a tender age. The boy is barely out of the nursery.” She refused to feel ashamed when she had done nothing wrong. He was a beast to lay the blame on her. “I did not kiss him.” “You let him kiss you. That is exactly the same.” “I did not. Did you not see me slap his face for his impertinence?” “After you had been kissed.” “And what if it was?” she said. He would foist no standards of morality on her that he was not prepared to abide by himself. “Am I not free to be kissed by anyone I choose, the same as you consider yourself free to kiss any woman who takes your fancy?” “No.” Anna crossed her arms and stared at him. “And what gives you the right to tell me no?” “I am your cousin.”

He was being unreasonable, and she knew he knew it. “By marriage only. You are no blood relation of mine, and so cannot claim my duty or obedience.” “And I am your elder.” “My elder in years, true, and my elder in sinning, I have no doubt. But what has that to do with it?” “And I am a man.” “Ah, of course, you are a man, that noblest of God’s creatures. And, as such, you consider it your inalienable right to lie to and deceive all women.” “And because I am very fond of you, and I intend to marry you as soon as I can drag you to a church.” Anna felt as though she had been struck in the chest with a heavy leather flail. Her breath whooshed out from her lungs all in one go, and she fought to keep herself from fainting. “You what?” “I am fond of you…and I intend to marry you.” It was too much for her to comprehend. It was simply impossible. “I do not believe you.” “Try.” “Why should I?” “Because I am mad for you. I am possessed with the thought of you.” He took her hand in his and placed it on his chest. She could feel the pounding of his heart as it lay beneath her fingertips. “Feel me. I am burning up with desire for you.” She wanted to believe him. Oh, how she wanted to. “And did you say that to Aphra, when you were courting her last winter?” He knelt down and looked into her eyes, as if he could convince her of his earnestness by letting her see into his soul. “I have never before said it to another woman. I have never felt this way before.”

She wanted to believe him, but she could not trust to her heart, when her head was telling her how wrong she was. Charlotte’s words haunted her. Charlotte knew her brother to be a rake and loved him not the less for it. But Anna would not put her trust in a man who could not be true to her. She could not, would not, love him. She shook her head in denial. “Do you not love me then?” If only it were so simple. “I do not wish to love you, therefore I will not.” “So, you do love me then?” Anna bit her tongue and was silent. She knew better than to answer when the devil with his silver tongue of temptation was speaking. “But you will not confess it.” He sat himself down beside her on the sofa and drew her unyielding body into his arms. “But I want you to love me. And I want to hear you telling me so, with your sweet tongue. Come, I will not be denied.” “I do not love you,” she lied, as she sought to break free of his embrace, before she succumbed to temptation and lost herself in his arms. “And it is unseemly for you to be here with me, alone, late at night, when I am barely dressed. You must go.” His arms tightened around her and his lips brushed her hair. “Not until I have what I came for.” His words were like a bucket of ice cold water tipped over her head. He was going to force her, as Squire Grantley had tried to. All powers of reasoning flew out of her head to be replaced with blind terror and panic. He was a ravening beast, an evil serpent, a devil from the deepest and blackest pits of hell. He was worse even than the squire. She froze for an instant, then fought wildly, hitting, scratching, and

biting at whatever parts of him she could reach. “You will not, damn you to hell and back again, you filthy, vicious, whoremongering swine,” she sobbed, in her fear and fury. “I will kill you first. I will kill you, like I wish I had killed the squire.” But Lord Ravensbourne didn’t fight back. When the first wave of her panic had subsided, she realized he was no longer touching her, no longer restraining her in any way. He was sitting in silence, suffering her blows without a murmur, a look of deep pity on his face, as he waited for her to come to herself again. With a growing sense of amazement, Anna realized he did not mean to hold her or to hurt her. Strong as he was, he could have felled her with one swipe from the back of his hand. Instead, he suffered her attack, without lifting a finger in his own defense. Her heart stopped pounding quite so violently in her breast, and her breathing slowed. She brought her hands in front of her, seeing with shame how they were marked with red where she had drawn blood from his cheeks with her frantic fingernails. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with regret. “I only meant to steal a kiss from you, but instead I frightened you beyond your powers of endurance. It was ill-done of me. Please, will you forgive me?” And he held out one hand to her, pleading for her forgiveness. She had been in the wrong to attack him so frantically. He had never meant to harm her. The realization struck her with the force of a tempest . Overcome with the strength of her emotions and the depth of her relief, she covered her eyes and wept bitter tears. He took her gently into his arms. She did not fight him this time. She knew he meant no wrong by it. “Tell me about the squire,” Lord Ravensbourne said in a low tone, stroking her brow gently with his hand, as one would stroke the forehead of a sick child.

She could not tell him. She never wanted to remember what had happened—it had been too horrible. The squire had nearly had his way with her, as if she were a common trollop—a creature that existed only to service his beastly lusts. And she didn’t know to this day whether or not he had survived the blows she had given him. The law might be on her tail. She might have maimed him, or worse yet, killed him. She could not tell Lord Ravensbourne about her actions. He would not understand. He would blame her for the attack, or accuse her of having brought it on herself by her wanton behavior. He would despise her. “He was the reason you had to leave your old home in such haste and seek protection from your family,” Lord Ravensbourne stated. That much at least she could confess to. She nodded through her tears. “He forced you.” The terror of the moment when she had first realized the squire meant to rape her returned to Anna in full force and she wept anew, with noisy, shuddering sobs that racked her whole body. “I will kill him.” Lord Ravensbourne’s voice was low and deadly. She could not leave him thinking the worst. She would rather he knew the truth—that she preferred to protect herself, with violence if need be, than to fall victim to the evil lusts of a wicked ravisher. She was no Lucretia to suffer in silence, then take her shame out in doing violence to herself. Had she been Lucretia, she would have killed Tarquin with the sharp point of her dagger, not herself. “It was n…not so bad as you think. I stopped him before he could…before he…” “You stopped him?” She held on to her courage with all her might. She would not be

ashamed for what she had done. She had been right to protect herself. If she ever had to, she would do the same again. “I hit him.” The darkness on Lord Ravensbourne’s face faded somewhat. “Good.” “Twice.” Lord Ravensbourne was almost smiling. “Even better.” Her confession was not as hard as she had thought it would be, when he was so understanding. He did not seem to hate her. “He offered me the position of governess for his three daughters after my father died. On my first night, he came into my room and tried to force me. First of all I knocked him out with a blow to the head. I used a candlestick. A heavy one, made of iron.” His smile widened. “I’m glad to hear it.” “And then I hit him again, as hard as I could. Between the legs.” She savored the memory of the blow she had dealt the squire. He had deserved every pain she had dealt him, and twenty times more. “I wanted to kill him.” Her cousin could not have guessed at this dark side of her character. She looked sideways at him, waiting to see how he would take this proof of her violent nature. He gave an involuntary wince, and crossed his legs protectively over himself. “I imagine he wanted to die after that. Remind me never to make you angry.” Seeing the effect the mere thought of a blow like that had on Lord Ravensbourne, she almost felt sorry for the squire. “I do not know if he recovered from the blow.” “I hope he did not.” But, evil or not, Squire Grantley’s death would lie heavy on her conscience. “I may have murdered him.” “Whatever you may have done would never change my feelings for

you. I love you, Anna.” “You may love a murderess.”

Chapter Seven

“I love you. And you are not a murderess.” Lord Ravensbourne’s voice was calm, and he placed a kiss on her brow as gentle as the brush of a sparrow’s wing. “You need have no fear.” Anna had lived with her terror and her guilt for too long to let it go so quickly or easily. “But if the squire is dead? Will I not hang for it?” “If he is dead, he was killed by his own wickedness and by the will of God.” She was the instrument of God. It was a comforting thought that took the edge off the fear that had held her in its grip ever since that terrible night. Maybe God would still forgive her for her sins and give her a glimpse of Heaven when she died. But man was so much more unforgiving than God was. Man was cruel and had no compassion. Man hanged poor vagabonds for stealing food to fill their starving bellies. What cruelties would they have in store for a murderess? “Would you still love me if I were thrown into gaol?” she asked, feeling the icy wind of a prison cell blowing down the back of her neck. “Would you still want to marry me then? Or would you turn away from the shame I would bring on you and your family? Would you come to see me hanged and cheer along with the rest of the crowd as the rope was placed around my throat and all life squeezed out of me?” “I love you, Anna, whatever you may do. And I would rescue you from prison, though you were locked in the pits of hell itself.” His arm pulled her closer to his body, so she could feel his strength

through his fine clothes. “You shall not feel badly, now that I can share the secrets of your conscience and lighten the burden of your heart.” His acceptance of her secret shame captured her heart and held it prisoner as none of his fine words could do. Quietly she lay her head on his shoulder. A single tear trickled out of her eyes to come to rest on the blue brocade of his jacket. “I love you, too, my lord. I love you with all my heart and I always will.” She had not planned to say the words, but once said, she could not wish them unsaid again. He had bared his soul before her. He deserved to know the secrets that lay locked in her breast. “You will marry me then?” She looked deep into his eyes, to read the truth of his heart. His eyes were dark with love and longing, but Charlotte’s words hung heavy on her heart, and she needed one last assurance before she could plight her troth to him. “Will you be true to me?” He clasped her hands in his own. “I have not looked at any other woman since I met you, my pretty cousin. Once you are my wife, I shall never look at another again. On my soul, and my hopes of Heaven, I swear it.” She could tell he spoke from his soul. Her heart was too full of joy to bear. He loved her and had sworn to be true to her. “Then I will marry you, and gladly, too.” “So, will you kiss me now we are betrothed?” His tone was teasing, but when she looked at his face, his eyes were serious. She had not the strength to refuse him. She did not need to refuse him any longer. Reaching up to him, she touched her lips against his. His lips were slightly rough against hers, and infinitely gentle as he allowed her to kiss him. He tasted sweeter than she could have imagined—sweeter than Heaven.

“I promised myself that I would not return home before I had tasted your lips,” he murmured against her ear when she finally broke away from him again. “That is all I meant before, I swear to you.” She wanted him to kiss her again. To not stop kissing her until the two of them had mingled souls and flown to paradise together on the wings of an angel. “I would not have my husband known as an oath-breaker.” His breath was soft against her neck. “Come and kiss me again, then, and fulfill my vow twice over.” “No. I want you to kiss me this time.” He hesitated. “Will you not be afraid?” She shook her head. “I will never be afraid of you again.” His kisses were sweet and pleasant, not rough or demanding. They did not hurt her—they made her sigh with longing. His kisses would heal her soul. They would exorcise her spirit from the memory of the squire’s attack forever. His mouth approached hers as if he were afraid she might take fright and flee from him. She was not frightened any longer. It was passing strange, but she could not even remember what it felt like to be frightened any more. Eagerly she angled her head up to meet his lips with her own. His kiss started gently, with light, feathery touches around the corner of her mouth, before settling as softly as a honeybee on a patch of sweet clover on her bottom lip. A shiver of longing passed through her, and she moved closer to him on the sofa, arching her body towards his. The tips of her breasts grazed his chest, and sparks of fire ignited within her. His hands moved along her arms, to her shoulders, and then to her breasts. With a growing sense of longing, she thrust them out,

filling his hands with her soft, womanly bounty. His fingertips glided over her breasts, stopping at the tight nub of her nipples. He rolled them between his thumb and forefinger through the thin fabric of her nightgown. “Do you like that?” he asked, his voice a breathy whisper. “Do you like me to play with your breasts?” “Yes,” she whispered, feeling like a brazen hussy. “I like it.” “How much do you like it?” “Very much,” she confessed. “More than I can say.” Her body had never felt so delicious, so languid, so hungry. She ached to touch him, as he was touching her. Of their own volition, her hands moved up to lay against the fine linen of his shirt-front. He shivered under her ministrations as she stroked him tenderly through the fine fabric. She wanted to touch all of him, skin to skin, with no barrier between them. “Would you like me to kiss you again?” He didn’t wait for her whispered reply before his lips were on hers again, this time a little more insistent, teasing her with his tongue, which darted over her mouth like quicksilver. Her mouth opened under his advance, and he took full possession of it at once, as if he had been waiting for her acceptance and encouragement of his eagerness. He lifted her onto his lap, the better and deeper to kiss her. Beneath her bottom she could feel the length of his engorged shaft tremble with passion. With a sigh of sensual delight, she shifted until it was encased between her buttocks. Fumbling hands—she did not know whether they were his or hers —pushed away the woolen wrap that had covered her night-rail and kept her from the night air. She was no longer cold. She could not be cold, when the touch of his hands on her made her blaze

brighter than the hottest flame. His mouth left hers, and she could have cried for the desolation he left her in, but before she could utter a sound of protest, his lips were on her neck, and lower. The lacing in the front of her nightgown was soon undone, and his mouth moved lower yet, to her breast. She arched her head back and cried out in delight as he took her tightened nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue until she felt as if she were going up in flames. Never before had she felt such urgency. With greedy hands, she clasped his head to her breast, urging him on in his explorations. Then his hand was on her leg, pushing her nightgown up above her waist. She gave a startled squeak, but did not move to stop him. His touch against her skin felt so right, as if he had been born to touch her there. “I shall marry you come morn,” he promised in her ear, as his warm hands stroked her thigh. “On my hopes of Heaven and my fear of the devil, I promise you and I shall be wed.” She knew she ought to move away, but she had not the will to do so. He would be her husband in a matter of hours—he had sworn it. What would it hurt if their marriage vows were anticipated by a few hours? Surely such a sin was merely a venial one, not a mortal one. She would atone for her sin in so many ways, she vowed, when her sinning was over. His mouth was on hers again, dangerous and yearning. She met him, thrust for thrust, as their tongues dueled to give the other pleasure. His hands had reached the juncture of her thighs. He stroked the triangle of black curls that glistened there. The urgency was building in her again, so rough and demanding it

took her breath away. With only a slight pang of conscience, she allowed her legs to part, giving him access to all her secrets. With the soft pad of his thumb, he found an exquisitely sensitive place, and circled it. Then she felt his finger inside her, gently thrusting into her channel, and withdrawing again until she felt as though she would go insane with the pleasure he was giving her. The gentle friction of his fingers made her wild with passion. Wordlessly she thrust against him as, slick with moisture and urgent with the same want that drove her, her needs brought her to the edge of an unknown precipice. Then, with one final thrust, a scream burst from her throat as she plunged over the brink and lost herself in a delicious whirlpool of sensation. Melcott fought to control his labored breathing as he turned away from the scene in the window and tucked himself back into his breeches. The pleasure he had given himself was built on pain— the torment of seeing his future wife made into a whore before his very eyes. Damn his nephew for a rake, and damn Anna for succumbing to his blandishments. Anna and her beautiful body would not come to him as pure as she ought to. He did not think he would forgive her for that. She did not deserve his forgiveness. When they were married, he would devise a fitting punishment for her wantonness. He wanted Anna untouched by any other man, but his base and lecherous nephew had foiled the fulfillment of his desire. His just and proper grievances against his nephew were replaced with a black and blinding anger that corroded his very soul. Lord Ravensbourne must die—this very night. He must not be allowed

to defile Anna once more, as he had just defiled her. The woman that Melcott would marry needed to be kept as pure from sin and the knowledge of evil as ever a sinful creature could be. Only then could she hope to rise above the base nature of her sex to be a proper helpmate for a man of God. The squire, his face contorted with a combination of passion and fury, was still peering through the window at the shadowy figures inside as he stroked himself with desperate violence. Melcott watched in disgust as the squire brought himself to orgasm with a series of noisy grunts, taking care to milk every last drop of pleasure from himself before wiping his hand on the wet grass. Truly the squire disgusted him, but he was a fit tool to be used for God’s purposes. Even depraved fools formed a vital part of God’s plan. He gazed with distaste at the pool of slime on the ground in front of the quire. “I hope you have not unmanned yourself,” he said with a sneer, making no attempt to hide his contempt and revulsion. “The real work is still to come. You heard how he vowed to kill you. Better you get to him first, or he will lie you out in the road as a feast for the crows.” The squire grunted as he retied the laces of his breeches in a hurried knot. “I’m ready. I’ll stick my knife in the poxy back of that whore-mongering son of a scab-ridden old bitch as soon as he sets foot out the door.” But it was some minutes still before Lord Ravensbourne appeared. The squire paced up and down, swearing under his breath whenever he stumbled over the uneven ground. Melcott sat on his heels, possessing his soul in patience for the end of the night’s work. All he needed to do now was to wait and to act

appropriately when the time came. His plan was perfect. It could not be faulted in any way. He would not fail. There was a soft noise at the front of the house, and a shaft of light glimmered over the front step. The squire started, jumped into the shadow of an old oak, and drew his dagger into his hand. “Not so fast, not so fast,” Melcott counseled him, in a voice so soft it could barely carry through the air to the squire’s ear. “We cannot kill him so close to the house as to risk witnesses. The girl would talk, and all our labors would be in vain. Tail him to the lane and beyond, and kill him there. Make it look as though he was set upon by a wandering footpad. Make haste and do not lose him.” The squire grunted again, and stole away after Lord Ravensbourne on silent feet. Melcott crouched on his heels a while longer, his eyes half-closed, but his mind alert and his ears attuned to the night noises. An owl hooted. The wind whistled eerily through the topmost branches of the elm trees. A rabbit squealed its last as it met its death at the hands of a hungry fox or stoat. And still he waited. His legs were beginning to cramp when, in the distance, he heard a hoarse human cry and the sound of blades clashing together. The noise continued for barely as long as it took him to struggle to his feet, then all fell silent once more. Hurriedly he made his way to the source of the noise. A figure sat on the grass by the side of the lane, groaning and cussing by turns. Melcott recognized the squire, and hurried up to him. “Melcott, you damn devil,” the squire hissed between his teeth, his voice thick with pain. “Why did you not tell me that yon nephew of yours has a way with a weapon?” “Did he pink you?” “He didn’t touch me. I took him by surprise and pricked his arm

with my sword. He grabbed a stick from the hedge to parry my strokes, and we fought, but he was no match for me. I was about to stick it to him in the heart, when I stumbled over a poxy hole in the lane. God’s blood, but I am bruised and battered from head to toe., I have broken my ankle bone in two, and I cannot stand. I need a horse. Or better yet a carriage.” A smile curved over Melcott’s face. The only carriage the squire would ever ride in again was the one that would carry him to his grave. “Come, give me your arm,” he said as he reached down and took the squire’s knife hand in his left hand. With his right hand, he slid a gold-chased dagger neatly in between two of the squire’s ribs, all the way to the hilt, so that the squire’s lifeblood ran down his side and mingled with the dust of the road. The squire looked up at his murderer, his face a picture of disbelief, and of the agony of dying. “You filthy, double-crossing, whore-mongering bastard,” he whispered. Then the blood gurgled up into his throat, and he fell on his back into the roadway, his life draining out of him. “God will damn you to seven hells for this.” Melcott gave him a vicious kick with the toe of his boot. “Do not take the name of your Savior in vain,” he advised, satisfaction making his voice harsh with mockery. He snuffed up the sweet scent of the squire’s lifeblood into his nostrils with delight. He had done a good deed that night, and one the Lord would thank him for. “Consider that you are on your way to meet him anon.” The squire’s face was dead-white in the moonlight and his fingers were scrabbling feverishly at his side, where the dagger had entered. Slowly their movements grew ever more slow, until they stopped altogether.

Melcott prodded him gently with his toe. The squire did not even twitch, but lay, still and silent, in a pool of congealing blood. Anna rose the next morning to a bright new day. She was betrothed to Lord Ravensbourne, and he had taken her to a place she’d never known existed on earth. He had laid his mark on her, and she had accepted him willingly, as the man who would be her husband. He had vowed to come to her that morning to ask permission from her mother to marry her. Then they would tell their joyous news to the world, and all would rejoice with them. She knew her mother’s permission would instantly be forthcoming. Mrs. Woodleigh would be delighted. She loved Lord Ravensbourne as if he were her own son, and she would be glad to see her daughter settled safely in the world. As promised, her lover arrived with the sun, his arm in a sling, but his face wreathed in smiles. Anna and her mother were eating breakfast when he arrived at their door. “You have hurt yourself, my lord?” she asked, at the sight of his bandaged arm. Leaving her uneaten muffin on her plate and rising hastily from the table, she rushed over to him to inspect the damage. He dismissed her concern with a shake of his head and put his uninjured arm around her shoulders possessively. She leaned against his side, taking comfort in his presence. “Just a scratch. Not worth mentioning. But, Mrs. Woodleigh,” he said, and he winked at Anna, “with your permission, I would like to ask you the most important question of my life.” The interview went just as Anna had predicted it would. Lord Ravensbourne, Anna’s hand tightly clasped in his own, broke the

news of their desire to be betrothed, and, as expected, received Mrs. Woodleigh’s fondest assurances of her full consent and of her great happiness at the prospect of having him not only as a nephew, but also as a son. Their happiness was short-lived. In the middle of Mrs. Woodleigh’s protestations of delight, a loud stamping, as of many feet, was heard at the door. A voice called loudly to ask if Lord Thomas Ravensbourne was inside. He strode to the door and flung it open. Anna gasped with surprise and apprehension at the sight of a half-dozen strange men, armed with a motley collection of antique weaponry, clustered outside on the stoop. “Constable Williamson,” Lord Ravensbourne said curtly to the leader of the men outside his door. “What can I do for you.” The constable shuffled his feet together, before deliberately squaring his shoulders and saying in a loud voice. “Lord Ravensbourne, you must come along with me. I arrest you in the name of the king.” Mrs. Woodleigh shrieked. Anna grew faint and clasped at the edge of the table to steady herself. Lord Ravensbourne himself looked only mildly curious. “God’s blood, Williamson, what in heaven’s name for?” “For the murder of Squire Grantley, found dead last night in a ditch by the side of the lane in the copse, not more than three hundred paces from here, with your dagger in his back.” Anna gasped at the sound of that hated name. She had not killed him, then, with her iron candlestick. She mouthed a quick prayer of thanks to the Lord for sparing her conscience from that particular sin. But her bout of thankfulness was quickly over. The squire had

been killed, though not by her. She had told Lord Ravensbourne only last night of the squire’s attack on her. Surely he would not, he could not, have moved so quickly to take revenge on the man who had threatened her. Still, he had been whole last night, and this morning he was bandaged. She did not want to suspect him, but the idea that he had murdered the squire crept into her imagination like the plague, infecting everything it touched. On shaky legs, she made her way to his side and took his good hand in hers. “Tell me it is not true.” She could not yet unreservedly place her trust in him. It was only yester-night that she had placed her trust in him at all. She needed his honesty and his reassurance so badly. His face was grave as he turned to her. “A man jumped me last night, at the place in the lane, as I returned home. I took him for a common footpad, but it could well have been your squire. He wounded my arm when he first attacked me, we fought for a few moments, then he stumbled and fell. I did not kill him, Anna. When I left him, he was hurling curses after me at the top of his lungs.” She believed him with all her heart, but his story did not tally well with the fact that a man lay dead in the ditch. “But your dagger? In his back?” “Believe me, Anna. I would never stab a man, even vermin such as he, in the back.” He turned to the constable and his men. “I am innocent of this charge. I have nothing to hide and nothing to fear. Come, take me along to the justice, and we shall soon sort out the truth of the matter.” Anna could not believe how quickly things moved. Before she had had time to utter a single protest, Lord Ravensbourne had been carried off to Norwich to be hauled before the justice of the peace,

and she and Charlotte and Mrs. Woodleigh were sitting weeping together in the carriage, as it jolted along after them. Melcott crossed his legs in front of the fire of Norwich’s best inn and poured out another measure of the best French brandy for Justice Willoughby, who sat across the table from him. “My nephew was picked up this morning for murder.” The Justice’s eyes lit up with eager greed, and he rubbed his hands together with glee. “And you want to make sure he goes free. Anything to oblige an old friend.” “On the contrary. I saw him commit the murder myself, and I would not have so grave a crime go unpunished.” The light went out from Justice Willoughby’s eyes, and he heaved a sigh. “I would have done my duty in the matter, whether you had asked me to or no.” Melcott mentally calculated how much he would need to offer the justice to ensure the verdict went his way. Justice Willoughby was as greedy for riches as his fellows, but was also proud of his reputation as a strict law-enforcer. “I have every confidence in you, my dear justice,” he said. “And to show my appreciation, I will be happy to send you a brace of pheasants and another of geese when my nephew is found guilty.” Willoughby coughed delicately. “I will do what I can, my dear Melcott, but juries can be so difficult these days.” “And a case of Spanish wine when he is hanged.” That offer evidently found favor. The justice licked his lips greedily and swallowed the spittle gathering in his mouth. “Malmsey or Madeira?” Melcott sighed. “Shall I say a case of each?” The justice raised his glass. “Then it will be my pleasure to hang

your nephew forthwith, and we shall toast his burial together in fine style.” Anna shivered with fear as Lord Ravensbourne stood before the jury, and the justice who presided over them. Even though he was accused of a heinous crime, he held his head erect, and his eyes flashed fire. “Who accuses me of this murder?” The justice, an old man dressed in a black suit gone rusty with age, fished in his pocket and brought out a coarse handkerchief, with which he wiped the drip off the end of his long, hooked nose. “You are here to answer my questions, my fine young lordling,” he sneered. “I am not here to answer yours.” He had only one ear, Anna realized with dismay. What hope for mercy, or even of justice, from a lawgiver who himself had been on the wrong side of the law and had lost an ear for it? “Have I not the right to face my accusers?” The justice tapped his fingers impatiently on the bench in front of him. His pale blue eyes were cold and merciless. “I have a witness who places you at the scene of the crime.” Anna shivered at the severity of his tone. He was looking at Lord Ravensbourne with an implacable gaze, as if he could stare a confession out of him. Lord Ravensbourne shrugged. “I do not deny that I met the squire last night, if it was he, indeed, who jumped on me in the dark and stuck his sword in my arm.” “Do you deny that you fought with him?” “The man attacked me, and I defended myself.” The justice leaned forward eagerly, his beady eyes glittering with an evil delight. “So you admit to killing him then?” “I did not kill him. He was alive when I left him.”

“A likely story. You fought with him, but did not kill him? So who did? And why were you out that night at all? In the middle of your own ball? Did you hope the crowd would cover your absence so you could sneak away unnoticed on your errand of murder?” Anna felt a hot tide of shame wash over her. She would not, for all the world, have it known he had visited her, in her house, that night. Her sin was between her and God—not for the greedy ears of those who wished her and her betrothed harm. Lord Ravensbourne’s eyes sought Anna’s. His look caressed her and promised her his silence. “That is my own affair.” The justice motioned to the constable, who brought forth a richly chased dagger. He took it in his hand and held it out for Lord Ravensbourne’s inspection, before passing it to the members of the jury. They looked with some interest at the patterned hilt and the bloodstains on the blade and passed it back again. “Is this your dagger?” Even at the distance she was, Anna recognized her betrothed’s dagger, the gold-wrought hilt crusted with darkened blood. He gave it a cursory glance. “It looks like mine, indeed, but I was carrying no weapon that night.” The justice continued firing questions with his staccato voice. “It was found in the body of the murdered man. How did it get there?” “I do not know.” “And you will not say why you were out that night?” “I will not, but my purpose was innocent, and naught to do with this matter.” “You fought with this man. Your dagger was found in his body. And yet you persist in telling me of your innocence? I grow tired of these games. Have you any witnesses to call in your defense?” “I am innocent. I need no witnesses to attest to the fact.”

“Have you nothing more to say in your defense?” “The squire deserved to die many times over, but I am innocent of his death.” A dead silence hung in the room when Lord Ravensbourne finished speaking. Anna could not breathe. With desperate eyes, she watched the members of the jury put their heads together and confer briefly. Their decision was soon made. The foreman of the jury, a working man in his smock, spoke the sentence. “Any man could have done the deed,” he said stoutly. “Besides, the murdered man had no proper business in the vicinity that we know of. We mislike his loitering in the darkness and have concluded it was for no honest purpose. We find Lord Ravensbourne not guilty of the foul murder of Squire Grantley. Even if he struck the fatal blow, we find that it was justified in selfdefense, and so find him not guilty.” Charlotte gave a squeal of joy. Mrs. Woodleigh sighed happily. Anna wanted to rush over and kiss the foreman of the jury, but she contented herself with clapping her hands together in joyous agreement. The justice was less impressed with their verdict. He leaped from his seat, his face contorted so with fury that Anna, despite her joy, winced under his onslaught. “You find what?” “We find the accused not guilty, neither in word nor in deed.” The justice sat again, steepled his hands together, and took several deep breaths. “This is a travesty of justice,” he said, in a voice that shook with suppressed anger. “I will not allow it. Constable take the jury away to prison. They can reconsider their verdict from the comfort of their cells until they are prepared to do what is just and right.”

There was a chorus of protest from the jury. One of them stood up and shook his fists at the justice, shouting furiously at him. The justice stood firm. He waved on the hesitant constable and his band. “Take them away.” The members of the jury growled a protest, but started to move along after the constable, throwing dark looks at the justice as they went. “And one other thing,” the justice said, as they reached the door, “sequester them together in one cell apart from the other prisoners, and do not give them any food or water. That way we will ensure a speedy end to this rebellion against law and order.” The growls of protest became roars of outrage. The jury broke away from the constable and his men, and huddled together in a corner, where a furious debate took place. Anna held her breath as they argued, hoping against hope they would stand up for what they believed in and let Lord Ravensbourne go free. Her hopes were dashed when the foreman of the jury stepped out from the others. “We would like to reconsider our decision.” Two of the jury voiced a furious protest, but were quickly hushed by the others. “After due consideration of the weighty evidence against the prisoner, we find him guilty as charged.” “Good.” The justice’s voice was oily in its unctuousness. “You may go sit down again. You have saved yourselves much pain by acting righteously in this matter. Constable, escort the jury back to their seats.” He turned to Lord Ravensbourne again, spit dribbling down his chin in his eagerness to pass judgment. “Through due process of the law, you have been found guilty by this jury of upright and honest men. We have no other course open to you but to pronounce you guilty of the crime of murder. You shall be hanged

by the neck until dead. Constable, take him away.” Anna felt as though she would die to have him snatched away from her again, when, just moments before, she had rejoiced in his safety. She could not hold her tongue for another moment. She stood up and called out in the middle of the court. “As God is my witness, he was with me last night in my chamber,” she cried, as the constable began to wind a coil of rope around Lord Ravensbourne’s wrists, pinning his hands behind his back so tightly that the rope cut cruelly into his skin. “Last night we were betrothed. He was bent on marriage, not murder. He did not kill the squire.” The justice dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Silence. The jury has spoken, and sentence has been passed. I will not revoke it on the word of a self-confessed strumpet.” Lord Ravensbourne moved as if to strike the justice, but the constable’s men held him so tightly he could not budge an inch. “She is no strumpet,” he hissed between his teeth. “She is my wife.” The justice grinned, showing his rotten, blackened stumps of teeth. “And will soon be your widow.

Chapter Eight Lord Ravensbourne sat alone in his ice-cold cell as darkness fell around him, preparing himself for death. Outside his cell he heard a bottle smash against the stone floor and some drunken shouts of protest. His guards were certainly enjoying themselves, but he was in no mood to sympathize with them in their revelry. The prospect of death, he had recently discovered, had a remarkably chilling effect on one’s soul. He held out no hope that his sentence would be reversed. Justice was dealt with swiftly in this part of the country. He had but a few days to live—ten or twelve at the most, he reckoned. The death Squire Grantley demanded that a man be hanged for his murder. Unfortunately, justice didn’t demand the right man hang. He had begged pen and ink from the constable and written to the king that afternoon, asking him for a pardon, but more to go through the motions of trying to save his own life than from any real hope. The king had much on his mind and tended to be forgetful of his friends when they weren’t immediately in front of him and ready to joke and carouse with. The king would probably never bother to read his letter. Or if he did, it would likely be too late, and his corpse would already be rotting on a gibbet somewhere on a crossroads to frighten travelers and feed the crows. He shivered in the icy air of his cell. He was only scantily dressed and he had no blanket to wrap himself in, or fire to warm himself by. He had not even been allowed a rush taper to keep him company and lighten the gloom. The cold and the night bothered him little, though, when compared to the prospect that lay before him. Death was colder and blacker by far than the darkest

midwinter night, and after death, there was no morning. He got to his feet and paced up and down his tiny cell. Three strides, halt, turn, and three strides back again. He was lucky he had it to himself. The last batch of law-breakers had been turned off only a few days ago, he had been told, and he had the honor of being the first new occupant. Not for long, though. Once enough death sentences had been passed to make their turning-off worth the hangman’s hire, he, too, would go his way with all the rest, to be wedded to the ropemaker’s daughter. Damn it, but he was not ready for death to come a-calling. He had too much to live for. He needed to make sure Charlotte married well and was settled in life. She was too inclined to let her heart rule her head, and her caprices to rule her heart. He needed to oversee the planting of the southern-facing field at the eastern end of his lands—the rogue of his steward last season had left stones as big as a man’s fist in the way of the plough, and the harvest had been a scanty one, when it should have been more bountiful than that from any two of his other fields together. Most of all, he needed to see Anna. He needed to touch her, to hold her in his arms and to feel the beating of her heart against his own. He had only just discovered the joy of truly loving, and of being loved in return, and his need for her warmth and her joy was a like a craving in his mind and in his heart and in every part of his body, which he could not ignore. Were it not for Anna, he might almost be able to reconcile himself to his death, unjust though it may be. But to die before he had held Anna in his arms one more time, before he had truly made her his own in word and in deed? Surely God could not be so cruel as to

demand such a sacrifice from him. Little did the justice care that he had been falsely accused and wrongly sentenced. The justice had wanted to believe in his guilt. After all, who makes a better murderer to a frugal and pious merchant than a landed lord and a courtier to a dissolute and spendthrift king? He would not go tamely to his death to satisfy any man’s jealousy and lust for revenge. If only he knew who had borne false witness against him, he would take that knave on the journey to the afterlife with him and be content. There could be no witnesses to an attack which never happened. The so-called witness was a liar and a knave. And, most probably, he was also the one who had struck the fatal blow himself and thrown the blame for the murder elsewhere to save his own skin. His own dagger had been used to kill the man, to add credence to the real murderer’s story. It must have been part of a deliberate plan and plotted by a member of his own household or one of his neighbors. Any number of people could have stolen his dagger from his chamber on the night of the ball and used it for the murder. To have any hope of saving his own neck, he needed to find out who had done it, and what they had hoped to gain by his discredit or his death. But in the meantime, he would prepare to meet his Maker with as good a grace as he could muster. It had been pitch black in his cell for some time before he fell into a fitful sleep, punctuated by nightmares of bodies covered in blood and the wrathful finger of God accusing him of all manner of horrors. He was awakened when the door to his cell swung open and a

shaft of light from a lantern held by a lad in tattered breeches and a jerkin several sizes too large for him fell directly on to his eyes. He sat up with a start, cursing and rubbing his eyes. “Hush,” said a voice he knew only too well. “Do not make a sound, or we are all lost.” He was seeing visions. Either that, or he was already dead and in heaven with his love. “Anna?” he asked, barely moving the air with his soft whisper. “Is it really you? Here?” She held her finger to her lips. “Hurry. We do not have long.” He needed no further urging, but jumped instantly to his feet and wrapped the thin woolen cloak on which he had been lying around his shoulders. She pressed the hilt of a sword into his hand, and he grasped it tightly in his fist. “Just in case our plans go awry. Use it to save yourself, if you can.” He took pleasure in the feel of the cold steel in his hand. God’s blood, but he would not be taken again now he had the taste of freedom again in his mouth. He would rather die an honest death as a man of valor, with his love at his side, than hang alone as a thief and a rogue. “The guards?” he whispered, as she hesitated just outside the door. “Where are they?” Anna gestured along the corridor to the right. “Charlotte took them wine early this evening. They have been drinking for hours.” His sister, too, had joined in the plot to rescue him? If he ever made it out alive, he would buy her as many bonnets as she could ever want, and not begrudge her a single one. “Charlotte is drinking with them?” Anna grinned. “She makes a fine, strapping, young lad. She swaggers just like George, the stable boy, does, and can hold her

liquor with the best of them.” There was a sudden noise of footsteps, and they stopped still, before shrinking back into a dark doorway to hide themselves as best they could. A guard staggered drunkenly by them and out through the door at the end of the corridor. They heard him relieve himself against the wall and then stumble back in again. The two of them kept as still as church statues, and he passed by them again, without seeing them. They waited until all sound of his footsteps had died away before creeping into the corridor again. Lord Ravensbourne’s heart was still pounding with fear—not for himself but for Anna and Charlotte. If they were caught helping him break out of jail, they would hang alongside him, despite their sex. “You have risked your lives to come here.” Anna reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. “We know what we are doing. We both love you and could not leave you here to die.” Once outside again, they made their way through the deserted prison yard to the gate in the front without being challenged. Anna took a set of keys from around her waist and unlocked the gate with deft fingers. “The horses are waiting over the way. Bring them over and wait for me here, while I fetch Charlotte.” And she was gone, gliding away on her soft-shod feet like a shadow in the night. He would have followed her, but she had disappeared like a wraith made of smoke before he had gained sufficient command over his faculties to take notice of where she had gone. Stunned by his sudden reversal of fortune, and dizzy with the hope of freedom, he crouched on his heels and waited in the dark, as he

had been advised. With his vision impeded by the blackness of the night, his other faculties sharpened in recompense. The brisk wind pierced his cheek and the smell of fear and desolation that had penetrated into every pore of the thick stone wall that surrounded him assailed his nose. He strained his ears for the slightest hint that his cousin and his sister had been discovered, but he heard nothing. Rather than suffer them to be caught, he would die a thousand deaths to save them. He would not have thought either of them capable of so daring a deed. Charlotte was bold enough, given the opportunity, but to dress as a man and risk her own neck to save his? He would never had credited her with sufficient will to carry out a plan, and such resolution and cunning to stick to it and not be discovered. Anna, his dear Anna, must have led her into the adventure. Frightened though she had seemed to him when she first came begging for his assistance, she had a will of steel and a heart that was all his own. Asoft footfall inside the gate alerted him to the presence of others. He grasped his sword tightly in one hand, prepared to sell his life dearly. The gate creaked open, and pair of disreputable youths scurried out, pulling the gate closed behind them. He relaxed and lay down the cobblestone he had picked up to defend himself with. “Tom?” the taller of the youths cried, rushing towards him with great fervor. “You are really free?” Silently, he enfolded his sister in a heartfelt embrace. He had not thought he would ever do so again. “Thanks to you both.” “Tom, Tom, I thought you were done for,” she sobbed, as she held

him tightly in her arms. “He might be yet, an we do not make haste and get out of here,” Anna reproved them, as she tugged them apart and pulled them to where the horses were tied. One of the horses whickered a greeting to her, making her jump at the loudness of the noise in the still of the night. “The guards are properly befuddled, but who knows when one of them will get carried away in attending to his duty, and think to check that the prisoners are still locked up tight in their cells?” The hooves of the horses were wrapped well in rags and made little sound other than a dull thud as they made their way over the cobblestones. They had gone barely the length of half a dozen houses when a great hue and cry arose from the prison behind them and a dozen guards emptied onto the street, their lanterns piercing the black of the night with rays of brightness. “They have discovered you are missing,” Anna cried. “Ride for your lives, or all will be lost.” Lord Ravensbourne knew that that way lay disaster. Their horses were good, but they had already traveled a long way, while the horses of their guards would be fresh. They could not hope to outrun their pursuers on their own tired mounts. He stopped his own horse and motioned the others to go on. “I know a way to delay them,” he said, a desperate idea forming in his brain. “Ride on, and I will catch up with you as soon as I may. Watch for me on the road.” “But you will be taken,” Charlotte protested, her voice high-pitched with panic. “They will be here any minute.” Anna pulled the reins of her horse back hard. “We have rescued you. We will not leave you here to die all over again. I will come with you.”

Lord Ravensbourne was already galloping back the way he had come. “Do not mind me,” he shouted back. “Keep yourselves safe.” His mission was hopeless and bound to fail, but for the sake of his womenfolk, who had rescued him, he had to try. Anna turned her horse around and galloped after him. “Watch for us on the road to the coast, Charlotte. Take the news back to Captain Daventry if we do not make it. Mayhap he will have better fortune in rescuing Lord Ravensbourne if we fail.” Charlotte hesitated for half a moment before she turned her horse around as well and followed them back. “I am with you both. Three hands are better than two, and if we fail, the captain may as well rescue all of us together.” Lord Ravesnbourne pulled up his horse by the prison at a little wicket gate that led into the stables. Anna and Charlotte, their horses steaming, came to a halt beside him. Inside the stables, he could make out the silhouette of several figures scurrying around like rats in a granary. He cursed under his breath at the unwelcome sight. He was too late to simply unbolt the stable door and let the horses out to wander in the streets, as had been his first thought. Another idea struck him, yet more dangerous than the last. Still, with a little luck and a helping hand from God, it might yet work. “A tinderbox,” he yelled to Anna, as he vaulted off his horse. “Do you have one?” “In the saddlebag.” “Strike a light then, as quick as you can, and get me a lantern.” He opened the wicket gate, sprinted over the cobblestones in the yard and unbolted the stable door. A cry went up from the three guards inside when they saw him. One of them staggered over to his musket and fired wildly at him, terrifying the horses with the

explosive report, but the shot went wide. Charlotte primed her own pistol, aimed carefully, and fired. The horses screamed again with fear, and the man with the musket fell back into the hay, one hand clutching his shoulder. Anna passed Ravensbourne the lighted lantern. He grabbed a handful of straw off the ground and lit it with the flame. In less than a second, it was burning brightly. With a flick of his wrist he sent it sailing into the corner of the stables where it landed on a large hay bale. The bale began to smolder and smoke, and the guard nearest the door grabbed his sword and ran towards him. For good measure, he lit another handful of straw, divided it into two parts, and tossed them into loose piles of hay on the ground. The hay bale was already burning with a bright yellow flame. The guard with the wounded arm was stomping at it in a desperate attempt to stop it from spreading, while the other struggled to pull his terrified and frantically rearing horse out of the stall to safety. The guard with the sword stood for a moment, irresolute, looking first at the escaping prisoner, then at the horses behind him, wild with terror at the flames and the smoke invading their home. A scream from one of the beasts decided him. He dropped his sword and grabbed a bucket of water, throwing it on the flames in an effort to quench the fire. Lord Ravensbourne vaulted back into the saddle of his own mount, and the three of them galloped off over the cobblestones towards the coast road. Behind them they left an orange glow of fire in the dark. This time there was no sound of pursuit. They rode for some minutes in silence. With each passing step, Lord Ravensbourne felt his heart grow lighter. He had escaped from the sentence of death that had been passed on him, and his freedom seemed more precious and delightful to him than ever

before. The night itself was beautiful. He had never seen the moon looking so full and round, or smelled better-scented hay as that which lay cut on the roadside. Even the drops of rain that started to fall on his upturned face ravished his soul. As for Anna and Charlotte, who had risked their all to rescue him, his heart was so full of love and gratitude he could scarce speak. “I owe you my life, my two brave viragos,” he said, as they left the last of the town behind them. “Anna, I thank you. And Charlotte, how did you come by that musket? You saved my life with your lucky shot.” “Captain Daventry lent it me. Luck had nothing to do with it—I knew quite well that a shot to the shoulder would wing a man nicely, but not kill him.” “God himself must have guided your hand.” Charlotte humphed. “On a calm day I can shoot out a candle at fifty paces.” After her crack shot in the stables, he was inclined to give her claim some credit. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?” “In London last season.” He certainly had not taught her. He would like to know who had. “I thought you were too busy shopping and going to parties to have time for aught else.” “There is a lot about me that you do not know, brother. I am not always such a lady as you think I am.” He didn’t think that he wanted to know any more. “So, where to now? I had not given a thought to escaping. I need some place to hide away until I have proven my innocence.” “You are to go to the Netherlands, if it please you,” Anna called, her words carried back to him on the wind. He thought about it for a moment. The Netherlands would be the

perfect place to hide, though it would be difficult, if not impossible, to arrange a passage there. “We are at war with them.” “Exactly,” Anna called. “No one can pursue you over there. The Dutch, in their turn, will not take you for a spy if it is known you are flying from the king’s justice. Or from the lack of it. Besides, they are a sober, religious folk, and you will come to no harm among them.” “Captain Daventry has some contacts with the Dutch, and is organizing a fishing vessel to take you over in the morn,” Charlotte explained. “He heard of your arrest and came to offer his help in any way he could.” “Charlotte and I had already devised a way of breaking you out of prison,” Anna interjected, “but we did not know what to do with you after that. We thought of hiding you in an abandoned cottage on your estate, but it seemed too risky, yet we could not think of a better plan. So Captain Daventry’s offer of help was most timely.” “He will meet you at the cove by his cottage.” “And introduce you to a fisherman who will take you over to the Netherlands.” “You will not be in exile forever,” Charlotte said. “I will to the court come morning and will not rest until I have obtained your pardon.” Anna reined her horse in a little so she was riding neck and neck with his. They rode so close together that her leg brushed against his, and her soft hand stole into his for a moment. “Charlotte is sure she will get you a pardon from the king. But we could not risk that they would hang you before her suit was successful.” He squeezed her hand in his. He loved her more at that moment than ever before. A temporary flight to the Netherlands sounded a good plan. Daventry’s honor he knew he could rely on. He was less sure of

the inclinations of other members of his household. “And my Uncle Melcott? Does he know of this?” Both girls were silent for a moment and then both started speaking at once, their words falling out over each others. “We did not feel it wise to tell him.” Charlotte’s voice was troubled. “He is such a religious man.” Anna sounded as if she would excuse him, if she could. “He is such a killjoy, you mean. He would not think it proper for us to dress like this, even though my brother’s life was at stake. He has more concern for the appearance of propriety than he does for truth and justice.” “He may have tried to forbid us to come, and I would mislike to disobey him.” “I crept out of the house without telling a soul, and Anna and I harnessed the horses by ourselves. He does not know we are here, or he would have tried to stop us for sure.” “He told me to have faith in God, and to trust in the law to do what was right.” “He told me to hold my tongue and cease my sniveling.” “I heard him say to the cook that you were guilty for certain and deserved to hang.” Anna was nigh dropping off her horse with weariness when they came at last to the place where their ways must part for a time. They had ridden for several hours, and her legs felt as though they had permanently taken on the shape of her mare’s flank. She dismounted with a groan, closely followed by Charlotte. Lord Ravensbourne dismounted in his turn and took her in his arms. “Anna, I owe you my life. I will never cease to be grateful to you.”

Anna hated partings. She wanted him to leave and to be safe, not to tarry and to risk capture. But she didn’t want ever to let him go. “Then we are quits, my love. I owed you for the life of my mother.” She shivered with the pleasure of his touch as he ran his hands over the seat of her britches. “You make a fine-looking boy,” he said. “And a brave, and a daring, and a loyal one.” “What does a boy in love not dare?” “Will you wait for me while I am in Holland?” She smiled through her tears. “I will be as true to you as you are to me.” “Then you will be as true as life itself, for I will not fail you.” Tears misting his eyes, he turned to Charlotte and hugged her close. “I am relying on you to watch over your cousin. Behave yourself, little sister. Do not stay up late at night dancing. Do not spend overmuch on your bonnets. Avoid gambling—you have never had the head for cards. Careful with those muskets, crack shot though you are. And above all, do not throw yourself away on a no-good, no-account wastrel in my absence.” She grimaced. “Have no fear of that. Uncle would not allow it. You must take care and return before he has married me off to an old merchant crony of his with bags of money, a face ridden with the smallpox, breath that stinks of onions, and one foot in the grave.” Anna could not bear to see him go. She had found perfect happiness, only to see it stolen from her so quickly she had barely had the time to snatch a mere taste before it had turned to ashes in her mouth. She hugged him close again, her mind taking refuge in seeing that all his possible wants were satisfied. “There is food and drink in your saddlebags, enough to keep you for several days if you

have need of it. The horse will not be missed. It belongs to Captain Daventry, and he will lead it safely home again once he has seen you on to the boat.” “Will you miss me, cousin?” “I will count the hours until you return home once more.” “As I will until I see you again.” Anna and Charlotte clasped each other close as Lord Ravensbourne, brother to the one and beloved of the other, rode away into the night. As the last faint hoofbeats disappeared into the stillness, wearily they mounted up again and plodded the last few miles home. The dark of the sky was lightening into day as they rode the horses into the stables. Arms dropping with exhaustion, Anna took the saddle and bridle off her mare, and rubbed down her coat and hooves until not a trace of their night’s adventure was left. Charlotte, equally weary, worked beside her. The first birds were starting to carol out their morning’s song as Anna, clad once more in female garb, picked her way back over the fields home. Her britches and smock were rolled up in a tight bundle under her arm. No one in the house stirred as she crept into her chamber. She barely had the energy to step out of her gown before slipping into her bed, and falling instantly in a deep, deep sleep.

Chapter Nine

As Anna and Charlotte lay sleeping the sleep of the just, Lord Ravensbourne rode for the coast as he had never ridden before. The two women he loved most in this life had risked their freedom, their very lives, to rescue him. He owed it to them not to let their efforts fail. Disregarding their express wishes, he had secretly followed them the last few miles back to the manor house. He would never have forgiven himself if they had come to harm on his account. They were young and tired, the night was still dark—and someone had murdered the squire close by only a few nights ago. The murderer might still be lurking in the area, marking out his next victim. He would not let it be either of them. It was a miracle the two of them had come so far and done so much already. He would not tempt the fickleness of fortune by leaving them unprotected now he was able to see to their safety. Only when they had both disappeared into the stable did he turn his horse’s head around and set off for the coast where his friend Daventry and a boat were waiting to carry him over the water to Holland. Turning his back on his sister and his newly-betrothed bride had been the hardest thing he had ever done. More than anything else in the world he wanted to follow them into the house and encamp there, declaring his innocence from the rooftop, and defying the law to come and take him away. He could barricade himself in his manor for weeks, if need be, and none would be able to come near him or take him back to jail. He was innocent of murder, and should not have to suffer for it. But the squire had been murdered. Whoever had been the murderer had planned from the outset to pin the blame on him—

or why would they have gone to the trouble of stealing his distinctive dagger to use as the murder weapon? Someone had intended he hang for murder. When he found them, they would pay dearly for their crimes. He would stay alive, and stay free, until he had brought his would-be murderer to justice.

His escort of Anna and Charlotte had wasted him a precious hour of darkness. As the day grew lighter, he watched about him more carefully, taking pains to avoid any early risers out working in the fields, and skirting all the villages in his path. He wanted no one to see him, and less still, to remember he had passed this way.

After several hours of hard riding, the birds wheeling in the sky above him changed from ravens to seagulls, and the air became tinged with the scent of salt.

There was no sign of pursuit. His heart beating with anticipation and fearing that his escape, so near and yet so far away, would be foiled at the last moment, he picked his way carefully over the fields and down the shingle slopes to the inlet where Captain Daventry should be waiting for him. The pair of them had come to this stretch of the coast often enough as boys to know each little nook and cranny of the coastline. As eager ten-year-olds, they had discovered a secret bay, where the water was a deep, deep blue and so clear you could see right to the bottom. Fringed with clean white sand, and guarded at the entrance by a line of lethal-looking rocks, it had become their secret hideout whenever the pair of them had wanted to escape from their tutor. There they could swim and frolic and sail the raft they had made by lashing planks of wood together, capturing many a proud Spanish frigate in their imaginations, and burying the treasure they stole in secret places, which they marked with cryptic maps. As foolish lads, they had explored the treacherous rocks at the entrance to the harbor in a small boat, and found a safe passage through them. That very passage was the one by which he hoped and prayed to escape today. The beach was empty. Only a tiny rowboat, pulled up on the beach above the high-tide mark, gave evidence that someone had ever been here. He turned his horse’s head around again, intending to tether the horse where he would not easily be seen and hide himself among the dunes, when from out of the bushes stepped Captain Daventry, fishing pole in his hand. “Ah, you have decided to join me on my fishing trip,” Daventry

called out jovially. “I was beginning to fear that an unforeseen circumstance might have prevented you from accompanying me this fine morning, or that my two messages of invitation had not reached you, or that, unaccountably, they had failed to persuade you to come.” Lord Ravensbourne slid off the horse in relief. “So, you were behind my rescue, you rogue.” He embraced Daventry heartily. “But what on earth induced you to send Charlotte and Anna to break me out of prison? They could have been caught.” “Anna loves you far too well to let herself fail. She knew your life depended on her success, and she would not hear of me sending another in her place. If my heart were not already spoken for, I would fight you for her. As for Charlotte—” Daventry’s voice grew soft with deeply-felt emotion. “—I would place my life in her hands ten times over. I was needed elsewhere, and I trusted the pair of them to do their part, and to do it well. But enough of this delay. We must go fish.” And he shoved a fishing pole into Ravensbourne’s hands and pushed him towards the boat. “And your horse?” Ravensbourne asked. “What shall I do with him?” Daventry stepped back a pace or two, whispered in the horse’s ear, and gave it a slap on its rump. The horse ambled off perfectly at ease, snatching a mouthful of grass as it went. “She will find her own way home,” he said, with a grin. “She knows the way and looks forward to the bucket of hot mash she knows is waiting for her in her stall when she arrives.” The rowboat was ancient and strangely familiar. Lord Ravensbourne helped Daventry push it into the water of the bay and stepped into it gingerly. “It’s not the same boat?” he asked. “Yes, the very same we used to use all those summers ago. I

have taken good care of it over the years.” Daventry settled back into the bow and rested his pole on his knee. “How long do we have to fish for?” “Until the Bonny Lady comes along. The skipper expects to be passing this stretch of coastline shortly after noon, when the tide will make it easier for us to get out through the rocks.” Ravensbourne leaned back against the side of the boat. “I have always found fishing to be the most soporific of sports. Would it ruin the game if I rested for a while?” “I will wake you the instant I need you.” With a grateful sigh, Lord Ravensbourne closed his eyes and let his mind wander. A summer wedding would be best—on a bright, sunny morning without a cloud in the sky. The sky would not dare to be black on such a joyous occasion. Daventry would stand up with him as his witness, and Charlotte with Anna. He sighed, thinking of Daventry. The poor man had loved Charlotte ever since he had been a boy, but his fickle sister could not bring herself to look on him as a serious suitor. Maybe his own wedding would send Charlotte’s thoughts in a matrimonial direction. And who better for her to attach herself to than her childhood friend—now an upright and honest man, and one he would be proud to call his brother. And Anna, his lovely Anna. Any man would be proud to have her as his wife. Once they were married, he would shower his bride with rose petals—and with love. Just the thought of holding her in his arms again made him sigh. Every moment of his exile would be spent working to obtain his pardon. He would not live again until he was back in England and

could call her his own. And with thoughts such as these slipping through his mind, and his body gentled by the rocking of the boat as it undulated over the waves, he fell fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the dogs and men that had been painstakingly tracking his path for hours, and were even now preparing for his capture. The next morning Anna rose late, her joints so stiff she could barely walk without grimacing, but her heart as light as a mote of dust spiraling through the air in the sunshine. She was dozing in her chair in the warmth of a fine summer’s morning, dreaming of how life would be when Lord Ravensbourne returned, when a heavy knock sounded at the door. Anna started from her seat and ran to open it. Her heart thumped in her chest and her throat constricted so she could no longer breathe. Had her cousin be retaken? Had her complicity in his escape been discovered? She raised the latch with trembling fingers, but it was only Mr. Melcott who stood outside. With her heart light with relief, she opened the door and ushered him into the chamber where she and her mother had been sitting. Mrs. Woodleigh had been bothered lately by a return of the cough on her chest and was sitting up next to a good fire, wrapped in her shawl. Melcott took the chair Anna had vacated on the other side of the fireplace. “I have come to inform you ladies that my vagabond nephew has broken out of his prison, as I have been told, setting fire to a goodly building on his way to distract the guards.” Anna sat silent, willing her guilt not to show on her face. Melcott would not approve of her helping Lord Ravensbourne escape the law, or of such a wanton destruction of property.

Mrs. Woodleigh gave a little start. “Tom has escaped from his prison?” she said, in a great surprise. “How could he have managed that? Surely you are jesting.” “I have never been more serious in my life. He has not even the courage to face his punishment like a man, but has taken to his heels like any common rogue or thief.” Anna stifled a yawn. Despite sleeping until late this morning, she was bone-tired and her looking-glass had shown her the large, purple smudges that ringed her eyes. She knew she looked nigh as bad as she felt, but she hoped her ill looks would be put down to grief at her cousin’s sentence, rather than to exhaustion. With luck, her sex would prevent her from being suspected were it ever found out that he’d had accomplices in his jailbreak. “How could he have escaped? Was he not locked in a cell. And guarded?” Melcott rose from his chair and strode up and down the room, his hands behind his back, a forbidding expression on his brow. “The men who were supposed to be guarding him were found this morning, too drunk still even to piss in a straight line. Ravensbourne’s cell was found unlocked and he was long gone, flown away on the wings of a fiery red devil, who set the stables alight as he left so they could not follow them, the guards said. As if they could have stayed on any horse’s back in their condition.” She enjoyed the secret warmth that spread over her at his words. The previous night seemed so far away—it was like a wonderful dream that had dissipated under the morning sun into a harsh and unfriendly world of iron shackles and hangings. She was glad to have its reality confirmed by Melcott’s news. “I am glad my cousin will not hang.” But Melcott’s temper was not to be assuaged. “His running away

is an admission of guilt.” “He had already been tried and found guilty.” “Pah,” he spat. “Everyone knows there is no justice in the world, and that for every twenty men who are hanged, at least ten of them are guiltless. Now Charlotte has the harebrained idea she will to court herself and try to obtain a pardon for him.” Mrs. Woodleigh gave a soft smile. “So you believe him innocent of the crime for which he was to die? I am thankful for that. Tom was always such a sweet boy, and it would sadden me to think he was capable of such an ill deed.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “I am grieved I cannot, in good conscience, protest his innocence. He is my nephew, and as such I am bound to love him, however he has disgraced the family name. I know he is not innocent. I saw him strike the fatal blow.” Anna felt as through a spear had pierced her through the heart. Lord Ravensbourne had protested his innocence and faith to her in accents that demanded she believe him. Now here was his own uncle, an honest and God-fearing man, swearing he had witnessed the crime. Her head swam with fear and confusion. “Surely you are mistaken, Mr. Melcott,” she cried, in her distress and alarm. “It was a dark night. Could you not have mistook another for him?” “I see you do not want to believe in your favorite’s guilt,” he said, his voice sad, as he sat on the hard-backed chair in the corner and crossed his legs in front of him, “but I have proof enough that it was him. “I had seen you looking pale and miserable at the ball and then noticed your absence from the company. Your dear mother kindly informed me that you had felt a trifle unwell and had decided to retire for the night.”

Mrs. Woodleigh stifled a cough in her handkerchief, and nodded. “So I did, indeed.” “I was on my way to call on you, despite the lateness of the hour, to satisfy my concern for your health when I caught sight of Lord Ravensbourne looking pale and disordered, rushing along the lane.” Anna shuddered. Lord Ravensbourne had seemed calmness and happiness itself when he had left her, but it was possible his demeanor had simply been a mask he had put on to hide his agitation from her. Although all had been resolved satisfactorily between them in the end, she had certainly given him some upsetting news. “His appearance, so unusually wild and distracted, alarmed me to the extent that I followed him. He was muttering wildly to himself as he hurried along. ‘Can this be true? Yes, it must be. How could I doubt the words of her I adore? And how shall I be revenged on the villain, for revenged I must be.’ In the distance, I spied a figure walking towards him. “All of a sudden he gave a leap of joy. ‘Is God so good that he delivers him up to me on the very night that I learn of his infamy?’ With these strange words, he drew his dagger from his side and held it concealed in the palm of his hand.” She did not want to believe him. She could not believe him without injuring her betrothed, but his story had a ring of truth to it. Lord Ravensbourne had been at walking along the lane that night, after the secret visit he had made to her house. That very night she had confessed to the squire’s attack on her. In his anger, her cousin had sworn to kill the evil beast. Could God have been so cruel as to throw the squire in his way, just as the knowledge of his injury to her was so fresh and biting in his mind?

Had he given in to an urge to defend her honor by murdering the man who had injured her? Mr. Melcott swore, with truth writ in his face, that he had seen him. What reason could Mr. Melcott have to lie? Lord Ravensbourne was his nephew and his host. Nothing short of the basest ingratitude would allow him to spin tales about such a matter. Melcott seemed not to notice the conflicting emotions raging in her face. He continued with his story, his voice unperturbed. “He passed the stranger, who nodded at him cordially, as one would nod to a stranger you met on a dark road and from whom you fear no evil. Just as they had passed each other, my nephew whirled around and stabbed the stranger in the back. He did not even trouble to withdraw his knife, but went on his way again, whistling merrily as he walked.” This did not sit well with what Anna knew of her cousin. He was a gentleman, not a rogue and a vagabond to attack an unarmed man without warning, even though the man had deserved to die. “You saw him knife the dead man in the back?” A fair fight, she could understand, even forgive, but to stab a man in the back was worse than criminal. It was the work of a base coward. He leaned forward in his chair and held her eyes with his own. “Believe me, Anna. I do not lie to you when I tell you that I saw the squire murdered.” She did not know what to believe. Her love for her cousin and her newly betrothed warred in her breast against the probability he had committed a vile murder and lied to her about his guilt. “Then I am sorry for it.” The freshness of her love was bruised and battered, but she would not forsake him. She was too just to condemn him without a fair trial. Charlotte would secure him a pardon, and when he

returned, she would search out the truth from him herself. She would not condemn him for murder. God in heaven knew how close she herself had come to killing the self-same man. But if he had lied to her that he was innocent, she would cast him out of her life, though it break her heart in two to do so. She would not marry where she could not trust. All depended on Charlotte securing him a pardon from the king. If Charlotte failed, Lord Ravensbourne would be lost to England forever, and she would have no chance to find him either guilty or innocent. “Has Charlotte left for the court already?” Melcott growled into his beard with irritation. “No niece of mine will ever be allowed to pay court to the popish king and his profligate court of rascals and whoremongers. She has not even a companion to help guide her through the stormy shoals of intrigue that surround the royal ménage. Disgrace would be sure to follow her.” “You would not go along with her as her chaperone?” “I care too much for my immortal soul to have truck with the devil’s agents. Besides, I mislike requesting a pardon for a man mired in guilt.” His voice, not for the first time, struck her as pompous and irritating. Anna’s heart sank. It was just as she had feared—Charlotte would get no help from Mr. Melcott in her errand. “You forbade her to go then?” “I did.” His voice was stern and authoritarian, admitting of no further argument. “She threatened to go, indeed, but I have locked her into her room until she gets over her nonsensical ideas.” He turned to Mrs. Woodleigh. “I know the disappearance of your nephew could severely affect your fortunes,” he said, his tone newly solicitous. “I do not know how the trustees of the estate

appointed by the king will regard your just and proper claims to his charity, but rest assured I will do everything in my power to make your situation easy for you.” Mrs. Woodleigh smiled her thanks. “You are too kind.” Mr. Melcott looked at Anna, a gleam of covetousness sparkling brightly in his rheumy eyes. “I would be kinder still, if I had the right to be. But I will talk of that anon.” She hoped he did not mean anything serious by his last comment. Although she liked him well enough, as a pale replacement for her dearly-loved father whose home was now in heaven, she had no wish to wed him. Melcott’s visit did not long. Anna was too sleepy, Mrs. Woodleigh too unwell, and Mr. Melcott too disturbed in his mind to make much conversation. Mr. Melcott, Anna thought, as she saw him to the door, cared more for justice and righteousness than for charity or forgiveness. Or love. His intransigence disturbed her greatly. Guilty or innocent, Lord Ravensbourne would go to the gallows a thousand times before Mr. Melcott, his own uncle, would lift a finger to save him. When Lord Ravensbourne awoke, the sun was high in the sky. His stomach growled with hunger, and his throat was parched. “No Bonny Lady yet?” Daventry shook his head and tossed him a hunk of bread and a flask of ale. Ravensbourne tilted his head back and let the warm liquid trickle down his throat, before attacking the bread with gusto. “Did they not feed you in prison?” Daventry asked, as he tore another hunk off the loaf and began to eat it with rather less enthusiasm than had his friend.

Ravensbourne shook his head. “Mouldy black bread and hard cheese is little to my taste,” he said around his mouthful. “Besides which, living under the sentence of death gave no sauce to my appetite.” His hunger was soon abated and he began to look for the Bonny Lady with some eagerness. Was it not due soon? But the horizon was clear of sails, and not a ripple marred the soft sheen of the water. Together they sat in companionable silence in the gently rocking boat as noon turned to afternoon, and the shadows started to lengthen, and still no Bonny Lady. A distant sound of horses’ hooves and the clattering of weapons broke the stillness of the afternoon. Daventry scanned the beach with an air of anxiety. “I think it’s time we chased a few deep water fish,” he said, as he took up the oars. “We have company.” Lord Ravensbourne followed the direction of his gaze. “’Od’s blood,” he said with feeling, at the sight of the party of men gathering on the shore. “I had not thought they would catch up to me so quickly.” Daventry took up an oar and passed the other to his friend. “They have no boat. We are safe as long as we stay off the land.”

Lord Ravensbourne pulled strongly at the oar, one eye on the water in front of him, and the other on the men on the beach. “Damn it to hell—they do have a boat,” he said, as he saw a couple of them drag a flat-bottomed skiff to the edge of the water. It looked decidedly more seaworthy than the ancient old rowboat he and Daventry were in. And with half a dozen of the strangers pulling on the oars, they would catch up with the two of them in no time.

“With any luck, they’re not after us,” Daventry said, as he pulled strongly at his oar. “But are chasing smugglers or spies.” A musket shot that sent a ball whistling over the bow of their boat quickly proved his hope illusory. “If we can get through the rocks at the entrance of the cove to the open sea, we’ve got a chance,” Lord Ravensbourne said, matching his oar strokes perfectly to Daventry’s so the old rowboat cut cleanly through the waves as if it had wings. “If the Bonny Lady turns up before they figure a way out through the rocks, I can be on board in a trice, with no one the wiser.” Daventry grunted his assent, and the two of them redoubled their efforts, pulling the oars through the water with all their strength. They ignored the shouts behind them ordering them to stop, and tried, with rather less success, to ignore the occasional musket ball as it whistled over their heads, or splashed into the sea at their side. Luckily, the distance between the boats was too great for the muskets to be used with any great accuracy. The ebb tide had just turned and the cove was starting to fill with water again. Choppy waves from the open sea came rushing in over the rocks, boiling furiously as they came, before they settled down into the quiet of the cove and broke unhurriedly and without violence on the sandy beach. As boys, they had only ever dared to sail this route at a high, ebbing tide, when the worst of the rocks were submerged and the incoming waves dashed against the rocks with less force, pulled back out to sea by the vagaries of the moon. They settled back on their oars for a heartbeat, looking at the boiling water in front of them. Just then Lord Ravensbourne caught sight of a sail turning around the head. “The Bonny Lady?” he

yelled at Daventry above the noise of the breaking waves, pointing to the sail. Daventry searched the rigging with his eyes and gave a quick nod. “Could well be.” The sight of the boat he’d waited for all day gave new hope to Lord Ravensbourne. He took hold of his oar again. “Be ready to pull when I give you the word,” he instructed Daventry, as he set his face towards the rocks. “I’ll navigate us as best I can.” The waves were stronger as they approached the shoals, and the eddies of water made steering nigh impossible. By dint of pulling first one way and then another, they brought the boat close to the passage through the rocks. “One more pull and we’re through,” shouted Daventry, with jubilation, as they fought their way into the narrow band of safety through the treacherous shallows. Just then, a huge wave broke over the boulders to the left of them, and the force of it as it crashed into their boat sent them hurtling towards a wicked-looking group of rocks, whose sharp points reached towards the sky, and where treacherous currents swirled. “Pull for your life,” yelled Lord Ravensbourne as the boat slammed against a boulder and spun crazily in the tide. The incoming waves battered and pounded them, the currents tried to suck them back into the cove, and everywhere loomed the menacing points of rocks honed to a knife’s edge by the actions of wind and rain, as the two of them fought the elements for their lives. In the tumult, Lord Ravensbourne heard screams of fear and agony behind him. The pursuing boat, larger and less able to maneuver through the waves and rocks, had come to grief on a submerged boulder, and its desperate inhabitants had taken to the water to flounder their way back to safety if they could.

He gave another mighty pull with his oars and then they were through and into the larger waves of the open sea, as the Bonny Lady itself came into sight, less a quarter of a mile away out to sea. “We’re saved,” breathed Lord Ravensbourne, scarcely able to believe he had survived the twin perils of either capture or death by drowning. “We’re sinking,” Daventry replied, his voice somber . “And I cannot swim.” Indeed, their rowboat was taking on water fast, faster than they could bail it out again with only their hands to use as buckets. Lord Ravensbourne made a split-second decision. He would not risk his friend’s life any further. With a leap that rocked the boat dangerously, he stood up and stripped off his jacket and boots. “We’ll never stay afloat until we reach the Bonny Lady. Paddle back to the shore.” The shore of the headland was tantalizingly close. Daventry looked at it and shook his head. “You’ll be taken if we land. Maybe if one of us rows, and the other bails…” “The rowboat will get you back to shore safely, but it would be murder to risk it any longer in the open sea. It’s breaking to pieces. You’ve risked enough for me already. I owe you my life and my liberty. Look after Anna and Charlotte for me, if you get the chance.” And with those words, he dove into the water. The cold hit his body with a shock that took his breath away. Treading water for a moment until he got his breath back, he waved to Daventry, then struck out as hard as he could for the Bonny Lady. The water was colder than he could have imagined. Slowly it leeched all the warmth from his body, slowing him down until his

arms felt as heavy as lead and he could barely lift them above his head to propel himself through the water. Intent on survival, he cleared his mind of all extraneous thoughts, concentrating only on the effort required to swim towards the boat. His mind was clouding over and his arms were working so slowly he was scarcely moving through the water at all when he felt strong arms lifting him out of the water and putting him in the bottom of a small boat. Feeling more dead than alive, he used the last reserves of strength he had to clamber up the rope to the deck of the Bonny Lady. He could just make out the figure of Daventry standing on the headland and looking out to sea. There was no sign of the rowboat—it must have sunk. He collapsed with a groan of relief knowing Daventry had made it back to shore. Cold, wet, exhausted from swimming against the waves, and battered and bruised from fighting the rocks and the tide in the little cockleshell of a boat, he felt as though he had conquered the world. He was safe, and on his way to Holland. Anna had not been long abed that night when she was awakened by a shower of pebbles hitting her window. She jumped out of bed and hurried to the window to find Charlotte fully dressed, with the carriage and horses, waiting in the lane. In a trice, she had run down the stairs and joined her cousin in the lane. “I am come to bid you goodbye,” Charlotte said, as she enfolded her in her arms. “I am off to London to seek a pardon for my brother, and I will not return without one.” “Were you not forbidden to go?” “A fig for Melcott’s permission,” she said proudly. “Once he had

retired for the night, it was child’s play to break out of my room with all that I need for the journey.” “Have you enough money to get you to London, and keep you while you are there?” Anna asked worriedly. The proud look on Charlotte’s face slipped for a moment. “Melcott took all he could find in my desk. I was forced to let him find a few guineas and a handful of silver, so he did not suspect I was carrying the rest stuffed into my bosom.” “You will need more than a few paltry guineas to get you to London and back again.” “I shall manage with what I have.” “Wait there for a moment.” Anna disappeared inside and came back again with a purse heavy with coins. “Your brother gave this to us to defray our immediate wants. Take it to secure his freedom again.” Charlotte hesitated. “I do not want to leave you embarrassed for funds.” Anna forced it into her hands. “Take it. We want his freedom more than we need anything else. When he is pardoned, he may give me double again, and welcome.” Charlotte took the bag and tucked it into a pocket tied beneath her gown. “Thank you,” she said, as she embraced her cousin. “Wish me good luck.” Then, without looking back, she climbed into the carriage and disappeared. Anna watched the carriage until the darkness and a turn in the lane hid it from her sight. She wished Charlotte all the luck in the world, and more. Lord Ravensbourne had to return a free man. Her happiness was bound up in his innocence. As was her survival. She had given Charlotte nearly all she and

her mother possessed in the world, reserving only enough to allow them to keep body and soul together for a meager few weeks. If Charlotte was not successful in her quest, and if he did not return home soon, fully pardoned by the king, she and her mother would both starve.

Chapter Ten

Lord Ravensbourne sat cross-legged at a low table in his meager lodgings in one of the poorer quarters of Amsterdam. His brow creased in thought, he wrote his signature on the bottom of the letter with a flourish, and sealed it with a drop of cheap shellac on which he imprinted the marking of his seal ring. “Give it into Anna’s hands yourself, if you can,” he said, as he rose to his feet and handed it to Daventry. The letter itself contained nothing important but his vows of love, repeated as often as he had the space to write them, but they were all the world to him. He feared they would no longer find favor in his cousin’s eyes. He had sent her nearly a dozen letters in the past months since he had arrived as a poor exile on the desolate shores of the Netherlands, taking some to the foreign post bound for England, and entrusting others to a series of ship’s captains, who had all promised to deliver them into the post as soon as they reached England’s shores. He had written nearly as often to Charlotte, and even twice to his uncle, but not a word of reply had he had to any of his missives, save a curt note from his uncle telling him that, thanks to the grace of God, all was well in his absence. There was nothing to explain the absence of correspondence from Anna or Charlotte. Daventry took the letter and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. “I’ll do all I can.” “Are you sure it is safe for you to travel back to England?” Daventry shrugged. “The justice could find nothing to pin on me. Even those pursuing us in the boat could not swear for a certainty that you were my companion. After holding me for six weeks or so, the justice was forced to let me free, with a warning merely to stay out of his way in the future.” “He will not arrest you if you should come across him?”

“I was not even charged with any crime, but spent my time making merry with the keeper of the prison, as we worked our way through his remarkably good cellar of Spanish wines. I wouldn’t mind being arrested again. We had not even half finished the prison keeper’s case of excellent canary when I was let go.” Lord Ravensbourne thought of his own dark days in Norwich jail and shuddered. “The law was kinder to you than it was to me.” “I have my poverty to thank for it,” Daventry said, as he swung his small bag over his shoulder. “I doubt not but that the justice looked with favor on my sober black woolen clothes without a scrap of lace or ribbon on them, and decided I must perforce be an honest man.” Together, the two men walked out into the noisy streets towards the port. Though it was late afternoon and dusk was beginning to fall, everywhere were small craft being poled up and down the canals, carriages creaking over the cobblestones, men and women in sober dress hurrying about their business, and street hawkers crying out their wares in singsong voices. As they drew nearer the port, the nature of the people in both street and canal changed—no silks or satins here, but the plain homespun of poor, seafaring folk. Taverns became more frequent, and their clientele less salubrious. Women of ill-repute stood in darkened doorways, openly displaying the only wares they had to sell, and calling out lewd invitations to the pair of them. This was the darker side of Amsterdam—the place where hurried murders took place in side alleys and the bodies weighted with stones were dumped into the nearest canal, never to be found again. In this part of Amsterdam, everything could be had for sale, if one was willing to pay the price. Lord Ravensbourne shuddered, wishing he were well away from

the place. With a sense of relief, he delivered Daventry to the ship that would take him back to England and watched as it cast its anchor and sailed off on the evening tide. His exile weighed heavily on him, lightened only by the knowledge that Daventry would soon be with his loved ones. If there was aught wrong with Anna or with his sister that would account for their unusual silence to all his letters, Daventry would sniff it out. The sky was dark, nearly to night, when he started on the walk back to his poor lodgings through the rough dockside streets, alongside the noisome stench of the canals, foul with stinking mud, rotten fish heads, and other worse stuff he misliked thinking on. The streets, gone quiet now, were more menacing by far in the black of night than they had been when there was still some small amount of daylight to see by. No lanterns pierced the gloom of the night, and the mournful quiet of the street was broken only by the soft noise of the water as it slapped rhythmically against the sides of the canal and the harsh sound of smashing pewter and loud quarrels emanating from the doors of the filthy taverns he passed by. All the street sellers had long since departed, and lone pedestrians, such as he, were few and far between. Once he passed a stout seaman, who looked covetously at the clothes he wore—rough wool as they were, they were at least thick, warm and in good repair, and better than the clothes that most of the docksiders could boast of. Lord Ravensbourne took a firmer grasp of the stout stick he was carrying, and the covetous seaman sidled by him, keeping to the wall, without trouble. But the incident fueled Lord Ravensbourne’s growing sense that the port was not a good place for a stranger to be after dusk. Several times on his walk back to his lodgings he felt the back of

his neck prickle, as if someone were watching him, but his quick glances behind him did not show anyone following him. Feeling unaccountably uneasy, he quickened his pace. Not until he came within sight of his own door did his breathing come more easily. His hand was on the latch when a soft footfall behind him alerted him to the presence of another. He looked quickly over his shoulder, to catch a glimpse of the rough-looking sailor he had seen earlier in the street, his teeth parted in a ferocious grin, and a drawn dagger in his hand, coming for his back. He whirled to one side with a sudden burst of speed, as the seaman thrust the dagger at his back. Instead of sliding neatly into his heart, as had no doubt been the sailor’s intention, it struck Lord Ravensbourne in the shoulder, plunging into his flesh until it scraped against the bone. Biting back a scream of agony, Lord Ravensbourne lashed out with his stick and caught his attacker a resounding crack on the head. The sailor gave a short moan and sank to the cobbles, witless. As Lord Ravensbourne watched in horror, the sailor’s body, propelled by the force of his blow, slid across the cobblestones slimy with dew, and over the edge into the canal with a soft splash. His head was dizzy and he was growing faint. He had not intended to kill the man, but he could not help him now, even if he would. He was losing blood so fast, he would be lucky if he survived himself. With his good hand, he pushed open the latch to his apartments, half walked, half dragged himself inside, and latched the door tightly behind him. Then, blood streaming from his shoulder and his arm dangling helplessly at his side, he crawled slowly to the bottom of the stairs and pulled himself upright with his good hand.

Hardly had he put his foot on the first step when everything went black in front of his eyes and he collapsed, senseless, in a heap on the floor.

Anna put down the fork she had been using to dig potatoes and stretched the kinks out of her back. She had only dug up half the plot, but had already filled five small baskets with large, firm and well-shaped potatoes. At this rate, they would have enough food to last them most of the winter.

The autumn had been a fruitful one all over the country. She had worked in the garden steadily all spring and summer, and her pains had been well rewarded. The sun had shone, plenty of soft rain had fallen, and no insects had come to devour the crops. She was thankful for the food brought by the good harvest. Unfortunately, it seemed they would desperately need every last bite of it. Charlotte had been away for some weeks, and Anna had heard nothing from her. The king must be intransigent about granting his former favorite a pardon or Charlotte would have been well home again by now, the precious paper clutched gleefully in her hands. Anna had not heard from Lord Ravensbourne, but neither did she necessarily expect to. The war between England and Holland, while guaranteeing his safety from pursuit by English law, was an insurmountable barrier to the easy passing of letters between them. All trade between the two countries had been suspended, and no spy would risk his hide to deliver love letters to her. She would have tried to send one to him, indeed, but she did not know where he was. She wished she could hear from him, even just one line to let her know that he was alive and well, and still in love with her. She feared that he had never made it to Holland—that his ship had sunk in a storm, and he and all the crew with him had drowned in the unrelenting sea. She feared he had been captured by pirates and made to walk the plank. She feared he had been captured by the Dutch militia and hanged for an English spy. But most of all she feared he had fallen in love with a blonde Dutch beauty of noble family and with ample lands and money, and forgotten her. In Lord Ravensbourne’s absence, his uncle, Mr. Melcott, had been

kind to her and her mother. Mrs. Woodleigh had never fully recovered from the infection on her chest that had laid her so low, and from which her husband had died. Anna was fearful of what the coming winter would bring. Her mother was not strong, and the cold weather seemed to make her weakness more pronounced. On a warm, sunny day she would sit outside in the garden for some hours, but on colder days, she did not even leave her bed. Sometimes it seemed to Anna that her mother was suffering from a broken heart and wished only to see her safely settled in the world before leaving to join her dearly loved husband in paradise. Her mother, she knew, was gravely concerned Anna was still far from safely settled in life—with no husband and no dowry to get herself one. Indeed, Lord Ravensbourne’s arrest and subsequent flight had made her position more precarious than ever before. Lord Ravensbourne had barely been gone for a night when one of the trustees of the estate had sent a steward along to demand she and her mother pay a substantial rent for their use of the dower house. With all her money gone to Charlotte to pay for Lord Ravenbourne’s pardon, she had been distraught. She had steeled herself to break the news of their poverty to her mother and suggest they remove themselves to the tumbledown old cottage, as being the only cottage for which they could afford to pay. Just as she had squandered her last hope of salvation and had reconciled herself to destitution and the despair of utter poverty, Mr. Melcott had appeared from out of nowhere, like a guardian angel, and paid their rent for the next quarter. His kindness had not stopped there. He had had a gardener on the estate chop them nearly a cord of firewood, which Anna had been carefully conserving so it would last them through the cold

weather. He invited them to dine with him every Sunday and sent the carriage to transport Mrs. Woodleigh, who was not often strong enough to make the journey on foot. Anna always accepted his offer with alacrity, conscious that every meal they ate with him would make their small stock of food stretch out to another meal. Every so often, he sent them a basket full of delicacies from his own larder—a bottle of good wine, some candied fruits, a pound of tea. She was thankful for his kindness, but at times she wished that, instead of Spanish wine and quince conserve, he would include something a little more nourishing—a pound of good beef and a loaf of white bread would be heavenly. Even a thick mutton stew and a loaf of rye, with a quart of milk fresh from the cow, would be a far better meal than their usual fare. Still, he was by his nature less than generous, and she felt his kindness the more as it ran contrary to his natural inclinations. Compared with the rest of the people nearby, he was generosity personified. Anna had been mystified to know how she had offended them, but not a one had responded to her overtures of friendship. Even Georgina Perkins, Charlotte’s bosom friend, had looked right through her at church and refused to speak to her. Her mother had glared daggers at her and muttered under her breath, and Mr. Perkins, an uncouth, old man, had spat at her feet and cursed her roundly as a Jezebel. The mystery was explained when one of her mother’s old friends came to call a sennight after Lord Ravensbourne had escaped to Holland. Mrs. Hopkins, a portly lady married to a wealthy brewer, sat with her mother for several hours in the garden. On rising, she requested Anna to take a turn around the garden with her. “You have done ill, my child,” Mrs. Hopkins said sternly, as they strolled through the field towards the wood. “And you have brought

shame and sorrow on to your mother’s head.” Anna was too shocked to be able to form any words in reply. She stared in silence at Mrs. Hopkins, wondering what she was being accused of. Her conscience was clear on most points—and the sins that she had committed did not trouble her overmuch. She knew she had done wrong to let Lord Ravensbourne embrace her and give her pleasure, but loved her cousin too well to be sorry she had helped him break out of jail. Besides, none had seen his affection towards her, and none in the county knew of her part in his escape, save for Captain Daventry, and Charlotte had assured her of his silence. “And well you should be silent, young miss, for what you have done admits of no excuse. Fie on you, to play fast and loose with your cousin in such a shameful manner. And then, when he tired of you, it was even more ill-done of you to play him such a scurvy trick as to set a man on him to kill him. As he would have done, too, if your cousin hadn’t given him a taste of his own medicine.” Anna opened her mouth to reply, but the woman forestalled her. “Nay, don’t try to deny it. I heard the whole story. Indeed, if you were not Lydia’s daughter, I would rather that my tongue were torn from its roots than to speak with you for a single moment. But you need a sound scolding, and I have never been one to shirk my duty in such matters.” She was confused. Exactly what had the woman heard? “Lord Ravensbourne and I are betrothed,” she said, hoping to clear up any misunderstanding that had arisen. “Is there aught wrong with that?” “A likely story, indeed,” Mrs. Hopkins’ voice was scathing. “When these ten years past he could have had the pick of all the richest and best-dowered girls in the county, if he had a mind to. To take

up with a nobody such as yourself, without a guinea to call her own? It is ill-done of you to spread such lies when you have forced him to flee the country to die in foreign lands, and he cannot defend himself from the wiles of a cunning fortune hunter that you are.” No wonder the whole county had looked askance at her if they thought she was the cause that their favorite had been forced into exile. She could not let their error go uncorrected. “Whatever story you heard must be an arrant lie. I would never harm my cousin.” “Nay, you won’t now, as it is out of your power to do so, may the Lord be thanked. I never was so glad in all my life as I was when I heard the brave, young laddie had escaped from the jail you had him thrown in. If I were Mr. Melcott, I would have you thrown out-ofdoors in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, so I would.” She heaved a loud sigh and turned her face towards the dower house again. Her face was red and starting to glisten, whether from exercise or emotion, Anna couldn’t tell. “He was always a godly man and much given to good works, even when the recipients were, in the eyes of sober, honest folk, so thoroughly undeserving of his charity.” For the remainder of the walk back, she uttered not another word. Anna, too proud to offer more explanations to a woman so obviously predisposed against her and so unwilling to believe anything to her credit, was also silent. She could not imagine who had spread such vicious lies about her, against which she had no weapon to fight but the truth. And for what could the truth avail her, when not a person in the county would believe her story. Mrs. Hopkins left shortly afterwards, and Anna retired to her chamber to mend their scanty stock of linen and to weep. Since that time, no one had called on them save for Mr. Melcott,

and her mother had gradually become more and more frail until visitors, even had they come, would scarce be welcome. Anna boiled the potatoes that night for supper herself. The household servants that Lord Ravensbourne had provided for them had long since left, when the trustees of the estate made it clear there would no longer be any funds to pay them. She served up the potatoes with salt and a little butter, along with a salad she had gathered from plants growing in the hedgerows. She and her mother would hardly grow fat on such fare, but it was good, wholesome food, and it filled their stomachs. Anna eat heartily, savoring the smooth, creamy flesh of the potato and the crisp, tangy flavors of the salad. Mrs. Woodleigh, however, barely picked at her portion before complaining of a sick pain in her stomach and pushing her plate away. Anna thought her mother was looking paler than usual that evening. “Are you not hungry, Mother?” Mrs. Woodleigh shook her head. “Anna, my love, I have something I must tell you.” The tone of her mother’s voice alarmed her. Had her mother heard something ill of Lord Ravensbourne and sought to keep it from her? “What is it?” “I do not wish to alarm you, but I fear I am not long for this world, my love.” “You have only a slight cold on your chest, Mother,” Anna cried, not wanting to believe her mother’s words. “You will get better once the weather is warmer.” Her mother gave a slight smile. “No warm weather will cure what ails me, my love. For weeks I have felt my mortality creeping up on me. My strength is leaving me and now, I fear, my time is drawing near to its end.”

Anna felt a stab of fear clutch at her vitals. “I will send to town for another bottle of strengthening port wine. That helped you to recover your strength when you had a cough before. It will surely help you again.” “I am beyond port wine now.” She reached out and took hold of Anna’s hand, clasping it in her own. “Indeed, I do not fear death, except I will leave you all alone in the world when I am gone.” Anna held her mother’s hand as if it were a lifeline. In her heart she feared that her mother’s words were true. “I do not mind being alone, but I wish you would not leave me.” “I will leave you more alone than I well like. Your cousins are in no state to take care of you, and my old friends have been less welcoming that I might have hoped. There is no one in whose care I can safely leave you.” She would be brave for her mother’s sake, though inside she was shaking. “You need not worry, Mother. My cousin Charlotte will surely return soon and bring her brother’s pardon with her.” She made her voice sound much more confident than she felt inside. “Charlotte has been away a long time, and dear Tom is under sentence of death still. I cannot rely on them to look out for you when they are in such a position that they can scarce take care of themselves. Their uncle, Mr. Melcott, has been kind to us, has he not?” Anna nodded. “He has been very kind.” “He is a godly man.” “At times he reminds me of Father—they look so alike.” She spoke wistfully, remembering the joy that her father had brought them both while he was alive. “He is older than you, true, but he is still young at heart. And he is fond of you, Anna.”

Anna stared at her mother. “What are you trying to tell me?” Mrs. Woodleigh sighed. “He approached me several days ago to break with you about his offer. I have put it off for as long as I could, as I knew not how to broach it to you. I know he is not the dashing young suitor of a young woman’s dreams, but he is sober and prosperous enough, and he would look after you well.” It was impossible. Preposterous, even. “I cannot marry him.” “Will you not consider it for a little?” Her mother’s voice was pleading. “I would die easier if I knew you were provided for on my death.” She could not be disloyal to her love, even to entertain the thought for a moment. “I swore I would marry Lord Ravensbourne. I will not go back on my word.” Mrs. Woodleigh looked troubled. “I thought that would be your answer, but I had given my word to Mr. Melcott that I would ask you. And it would be no such bad thing either for you to marry a man such as he.” “I love my cousin. I will not be untrue to him.” “You may have a long wait ahead of you,” Mrs. Woodleigh counseled her. “And I have so little to leave you.” She sighed. “You may not be able to last that long.” “As long as he is honest and true to me, I will be so unto him.” “Charlotte may not be successful in getting Tom a pardon. He may have to remain in exile all his life.” The thought did not frighten her. “Then I will join him in Holland, should he ask me to. Or the Americas. Or any other place where he would be safe from pursuit.” Mrs. Woodleigh did not speak for a moment. When she resumed, her voice was weak and tremulous. “And if he should not ask?” Anna paused. She had asked herself that same question many

times over as she lay sleepless in her chamber, but she had never been able to answer it. “It will be time enough to think of it if that day should ever come.” For the rest of the meal, they talked only of commonplaces, neither of them daring to comment further on the two topics that concerned them most—death and marriage. Anna dreaded the coming of next Sunday when she would have to face Mr. Melcott over the dinner table. As was his custom, he called once during the week, but she managed to avoid him. The days of the week marched inexorably forward, and Sunday came sooner than she was ready for it. She would refuse Mr. Melcott as gently as she knew how. She hoped he would respect her wishes and not press his suit. Once he knew of her engagement to Lord Ravensbourne, his own nephew, he would surely understand why she never wanted to hear another word from him on the matter again. Her hands were shaking as she took her place at the dinner table. Mr. Melcott, sitting stiffly upright at the head of the table, as he had done ever since Lord Ravensbourne had been arrested, motioned to the servants to withdraw. He turned to Anna, his face full of solicitude. “Your mother has spoken to you?” Anna raised her glass to her lips and took a sip of wine to calm her nerves. “Yes, she has.” “And your answer? Will you allow me to take you as my wife, before God and man?” His voice was eager, too eager. Anna wondered how much his proposal had been prompted by generosity, as her mother evidently believed it had, and how much had been dictated by less worthy motives. She looked searchingly into his face. The possessive glint of desire and covetousness that she saw in his eyes disturbed her.

She shook her head to clear her mind of the evil memories that look held for her, and when she refocused her eyes, it was gone. Mr. Melcott had become, once more, the just and righteous fatherly figure he had always been to her. “I thank you for your kind offer,” she replied, “but I cannot accept.” His face darkened, almost imperceptibly, and Anna could sense the black mood that was hovering, waiting to descend over him like the dark wings of a black bat. “You cannot accept?” “I have already given my word to another.” “Ah, I am sorry for it.” His voice sounded harsh, like the croaking of an ancient crow. “I gather I am come too late, and that your heart was already taken before you came among us. But I must say, he has proved a remarkably laggard lover to leave you languishing here with nary a visit since you arrived.” “I was not betrothed before I came to Norfolk,” Anna replied equably, although the tone of Mr. Melcott’s voice was less generous than she would have liked. “Your nephew, Lord Ravensbourne, asked me to be his wife the night before he was arrested. I consented, and the two of us plighted our troth that very night.” Mr. Melcott took a bite of roast beef on his fork with a distracted air, put it in his mouth, chewed it thoroughly, and swallowed it before replying. “I am surprised that I heard nothing of this. Tom obviously did not see fit to confide in me.” “Few people were told. He was arrested that morning by the sheriff as he was asking permission of my mother. Our joyous mood had turned suddenly sour, and our betrothal no longer seemed important. When he was condemned to death, we had nothing over which to rejoice and any thought of celebration would have been mere vanity. I asked my mother not to mention our betrothal,

which his sentence had made a mockery of, to anyone.” Mr. Melcott turned to Anna’s mother. “And you, madam, were happy to secure such an excellent match for your daughter, I presume?” Mrs. Woodleigh put down her knife and fork and pushed her plate away, though she had barely touched her food. “I gave Tom my permission. How could I not? He is a good lad.” “You would not break your vow to my nephew?” Mr. Melcott looked at Anna, his eyes searching her face for answers. “Not even though he has been condemned to death by the justices? Even though he may have to remain in exile all his life, without his friends and family beside him? In poverty and obscurity? Maybe even forced to flee from country to country like a common criminal?” “No, I will not break my word.” “You would wed with a condemned murderer rather than be untrue to your betrothal vows?” Anna did not like the tone of his questioning. “I would,” she said stoutly, more to end the discussion than out of any real conviction. “I commend you for it. Not every young woman would show such constancy.” But his words seemed to Anna more like an accusation than a commendation. Without another word, Mr. Melcott picked up his fork and resumed eating. After a moment’s hesitation, Anna did the same. An awkward silence reigned for the rest of the meal. As was their custom after dining, Anna and her mother retired to a sitting chamber to take a cup of tea, leaving Mr. Melcott to finish his wine and enjoy a cigar, before ordering them the carriage and bidding them good evening. Scarcely had they taken their first sip when the door opened to admit Charlotte—looking pale, tired and rumpled, but triumphant.

In her hand she carried a piece of creamy vellum. Even from where she stood, in a mixture of surprise and fearful anticipation, Anna could make out the mark of the king’s seal, stamped on it with a firm hand. She dropped her teacup with a clatter, ignoring the hot stream of liquid as it ran onto the thick Oriental carpet, and ran to her cousin. “Charlotte,” she cried, her voice thick with excitement, “you are back.” Charlotte collapsed into the nearest chair and waved the paper in the air. “I have it. I have it. Tom is pardoned. Anna, my dear cousin, pour me a cup of tea, if you will. I am parched to death. I have traveled night and day to get the good news to you.” Her heart singing for joy, Anna embraced her cousin and read, with greedy eyes, the paper Charlotte held out to her. Just as Charlotte had claimed, the king had granted Lord Ravensbourne a full and free pardon for any involvement he had had, accidental or otherwise, in the death of Squire Grantley. Upon payment of a fine of five pounds to the parish, he would also be forgiven for the fire in the prison stables he had set while escaping. He was free to return home on the instant. Mrs. Woodleigh, her face showing her pleasure, hastened to pour a cup of tea for Charlotte from the pot at her elbow. With trembling hands, Anna took the tea over to her cousin, who drank it thirstily. “Charlotte, you are a wonder,” she said, words spilling out of her in her excitement, as she danced about the room, reading the pardon through over and over again, and hardly daring to believe the good news it contained. “You are the best sister and the best cousin anyone could ever hope to have. But, please, tell me all about it. How did you get the pardon? Why did it take you so long? Was the king not willing to give it to you? Did you have to go beg it

from the queen? Does Lord Ravensbourne know yet that he is no longer in danger? When will he be coming home again?” Charlotte handed her empty cup to Anna, with a mute plea for it to be refilled. “I left London as soon as the letter was in my hand, and did not stop on the road for longer than it took me to change horses. Tomorrow morning I shall send a messenger in search of my brother, and he will be home again within a month.” “Charlotte, this is such wonderful news.” Anna clapped her hands together with joyous excitement. “See, Mother? Everything will work out wonderfully. There was no need to worry.” Mr. Melcott’s voice broke in over the hubbub. “My dear Mrs. Woodleigh, what has been worrying you? Nothing too serious, I trust? For indeed, I fear I have news that will not please you.” Anna turned to see him standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the light like a bird of ill omen. She felt a chill run through her body and edged slightly away from him, closer to the fire. Mrs. Woodleigh gave her gentle smile. “My worries are not serious any more. Dear Tom has received a pardon from the king. Charlotte has only just now brought it in with her. Isn’t that good news?” “I am pleased Charlotte has finally obeyed my commands to return home,” Mr. Melcott said from his stance in the doorway, directing a chilling look at his niece. “I am only sorry she has wasted her labor.” Charlotte held up the precious document. “On the contrary, uncle, it was time well spent. I have the pardon, as you can see.” He heaved a gusty sigh. “It is a pity it came too late.” “Too late?” Anna and Charlotte both spoke at once. Mr. Melcott reached into the pocket of his fustian suit and withdrew a paper of his own. “I received this just now from Holland.”

“What does it say?” Charlotte demanded. Mr. Melcott reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a pair of spectacles, which he placed on the end of his nose with a deliberate gesture. “It is a letter from a friend of mine, a silk merchant in Amsterdam, who has been kind enough to write to me about some business he wanted to transact to our mutual advantage. Now where was the relevant passage? Ah, yes, here it is. ‘I consider it my bounded duty to you, my friend, to relate to you to story of your scapegrace young nephew, who you desired me to look out for some time past. He did not prove to be amenable to our way of living, indeed, our sober life struck him with remarkable repugnance, even though he could have profited mightily from his acquaintance with me. I was thus unable to be of any assistance to him, and, as God is my witness, scarce wanted to, as his lifestyle was equally repugnant to me as was mine to him. His time was spent in riotous living, showing his disrespect to God, and to his own self, as he was made in God’s image. Still, as he was your nephew, I was sorry to hear of his death, and wish for your sake that it had happened in a less public and disgraceful manner…’” Mr. Melcott’s voice trailed off with emotion and he coughed into his handkerchief before resuming again, in his normal voice. “So you see, my dear niece, your efforts were in vain, as I had warned you.” He walked over to Anna on silent feet and picked the pardon from out of her hand. Numb with shock, she offered no resistance. “This paper is valueless,” he said, his voice a rusty croak, as he folded it carefully and placed it inside his waistcoat pocket. “It was obtained too late. Lord Ravensbourne is dead.”

Chapter Eleven Lord Ravensbourne is dead. Lord Ravensbourne is dead. Lord Ravensbourne is dead. The thought echoed around and around in Anna’s head, until there was room for nothing else. The room swam in front of her eyes and she could no longer see. The whirling in her head grew too much to stand. With a moan, she sank to her knees on the carpet, her head buried in her hands, and tears flowing through her fingers. Beside her, Charlotte made a choking sound and fell back into her chair in a faint. From the depths of her own misery and despair, Anna knew her cousin needed her help. Rousing herself from her stupor, she rose unsteadily to her feet, fetched a napkin from the tea tray, and laved Charlotte’s face with the water from the pitcher sitting on the sideboard. Charlotte’s face was ashen—the light grey of snow clouds in midwinter—and her eyes looked like those of a doe that has received a death-wound. She held out her hand to Mr. Melcott. “The letter. Show me the letter.” Her voice sounded husky with unshed tears. Mr. Melcott tucked the letter back into his bosom. “There is no need for you to read it. Your brother has died. That is all you need to know.” “The letter,” Charlotte demanded. Her eyes shot daggers at her uncle, and she raised herself up in her chair as if she would take it from him by force, if she could. “Please show us the letter.” Anna added an entreaty to her cousin’s demand. She had to see the letter, or she would die another death. She could not let Mr. Melcott hide it from her. “I will not believe it unless I can read it for myself.”

Mr. Melcott shrugged. “If you insist.” He drew the letter out from his waistcoat again and handed it politely to her. “But I must warn you, you would rather not know what it contains.” Anna unfolded the letter and tried to read it, but her eyes were blurry with tears and the spidery handwriting danced up and down so she could not make out the words. Brushing the moisture from her eyes, she silently handed the letter to Charlotte. Charlotte read the letter and gave a groan. “It is true. Tom was killed in a duel. In Amsterdam. His opponent ran him through the heart, and the surgeon was unable to save him. He died of a fever a few days later.” “A duel?” Mrs. Woodleigh’s voice was sad. “And he was always such a kind and gentle boy. I am sorry for his sake.” Anna felt her heart grow cold. Where there was a duel, there was usually a woman involved. “What were they fighting over?” she whispered, afraid to find out the truth, yet desperately wanting her suspicions to be found groundless. Charlotte held her tongue and looked away, and Anna felt her heart die a little within her. She had to know the worst. “Give me the letter.” She gave Charlotte no chance to refuse her, but snatched the paper from her. Her eyes were dry now, from fear and dread. Quickly she scanned the paper until she had found what she was looking for, then she dropped it on the floor, her grief at his death doubled by her knowledge of his desertion. Lord Ravensbourne had been false to her. The duel he had fought and died in was with the cast-off lover of his new mistress, a notoriously beautiful and dissolute Frenchwoman who had made her home in Amsterdam, and was casting her lures on all male members of the somber Dutch society who came within reach of

her talons. Lord Ravensbourne had fallen under the spell of this enchantress and forgotten his cousin. The dour Dutchman he had replaced had killed him for crowing too loudly over his triumph one evening when he had been in his cups. The duel had been fought that very night—Lord Ravensbourne, by this account, so inebriated he could hardly hold his sword in front of him, and his jealous opponent bent on exacting vengeance and on removing his successful rival for ever. The whole sordid story was related in every grim detail and with every particular. Her mind in shock, she read it over and over again, her mind dwelling on each word, each line. But however many times she read them, the letters did not rearrange themselves on the page to give the message new meaning. She was forced to accept it as it was. Now was Lord Ravensbourne’s silence explained, she thought with despair, as the awful truth sank into her brain. Why would he bother to write to her, when his time was spent with his new love? Why would he even remember that she existed, save maybe for a passing thankfulness she had saved him from having his neck stretched? Charlotte had warned her of his infidelities, and she had taken no heed. She had thought herself different, special. She had thought he loved her and that he had meant to marry her. How foolish she had been to put so much stock into his words and his promises. How cruel he had been to mislead her so thoroughly, and so deliberately. No—in her grief, she was being unfair. He had not meant to be cruel. He had once meant to marry her—she was sure of it. He had loved her once, in his own way, but his love had been a weak

and sickly creature, and had not stood the test of time and absence. She had loved him more as each day had passed and had looked forward, with increasing eagerness, to the day he would return home to her. But he would never return now. He had found solace with another woman, until his grief at parting with her had been diverted into a new happiness. And now he was dead. She did not remember how the evening ended. She only wished she could efface the rest of that horrible day from her mind as well and change the course of time. The days that followed were a blur of misery and grief for them all —but especially for Anna. With the first snowfall, it became apparent that the desertion and death of her betrothed was not the only loss she would face. Her mother was weaker than ever and sinking fast. Anna feared she would not last out the winter. With no thought for the future, Anna piled wood on the fire in her mother’s chamber to keep her toasty warm. When her firewood ran out, she roamed the copse in the early dawn, picking up sticks where she could find them and carrying them back in her arms. More often than not, Charlotte walked beside her, her own arms piled high with sticks. For both Anna and Charlotte, life became a struggle against Mrs. Woodleigh’s impending death. Anna sought to keep the chill of the weather from touching her mother. Charlotte brought all kinds of delicacies from her uncle’s kitchen to tempt her to eat. For the kitchen and all its contents belong to Mr. Melcott now, Charlotte thought with a grimace. Her uncle had produced a will with Tom’s signature on it, shortly after his death. In it, Tom had left all his estate to his uncle and left her as his ward until she was married. He had mentioned no allowance for her personal needs

and had not even specified a dowry for her, leaving it to his uncle’s discretion to fix upon a suitable sum. She could not have been left more dependant on her uncle’s favor—to the very food she ate and the clothes she wore. Once Mr. Melcott caught Charlotte taking food meant for Mrs. Woodleigh from the pantry. He accused her of stealing, as if she were a servant, and whipped her. She was only allowed to stay in the house on his sufferance, he thundered at her, and he had no love for thieves. If she were to stay in his house, she would abide by his rules or he would turn her out. And if he turned her out-ofdoors, she would be forced to beg in the streets, and he would pass her by without pity or mercy. She did not tell Anna what happened, but she began to practice cunning in her thefts. She slipped bread rolls into her lap at breakfast, and covered them with her handkerchief as she slipped them out of the house. She conspired with the cook to fix the accounts so her appropriation of haunches of beef and bottles of good wine for her aunt and cousin could go undetected. She even wore a pocket under her dress, which she filled with coal on the pretence of stoking up the fire. The more Melcott glowered at her and played the lord of the manor, the more determined she was to outwit him. The two girls, always friends, were drawn together even more closely by their shared sorrow. They spent their days together at Mrs. Woodleigh’s bedside, as she sank closer into the arms of death. Anna had no friends in the neighborhood, and Charlotte neglected hers, refusing to be home to them when they came to call. Anna remonstrated with her, but to no avail. Charlotte was determined to know nobody and to see no one. “You are family,” Charlotte said. “You will not turn me aside or

mock me, whatever I have done. You are not that sort of person.” Charlotte had never spoken in such a manner before. Anna had never seen her so downcast and pale. She looked sick at heart, as if the world had treated her cruelly, and turned its back on her. “What happened to you in London?” she asked. “You have changed so much.” Charlotte turned her head away and refused to speak another word. On Christmas Eve, Mrs. Woodleigh rallied again. With Anna’s help, she sat up against her pillows, her face bathed in the weak sunshine of a cool, clear winter’s day. She even drank a few sips of fresh milk, more nourishment than she had managed for several days together. Anna felt the blanket of misery lift some of its weight off her shoulders. Her mother was on the mend. With a heart feeling lighter than it had for many a day, she went through her chores, sweeping out the grate, making up the fire with the wood she had gathered the previous morning, and seeing to their small stock of food. Charlotte arrived at midday, bringing with her a breath of crisp, fresh air and some fruit mince pies in honor of the season. Anna was thankful the food, and even more she appreciated Mr. Melcott’s delicacy in sending it by Charlotte, rather than bringing it himself. She would feel awkward in accepting such gifts from a man whose proposal of marriage she had rejected, but from her cousin, there was no such awkwardness. She accepted them gratefully. “A celebration,” Charlotte said with a sad face, as she placed them on a tray by Mrs. Woodleigh’s bed. “In honor of our Savior’s birth.” Anna looked at her curiously. Charlotte looked pale and wan—not

in the least as though she had anything to be happy about. “I did not think your uncle, being a strict Puritan, would observe Christmas in any way other than by prayer and fasting.” “He does not keep Christmas in any fashion, but I could not let it go by without any notice at all. I begged the cook, dear old Goody Hepney, to make some mince pies for old time’s sake, and brought them over here to enjoy them with the two of you.” Mrs. Woodleigh nodded her thanks and nibbled gingerly on the crust of one before putting it aside again. “I am not hungry now,” she said, with an apologetic look at Charlotte, “but I am sure I will enjoy it later.” Anna took a mince pie and bit into the flaky crust, the buttery sweetmeat melting in her mouth and the richness of the fruit steeped in port wine luxuriously decadent on her tongue. She ate it with her eyes closed, the better to enjoy every bite, and then licked every crumb carefully from her fingers. “They are divine. My favorite Christmas treat.” “You will have another occasion to enjoy them soon enough. My uncle has ordered some to be made for my marriage early in the new year.” Charlotte’s voice was flat and dead. “Your marriage?” Anna and her mother both spoke at once. “To whom?” “My uncle has arranged for me to wed a friend of his in the city. We shall be married in January, so he tells me, when the cold weather will mean that there is less business to be interrupted.” Anna had not heard Charlotte had a suitor at all, let alone that her marriage was imminent. “Who is he?” Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t recall his name. Harris or Hethering, or some such name. It makes little difference.” Surely her cousin was jesting. She would never agree to such a

match. “You do not know him?” “I have never met him. Apparently he is a merchant, well-off, with a house in Russell Square. What else should I need to know? I shall marry him and be done with it.” There was no sign of a jest in Charlotte’s voice. She sounded resigned and weary, as if she had given up all hope for the future. Anna could not understand her resignation. If it were her, she would fight to the death against such a chancy union. “But how can you be so cool about marrying a stranger? What if you do not like him? What if he is unkind to you? If he drinks too much and beats you? What would you do then?” “What can I do in any case? My uncle has arranged the marriage, and I have no way of preventing the match. If my husband-to-be is old, pock-marked and evil-tempered, I had rather not know it until I wed him. Until then, I can delude myself by imagining he might be a proper man whom I would not be ashamed to marry.” “And if he is not?” “Then I shall have to marry him anyway, or be beaten to death, or starve. My uncle is a harsh man. He will not brook my disobedience in this matter.” Anna could not believe Mr. Melcott was as unbending as Charlotte pretended. He had been kind to her and her mother, although they had no claim on him beyond that of simple charity. “Have you no choice in the matter? Can you not delay the marriage until you know your betrothed to be an honest man? Or, if you do not fancy him, to give you time to find another man more to your liking, of whom your uncle would approve?” “I have no choice, and I cannot afford to wait, even if my uncle were to allow it. He has offered me for sale, my betrothed has bought me, and that is an end of the matter. But in a way,” Charlotte said,

a bitter smile on her face, “my marriage is perfectly fitting. In buying me, my husband may just find that he has received more of a bargain than he is reckoning on.” “So you are decided? You will accept this betrothal?” Charlotte nodded, her face full of determination. “I have no other way open to me. If only Tom had still been alive,” she murmured, turning away, and speaking so softly Anna could scarce hear her. “I would have been able to face whatever punishment for my misdeeds that God had thrown at me, with my head held high. But I cannot rely on him now. I must be strong and look out for my own.” With a sigh, she turned to Mrs. Woodleigh. “My only regret, my dear aunt, is that I will be forced to move to London and will no longer be here to help you.” Mrs. Woodleigh sighed. “By the time you move to London, I fear I will be long gone.” Her mother’s words sent a chill of fear skittering down Anna’s spine. “But you have been recovering,” she protested. “You will get better and better yet, and you will dance at Charlotte’s wedding.” “Which is more than I will do myself,” Charlotte murmured, too quietly for her aunt to hear, but loud enough to be picked up by Anna’s quick ears. “I am dying, my love,” Mrs. Woodleigh said, sadly. “I have known it for some time, but now my time is drawing rapidly to a close. I doubt I will have the strength to last out the sennight.” “But you have been so well today.” “God granted my wish to be able to talk with you again about what is on my mind before I left you. You turned down Mr. Melcott’s offer of marriage before, when you thought your cousin was still alive. I do not blame you for that—I know what you felt for him. Besides, even had you not loved him so well as you did, you had given your

word and could not break it with honor. But now Tom is dead, and I will not last much longer. I fear I will leave you destitute when I am gone, as the annuity I owned, and which has kept us fed and clothed since your father’s death, dies with me. I will be leaving you all alone. Even dear Charlotte is to be married, and will be going to London with her new husband.” “I will insist that Anna accompany me wherever I go,” Charlotte said stoutly, as she took Anna’s hand in hers. “She need not worry I will abandon her.” “I would prefer to have her settled in the world before I die,” Mrs. Woodleigh said, “rather than to leave her dependant on your goodwill, particularly when you yourself will be dependant on the goodwill of your new husband. I would not have Anna cause strife between the two of you so early in your married life.” Charlotte’s smile looked rather sick. “I am quite sure that the presence of Anna will be the least of my husband’s worries.” “Mr. Melcott seems a good man, Anna. He loves the Lord well. Mayhap he is more severe than he needs to be on occasion, but he acts according to his conscience, and no one can ask for more than that.” Charlotte’s smile looked sicker than ever. “Uncle Melcott wants to marry you, Anna?” “He has offered to marry me, as much to give me a home as for any other reason,” Anna said. “I refused him.” “Please, I wish you to think again on your refusal, my dear. I would not have you marry a man you disliked, but neither would I leave you friendless and destitute if I can prevent it.” “What say you, Charlotte?” Anna asked. “Would it not be passing strange for me to become your aunt as well as your cousin?” She had expected Charlotte to laugh off her remark, but, to her

surprise, Charlotte considered it carefully before speaking. “I do not like my Uncle Melcott,” she said at last. “His is a harsh, cold, unforgiving nature. He has ever disliked my willfulness and what he calls my wild ways, and would beat them out of me, if he could. You are better-natured than I am and deal with him well. If he is fond of you, you may have an easier life with him than ever I could.” “So you would have me wed him?” “I would not condemn in you what I have accepted for myself,” Charlotte said, her voice unutterably sad. “One does what one must for survival—and you must survive along with the rest of us. If you decide, for whatever reason, to marry my uncle, I will be the first to wish you health and happiness.” Anna was shaken to her very soul by Charlotte’s reply. “I will think on it,” she said. “Come morning, I will have an answer for you both.” She lay awake long into the night, agonizing over her decision. On the one hand, she did not love Mr. Melcott. The thought of becoming intimate with him in the marriage bed was distasteful in the extreme. She found it difficult even to imagine what kissing him would be like, let alone the accomplishment of any more intimate act. To let him touch her as Lord Ravensbourne had done was unthinkable. At the thought of Lord Ravensbourne’s desertion and death she shed several tears, before wiping them away almost viciously. He did not deserve to be wept over. He had been untrue to her and deserted her. She even suspected he had lied to her about his part in the squire’s murder. He had been untrue to her about his love and faithfulness. What other lies had he not also stooped to? She did not love Mr. Melcott, so he could not break her heart. Maybe it was just as well she did not love him.

She liked him well enough, with the same daughterly affection with which she had regarded her father, though her weak and pale affection for Melcott in no way approached the deep love she had borne for her parent. As far as she could tell, Melcott had a good reputation in the village as a godly man and was strict in his religious observances. He had been kind to her in his own way. He did not drink to excess and he did not gamble, as far as she knew. She had heard no rumor or gossip about any mistress. He had no extravagant habits—rather tending to the plain and the severe than the ornate. He was strict, but fair, to the servants. He worked hard at his trade and did not waste his earnings on frivolities. She would never starve while he was alive. But neither, whispered a little voice in the back of her head, would she know warmth, or joy, or color. He was cold and harsh and gray, and to marry him would be to condemn herself to a lifetime of only half living. She pushed that traitorous thought aside. Her mother thought highly of him and wanted her to wed him. Should she not be obedient to her mother’s wishes, however distasteful she found them to be? Was she not being selfish in wanting to continue her refusal? Was she such an ungrateful daughter that she would refuse her mother’s last dying wish? Prudence demanded she marry Mr. Melcott. Obedience insisted she marry him. Reason clearly pointed to marriage with him. Love, and only love, screamed a denial. In the early hours of the morning. she reached a decision. Stifling the voice of love, she bowed to prudence, obedience and reason. She would talk to her mother one more time come morning. If her mother still asked that she marry Mr. Melcott, she would agree. The day dawned cold and clear. Despite her lack of sleep, Anna

was awake with the sun and hurried down to her mother’s chamber to re-stoke the fire, which she had kept dampened overnight with hunks of turf. Her mother’s chamber was still warm, but her mother was warm no longer. With a cry of pain, she turned her mother’s hands over and over again in hers to heat them, but it was no use. They lay on the coverlet, cold and lifeless, as she slept the everlasting sleep of death.

Chapter Twelve Lord Ravensbourne stared in horror at his friend and sat down with a thump on the hard wooden seat that furnished his scanty apartments, cradling his wounded arm with his good hand. “What did you say? Anna is getting married? To my Uncle Melcott?” The blood rushed to his head, making the world seem black before his eyes. He cursed the evidence of his own weakness. It had been more than a fortnight since he had been wounded and left for dead, but he was still as feeble as a young child scarce out of his nurse’s arms. Captain Daventry looked away at the foaming pint of porter in his hand, unwilling to meet his friend’s eyes. “That is what I heard in the village. I could not speak to Miss Woodleigh myself to confirm the news. Everyone spoke as it were next to done already. They are planning a quiet wedding, so it is said, as she is still in mourning for her mother, who passed away recently.” This was another shock, and one that touched him nearly as deeply as the first had done. “Aunt Lydia is dead?” Daventry nodded. “She wasted away from an internal complaint and died at Christmastide. I visited her grave in the churchyard and put a bouquet of flowers on it, for your sake.” Ravensbourne acknowledged his friend’s kindness with a quick nod and a word of thanks. Daventry had a good heart. He was more sorry than he could express to hear of his aunt’s death. As a boy, he had loved her well, and as a man, he had liked and respected her. He would miss her gentle presence in his life. Poor Anna would miss her mother greatly. Life had not been kind to his young cousin, taking first her father and then her mother in quick

succession, and leaving her alone in the world. He wished he could be there for her in her time of sorrow. But Anna was no longer his to hold and comfort—she had forsaken him. He could not imagine his Anna wedded to Melcott. The idea was preposterous. Absurd. Obscene. “Anna promised to wait for me until I could return from exile. Surely there is some mistake in your report. Could it not be some other woman? Surely Melcott would not wed the affianced bride of his own nephew?” Daventry shook his head silently. “There is no mistake, though I would, for your sake, that there were.” His eyes radiated pity for his friend. Ravensbourne would not give up hope. He shook his head to clear his vision and tried to ignore the persistent throbbing in his arm. “Some buxom widow of forty or so with the same name as my Anna? What did Charlotte say?” “Charlotte would not see me. I went to call on her, but she refused to admit me. Rumor has it she is betrothed as well, to a wealthy merchant from London.” The break in his voice betrayed the pain he felt. “Charlotte betrothed?” The news of his sister’s planned marriage shook him nearly as much as that of Anna’s. She, too, had promised to remain unmarried while he was in exile and now here she was promising herself in what sounded the most unsuitable marriage he could imagine. “But I am her guardian. She may not marry without my consent. I need only petition the king to have him declare the marriage null and void.” “She would be wedded and bedded by then. You would cause a huge scandal, and Charlotte would be left in the worst position one could imagine—neither maid, nor widow, nor wife. She would not be happy and she would hate you for interfering in her life.”

“So Charlotte has made her own choice then?” “The betrothal was not of her own making, but of your uncle’s. She has merely agreed to accept his decision, after much persuasion, I am told.” “You seem very well informed about my family, though you spoke neither to Anna nor to Charlotte. Did you speak to that traitor, my uncle?” “Though Charlotte refused to see me, she could not prevent me from talking to the servants,” Daventry said, with the ghost of a smile. “I begged an almond tart off Goody Hepney, your cook, for old times’ sake, and she told me all the news. According to Goody Hepney, your Uncle Melcott arranged the marriage for her secretly, without her knowledge, and whipped her into agreement. “I know Charlotte would never willingly choose such a husband. Her betrothed is an old man: a stinking, miserly pinchpenny with no thoughts in his head but profits and expense. But he is worth more money than either of us will ever see in this lifetime and he paid Melcott well to deliver Charlotte up to him as his wife.” “Melcott sold my sister?” Daventry nodded. “So it is said. Goody Hepney says Charlotte goes around the house, pale and proud, and will not speak to her betrothed, or uncle, or to anyone else at all, except her cousin Anna. She has not singled me out by declining my company. Even Miss Georgina Perkins, her oldest friend, has been refused admittance to the house.” Ravensbourne put his head into his hand. How could everything have gone so badly wrong without him knowing? “And my estate? My tenants and lands? Are these, at least, well-looked after by my rogue of an uncle? Or have they, too, been given away or stolen in

my absence? I fear for them, as my uncle has lately sent me nothing but excuses whenever I have requested him to send me a remittance.” He looked around him at the shabby furnishings with disgust. “My charming landlady has threatened to have me thrown out on the streets if I do not pay her some rent soon, and I am in debt to the chirugeon who saved my life for more than mere money. Heaven only knows when I shall ever be able to pay him what I owe.” Daventry looked uncomfortable . “I fear your words are truer than you know. Your uncle has installed himself as the steward during your absence. Rumor has it that you are dead, and he is your only heir. Charlotte’s betrothal and Anna’s marriage lend credence to the story. The villagers all mourn you as lost to them.” “So Melcott has stolen my lands.” “It would seem he is endeavoring to do so.” “And whipped my sister.” “Goody Hepney herself made up a salve for Charlotte’s back. Her skin was raw and bleeding, and she could scarce walk for a sennight.” “And sold her in marriage.” “For a large, round sum, so I have been told.” “And stole my betrothed?” “They are to be wed in a week.” Lord Ravensbourne sat for a moment, digesting the immensity of his betrayal. His uncle had systematically robbed him of all that he loved: the home he had grown up in, the lands he held in trust for his heirs, the sister he loved, and the woman he adored. With sudden clarity he knew, too, who had been behind the attack that had left him wounded so grievously on the streets of Amsterdam. He had not been mistaken for another man. The mad

assassin had been no crazed stranger. All along he had been deliberately targeted for death. “A week? Then there is no time to be lost.” “Why? What are you going to do?” “I will not sit in Amsterdam while in England everything I love is being taken from me. I will go and fight for what is mine.” “You are still suffering from your wound. You are not strong enough to travel.” “Ashort sea voyage will not kill me. It might even do my arm some good to be out of this stinking hellhole of a city and into the fresh sea air.” “And if you are caught? The king has not issued you a pardon, and the sentence of death passed on you by the courts is still in force. If you are discovered, you will be hanged.” He did not relish the thought of an ignominious death, but it was a risk he had to take. “Then I will have to endeavor not to be caught.” Anna lay her wedding dress over a chair and smoothed out the black silk with one hand. Lord Ravensbourne had bought her that dress in Norwich in the summer. Those days seemed a world away. Lord Ravensbourne was dead now—a sword thrust in his false heart. Her mother had gone on to join her father in their heavenly reward. And she was to be married to Mr. Melcott in the morn in her black silk dress, her dead mother’s shawl over her shoulders to banish the winter chill from her body. Would that the chill on her heart could be so easily banished. She felt dead herself—and as cold and lifeless as if she had been in her grave for a month. But what choice did she have other than marriage?

She had no ready money and no source of income. She had food enough for a fortnight, maybe, if she ate sparingly and hoarded her stock for as long as she could. Once she ran out, she would starve. Even the very roof over her head was loaned to her out of charity. She had no one to turn to for help. She could eke out a miserable existence as a governess, she supposed, but without references who would employ her? Besides, she knew of no one who needed a governess and she had no one to ask to help her find a position. She would starve long before she found a situation. A tear fell on her black dress, spreading out through the fabric to make a spot of deep, inky blackness. Indeed, she had no choice. She was lucky Mr. Melcott had offered to marry her. If he had been less good to her, she would be in a sorry state indeed. She would be reduced to sleeping in a hayrick and begging food from anyone with a kind enough heart to take pity on her. And if hearts proved hard, she would be reduced to much worse… She shuddered. She would rather starve to death in the hedgerows than to make that ultimate sacrifice of her female honesty and pride to ensure her survival. She would never sell her body to live. No, she had no choice, she thought, as she rubbed the salty tear into the fabric so it would not spot and mar her dress. She would marry Mr. Melcott in the morn, as she had promised her mother’s spirit, and try to be a good wife to him. He deserved that much at least from her. She would banish all love and longing from her heart, make peace with her conscience, and find solace in doing good works and in loving the Lord. A knock at the door made her start up from her chair. “Who’s there?” she called out, taking a lighted taper for making her way to

the front door, but not drawing the latch. She was all alone in the house, without even a maidservant to keep her company, and fearful of strangers that prowled in the night. When she was married, she would ask that Mr. Melcott keep a footman for their security. Otherwise she would never again be able to sleep at night. The knocking stopped. “Anna?” a soft voice called. She thought she knew that voice, but surely she was mistaken. It sounded so much like Lord Ravensbourne…but he was long dead and buried. Her mind was playing tricks on her, making her think he was come back from the grave only because she had so wished for it to be true. “Who’s there?” she called again, holding a candle up to the door as if it would help her see through the thick wooden planks of the door to the person waiting outside. There was a short silence. “Have you forgotten me already?” Anna felt her heart beating loudly in her chest, and a fearful hope bloomed in her breast. “Lord Ravensbourne?” she whispered. She did not dare open the door, in case the voice had deceived her and a stranger was standing out there. “Yes, it’s me. Your cousin Tom.” With one hand she reached shakily towards the latch. Still she could not believe the evidence of her own senses. “But you’re dead.” “Not quite. But I may be soon, if you do not let me in.” He sounded weary unto the bone and unsure of his welcome. With trembling hands, she undid the latch and swung the door inwards. Her ears had not tricked her. Lord Ravensbourne was standing on her threshold, his face pale in the moonlight, and one arm heavily bandaged and cradled in a sling, but alive. Blessedly,

miraculously alive. Her throat was so choked with happiness and tears that she could not speak, but wordlessly invited him in. He limped into the parlor and sat, with an audible groan, on the sofa. Anna shut and latched the door before hurrying after him. His face was pinched and pale, and he looked thin and cold. How Anna wanted to kiss each worry line from his face, one after the other. “You have been ill?” He shrugged. “It’s nothing. I was wounded.” She sat down beside him on the sofa and took his hands in hers. They were as cold as spring water in January, and she chafed them between hers to warm them, raising them every so often to her lips to kiss them. How she wished she had wood for a fire, but she had run out of sticks she had gathered just yester morn, and had had no time to replenish her stocks. “We thought you were dead. Your uncle had a letter from a friend of his in Amsterdam. He said you had been killed in a duel.” She didn’t mention the cause of the duel. Seeing him in front of her, as enticing as ever, made her feel his betrayal of her love as if a knife were twisted in her heart. Lord Ravensbourne gave a ghost of a smile. “Hardly a duel. I was jumped on in the street by a rascal of a sailor. The beggar did his best to kill me, but I was lucky. The thought of you made me nimble on my feet. I refused to die until I had made you my wife, as I had promised.” The blood rushed from Anna’s head until she felt as though she would faint. It was her wedding day in the morn, and she was to marry Mr. Melcott. “I was to have been married on the morrow,” she said with a shudder, as she held Lord Ravensbourne’s hands tightly in her own, fearing ever to let them go again. “To your uncle, Mr. Melcott.”

As she spoke the words, she realized, with a sudden clarity, that she could not go through with the ceremony. She simply could not marry where she did not love. She thought she had reconciled herself to a life without love or joy, but she was wrong. Her desires had not been quenched, but had been hibernating, only to wake again with renewed vigor at the sight of the man she loved and had thought dead. Whether or not he still loved her did not make any difference to her decision—she would not be married on the morrow. “Daventry told me as much.” His voice sounded as though he carried the weight of the world on his heart. “Did you not love me at all that you replaced me in your affections so swiftly?” Anna felt as though her heart would break. “I loved you as much as ever I had, but we all thought you were dead,” she cried. “I mourned you with all my heart, but I was alive and you were dead, and I had to go on living as best I could. It was my mother’s dying wish that I marry to secure myself an establishment, and Mr. Melcott’s was the only offer I was presented with. I held out for as long as I could, but, in the end, I had little choice but to marry your uncle or to starve.” “Starve? That’s a little melodramatic, surely?” His voice was dry and less than sympathetic. Anna felt the injustice keenly. He had never known want as she had. “I have what I grow in the garden, but even that was lent me out of charity,” she said proudly. “The trustees of your estate demanded that Mother and I pay rent, and when we were unable to pay it, only Melcott’s kind interference prevented us from being thrown out into the streets. Charlotte brought me food over the winter, which kept Mother in comfort as she died and has kept my body and soul together ever since. But Charlotte is going away to

London to be married.” He took her hand in his and squeezed it tenderly. “Had you no savings?” he asked, his voice now gentle and concerned. “No money at all save what I had given you?” “I did not even have that much,” Anna confessed. “I gave it all to Charlotte. She took it to London to get you a pardon with it.” “She would have been better off leaving the money for you. At least the money would have been put to good use.” “But it was put to good use. Charlotte was successful. And your pardon was worth every hunger pang I ever felt when she was away.”

“A pardon?” Lord Ravensbourne felt the weight of a thousand deaths fly off his shoulders. “Charlotte received a pardon for me from the king?” He had wasted at least a day on the road back to Anna when Daventry insisted that he conceal himself. And who knows how many days he had wasted languishing in Holland, while all the time he was free to return to England and take up his rightful place again. “Why did you not write at once and tell me?” “Charlotte left for London the night after you escaped from gaol. I had almost given up hope that she would be successful when she returned home again, the pardon in her hand.” She shuddered. “We had no direction for you, save that you were headed for the Netherlands, and Captain Daventry was nowhere to be found. We were going to send a messenger to find you first thing in the morning. That same night Mr. Melcott received his letter—the letter that told us you were dead.” How convenient…and how cruel. He would not soon forgive or forget his uncle’s duplicity. “When was this?”

“Late in November.” “I had written you at least a dozen letters by then and wrote you more afterwards. Did you not receive a one of them?” Anna shook her head sadly. “No letters came for Charlotte or for me, though I walked up to the manor house every day to inquire of Mr. Melcott whether he had heard aught from you. I thought you had forgotten me.” His anger at his uncle magnified a thousand-fold. “He told you there were no letters from me?” “He did.” “And you believed him?” “Why should I not? He is a godly man, and your uncle, besides. Why would he lie to me?” “So where is my pardon now?” He needed to make sure he was a free man, entitled to have his estates back again and to live in peace and prosperity before he claimed her as his bride again. He had no need to be selfish and claim her as his wife, bringing her into poverty and exile with him. “Charlotte brought it back with her. She was reading it in front of the fire, and we were all celebrating with all our hearts, when Melcott walked into the room.” She stopped for a moment, as if to replay the scene again in her head. “I had it in my hand and was reading it over again when we heard you were dead. Mr. Melcott picked it out of my fingers and waved it around, to emphasize how useless it was now you were dead. I do not think he ever put it down again. He certainly didn’t return it to me, and I think not to Charlotte either. I think he might have tucked it into his waistcoat.” That made matters more difficult. He would have to winkle the paper out of his treacherous uncle before he was arrested once more. “Even Uncle Melcott would not dare to destroy the king’s

seal,” he mused aloud. “He would face death by torture if it were ever proven against him. Still, I cannot go and claim it. He would deny all knowledge of it, and I would be taken away and hanged as surely as if I had never received it.” Anna gasped. “Surely he would not do such a wicked deed. He is your uncle, after all. Hiding away the pardon of a condemned man would make him as guilty as if he had put the noose around your neck himself.” “I suspect he has been trying to do just that all along, one way or another.” “I do not understand. He is your uncle. You left him everything in your will, and you made him Charlotte’s guardian until she married.” He shook his head. Yet another sin to chalk up to his uncle’s account. “There was no such will.” “But…” “If I died without a wife or an heir, everything I owned was to go to Charlotte.” Anna made a noise of distress. He put his arm around her and squeezed her tight. He had known of his uncle’s duplicity for some days, but the news would be coming as a shock to his naïve young cousin. “Uncle Melcott knew I was still alive,” he continued. “He received at least one of my letters and knew my location well enough to send a common sailor to kill me. His attempt miscarried, but still he pretended I was dead in order to take over my estate, to wield power over Charlotte, and to force you into his arms.” Anna shook her head. “He was kind to me, even when the trustees of the estate threatened to have my mother and I dispossessed and thrown out onto the streets if we did not pay the rent owing

them.” Was there no end to his uncle’s lies? “There were no such trustees. Foolishly, I had given him sole charge of my estate during my imprisonment, and he continued his duties when I went into exile.” “What do you mean?” “I mean my uncle saw another way of driving you into his arms by leading you to the brink of disaster. Then he could pretend to ride in like a white knight and rescue you out of his perverted selfinterest, which he called charity, and out of the so-called goodness of his black heart. A cunning plan indeed—one that cost him nothing and won him your gratitude.” Anna thought back on the heartache she had suffered when her mother was dying, when she had thought they might both be reduced to starving in the hedgerows. How could Mr. Melcott have been so callous to a sick woman like her mother? The knowledge of his duplicity hit her with the force of a thunderstorm. “I had not thought anyone could be so wicked.” “And you are to marry him in the morning?” As if she could marry him now. The depth of his depravity was only beginning to sink into her soul. She caught his hands as if they were her lifeline. “I am so glad you returned. You have saved me from marrying a man who would have made me miserable for the remainder of my life. I will never marry him.” Lord Ravensbourne reached out to take her in his arms. “He conspired to separate us and to drive you into his arms. He told you falsely that I was dead, and no doubt conspired to have me murdered to prove his words true. He has lied to you and cheated you. He is not worthy even to kiss the hem of your gown.”

A sudden thought struck Anna. Mr. Melcott had lied to her in so many ways. “He told me one other thing that I feared to believe.” She stopped, unwilling to let Lord Ravensbourne know that she had thought him a murderer. “Go on.” “He told me that…that he knew you were a murderer. He said he had seen you, with his own eyes, strike the fatal blow that killed the squire. That is why he refused to help you in any way— because you had broken one of God’s laws, he said, and deserved to suffer for it.” Lord Ravensbourne’s eyes looked gravely at her—into her very soul—reading the fear and indecision that lurked there. “Fetch me a Bible.” Anna hurried to do as she was asked, fetching the family Bible from its casement under the window. Lord Ravensbourne placed his injured right hand on the Bible. “I solemnly swear,” he said gravely, “that I had naught to do with the squire’s foul and detestable murder, and that I am innocent of his death.” He handed the Bible back to Anna, who put it away again with shaking fingers. “Though I am beginning to suspect my dear uncle could throw light on that particular deed as well,” he added. Anna stood by the casement window. Lord Ravensbourne had come back to her, as he had sworn he would. He had taken an oath on the Bible itself that he was innocent of the murder for which he had been condemned. Never again she would doubt his word. While Melcott, whom she had trusted because of his black coat and pious ways and his passing resemblance to her father, had deceived them both most grievously. What a fool she had been to

let the outward show of a man deceive her into trusting his black heart and wicked ways. A horrible thought struck her all of a sudden. “But your pardon?” She felt her knees grow weak and she sat down hurriedly on the ottoman before her legs gave way beneath her. “I let him take it from me. How shall you ever be free if he will not give it up to you?” “You are an accomplished thief, I have heard,” Lord Ravensbourne said, with a grin. “If he will not give it up, I suggest we steal it from under his very nose.” Anna felt a tendril of pride unfurl within her breast. “When I refuse to wed with him in the morn, he might become suspicious I have discovered his villainy. We will have to steal it tonight.” “This very instant.”

Chapter Thirteen

Anna ran to her chamber and dressed herself hastily in the tattered clothes she had worn before, when she and Charlotte had broken Lord Ravensbourne out of prison. As a final touch to ensure she was not recognized, she pulled a soft woolen hat down over her face, with holes cut for her eyes and mouth. Her stomach was churning and an acid taste crept into the back of her throat, but she felt anticipation rather than fear. Tonight she would know the truth, beyond all doubt, and be able to expose Melcott for the villain he was. After some searching through old trunks in the attic, Lord Ravensbourne found an equally shabby set of clothes for himself. He pulled a similar hat over his head and face, and covered it all with a large cloak he swung over his shoulders. He looked at Anna, anxiety writ large in his eyes. “Are you ready?” Anna nodded calmly as she attached her blunt, old dagger to her side. She had no intention of using it on anyone, but it looked fearsome enough. She did not expect to meet much resistance either from Melcott or from Charlotte’s betrothed, old Hetherington. One wave of her dagger, and the two of them would melt before her, as the cowardly, old hypocrites they were. “Surely I am. Let’s go.” Together they walked quietly over the frozen snow, their heavy boots making no imprint on the ice. Lord Ravensbourne reached over and took hold of Anna’s hand. “Are you nervous?” No, she was not. She felt as though she was alive again, after being half-dead for months. She took a long, deep breath of cold

air into her lungs and whooshed it out again, thrilling in the sensation of exhilaration bursting the bounds of her heart. “Not a whit.” “You are a brave woman.” “Breaking into your house and stealing your pardon out of Melcott’s strongbox will be as easy as eating a piece of cake,” Anna replied. “We know exactly where we are going and what we need to come back with. Besides, I am an old hand at breaking and entering. Stealing a condemned man from Norwich Jail was a much more fearsome prospect than breaking into a manor house strongbox. I could do it with one hand tied behind my back.” “If we succeed in our endeavor tonight,” he said, his face serious, “I will owe you my life twice over.” “You saved me from the living death of marriage to a man whom I would have grown to hate.” He closed his hand more tightly over hers. “He must have prized you highly to take such desperate measures to woo and win you.” Anna shuddered. The realization of the fate she had so narrowly escaped still sent shivers of disgust coursing through her body. “I would have stood before God, promising to love, honor and obey one of the worst of men. I do not want to think about it.” The door to the manor house was bolted, but a door around the side that led into the kitchen stood ajar. Quietly the pair entered, startling Goody Hepney, who stood stirring a pot on the fire. She started up towards them, the dripping ladle in her hand. “Go on with you now,” she cried, flapping her apron and shaking the ladle at them as if they were a pair of hens who had wandered away from the hen coop. “Shoo, shoo. Get out of the house, or I will deal with you, and no mistake.” Lord Ravensbourne pulled off his woolen hat and made a low

bow. “Goody Hepney, I mean you no harm.” At the sight of his face, Goody Hepney dropped the ladle on the floor with a cry of delight and enveloped him in her arms. “We thought you were dead, indeed we did,” she said through her tears. “And we mourned greatly that you were gone. Yon black spider in there is a wicked man, be he your uncle or no. I was more sorry than I could say when I heard that your pretty little cousin was to marry him.” Anna pulled off her own woolen cap, and Goody Hepney gave a gasp of surprise. “There will be no wedding in the morn. Melcott has been wickeder than you or I ever thought possible. We have come to steal Lord Ravensbourne’s pardon, which Melcott has kept from him, and then chase the wicked old man out again, back to the gutter in which he belongs.” “Then come in and welcome. I shall let the servants know to be deaf tonight, and not to hear a single cry for help from the old misers. There isn’t a one of the servants who doesn’t wish you were back home again.” Anna and Lord Ravensbourne pulled on their caps once more . “Where are the old men?” Lord Ravensbourne asked. “We need to get into my uncle’s strongbox…by stealth if we can, but by force if we must.” Goody Hepney grimaced as she bent down and picked up the ladle from the floor. “Upstairs, in Mr. Melcott’s chamber, carousing. They have ordered another gallon of hot rum punch—their sixth already.” She gestured towards the pot on the stove. “I was just heating it up for them when you came galumphing in.” Lord Ravensbourne grinned. “Five gallons of hot rum punch sunk already? They will be seeing double, or even triple by now. They

will think Anna and I are a fearsome bunch of cut-throat villains and will follow our orders as quietly as newborn lambs.” The door to Melcott’s chamber was locked when they tried it. Through the heavy oaken door came the noise of cards and money slapped on the table, mixed with drunken laughter. Anna rapped sharply on the door. “Rum punch,” she called out, in a cracked voice. There was the sound of a chair being pushed back, and one of the men stumbled unevenly over towards the door. He unlatched it, opened it a little and peered out at them with bloodshot eyes. “Hand it here,” he slurred. It was Melcott, disgustingly drunk. “Tomorrow I shall be married to a juicy piece of skirt and will need to save my courage for the marriage bed instead of the bottle.” The two of them pushed the door open, so Melcott stumbled backwards in to the room. “You’re not the cook,” he said, in a voice of utmost surprise. “What have you done with the cook?” Hetherington belched loudly at the card table set up in the corner of the chamber and patted his gargantuan belly. “And where’s the rum punch and the Stilton cheese? We’re dying of hunger and thirst in here.” “I have a better question for you,” Lord Ravensbourne said, deepening his voice to disguise it. He shook his stout cudgel at the sozzled pair. “Where’s your money?” “Money?” Melcott’s voice was a squeak of fear. “Yes, you’ve heard of it, I’m sure. That yellow stuff made of gold that people such as I would kill for.” Melcott fumbled in the pockets of his robe. “I…I have some coins here,” he offered, drawing forth a motley handful of copper and brass and holding it out with a hand that shook so violently several pennies fell to the ground with a clatter.

Lord Ravensbourne said nothing, but his look spoke volumes. Anna removed her dagger from its sheath, held it up to the light, and turned it around as if examining the sharpness of the edge. “Gold?” she prompted him. “There’s plenty of gold on the table,” Hetherington offered, with a big belly laugh, as he swept it into a pile with an expansive gesture. “Come, take it, and welcome. Melcott has just won nigh on a year’s profit off me. It might as well go to a pair of honest rogues as to an old cardsharp with a marked deck.” Anna walked over to the table and swept a pile of gold guineas into her knapsack. Hetherington saluted her theft by raising his glass to her with a drunken laugh. “There’s not enough here to stand a shout at the tavern,” she said, doing her best to imitate the north country way of speech, and lowering her voice to disguise her sex. “Where’s the rest of the gold?” Melcott shivered in his furred robe. “I…I have no more.” She motioned with her dagger. He deserved to be frightened out of his wits for the evil he had done to his relations. “Shall I slit his ears for lying?” she asked, feeling scarce a pang of guilt at the frightened look on Melcott’s wizened face. She could not see how she had ever thought he had looked like her father. Her father had a serenity and nobility of countenance Melcott would never attain. “Your strongbox?” Lord Ravensbourne said. “Or would you rather I set my friend here on to you to teach you the benefits of telling the truth?” Anna watched Melcott’s face dispassionately as his greed warred with his fear. His hands trembled with the thought of having to part with his gold, while the sweat forming on his forehead bore mute testimony to his fear of death.

Fear won. With a shaking step, he tottered over to the cabinet and drew out a strongbox. The contents rattled when he lifted it out and placed it on the card table. “All my worldly possessions,” he said, with a maudlin sob. “Surely you do not intend to rob a man of all that he owns and cast him out into the world at the end of his days, with naught but a crust of bread to bite on?” Anna looked on him with disgust. How could she ever have considered marrying him? He was repulsive. The very sight of him sickened her. “The key.” A crafty look came into his eyes, red as they were with drink. “I don’t have the key on me,” he whined. “Shall I take it into the next room, so I can open it up for you?” She knew he was lying. With the tip of her dagger, she flipped out the chain from around his neck. A small silver key dangled on the end of it. “Try that one,” she said, resting the point of the dagger carelessly against the breast of his jacket. His face grew gray and beads of sweat stood out on his brow. The acrid stench of fear he emitted from every pore of his quivering body choked in the back of her throat. Slowly, slowly, he backed away from the tip of the dagger, leaned over and fitted the key into the lock. She knew it would fit. Caring for his stolen gold as he did, he would not leave the key where it might be found by a chambermaid, who would rifle the strongbox herself, given such a chance. Melcott turned the key in the lock and threw open the lid. “You won’t be needing my papers, now, will you?” he stammered, as he grabbed the papers off the top and tried to stuff them into his waistcoat. She caught a glimpse of the king’s seal as it disappeared into his

clothing. Indeed, she would be wanting them. “Drop them,” she ordered. He dropped a pile of them on the floor, but there was no king’s seal among them. “All of them.” Her voice was harsh. Another few papers floated to the floor. “I said all of them. I do not have the time to wait here all night. Do not try my patience.” With a groan, as if he were stretched on the rack, Melcott reached into his bosom and let the last few papers drop from his fingers. Anna gathered up the papers and shuffled through them hastily. She had to suppress a shout of joy when she found the one with the king’s seal, signifying it was the paper they sought. She beckoned to Ravensbourne and handed him over the precious document. “I canna read worth a bean,” she lied, in her thick Yorkshire accent, “but they must be precious or he wouldna guard them so carefully. You take the papers. They’ll be more use to you. I’ll take the gold.” And she scooped out huge handfuls of guineas from the strongbox and stuffed them in her breeches with riotous abandon. I am not stealing, she thought to herself, as a momentary pang of conscience assailed her, but restoring the money to its rightful owner. Lord Ravensbourne had taken a coil of rope out of his pocket and was binding the two gentlemen to their chairs. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” he said, with a mocking bow, as he tied knots securely around their wrists and ankles, “but I have no mind to be followed when I leave.” Anna was stuffing the last handful of gold coins into her breeches when there was a gasp from the open door. She looked up with a start. Charlotte stood in the doorway in her night rail, a white cap

on her head, and a look of horrified surprise on her face. “Robbers,” Melcott screamed, as he caught sight of her. “Charlotte, raise the house. Call up the footmen. Go, go, quickly, or we shall all be murdered in our beds by these ruffians.” Charlotte stood immobile in the doorway, staring at the scene in front of her. With a muttered curse, Lord Ravensbourne dropped the last of the rope and leaped to her side. Anna let fall the remaining guineas in her hands and followed him, stumbling over the gold as it bounced and rolled on the wooden floor. “It’s me…Tom. I’m alive,” she heard him whisper to his sister in the shadows around the doorway. “And stealing back my pardon. Delay them for us, if you can. I have much to do before the morning.” Charlotte gave a quick smile—brighter than Anna had seen on her for many a week. “I will, with all my heart.” Her voice shook with emotion. “Go on with you, and I will deal with this pair of rogues with pleasure.” He took hold of Anna’s hand and they two of them melted away into the gloom of the night. Behind them, they heard Charlotte give a great scream. “Oh, I am robbed and murdered and undone,” she wailed, as she stumbled into the room. “Melcott, uncle, help me.” There was a great crash, the sound of shattering crockery, and her wailing redoubled. “Charlotte always wanted to go on the stage,” Lord Ravensbourne murmured into Anna’s ear. “Shall we go and watch her performance?” Quietly they stole back again and peeped around the door frame. Charlotte, her hands clasped to her sides, was staggering around the room magnificently. She had already knocked over the card table and the plates and goblets and extinguished candles lay in a

puddle of wine on the floor. As they watched, she staggered carefully over to the last remaining lighted sconce of candles, knocking them over with a calculated wave of her desperately flailing arms. The room was plunged into utter blackness. Charlotte gave another theatrical wail. “Oh, they have put out all the lights. What shall I do? I am lost. Undone. They have come to rob me of everything I hold dear.” There was another loud crash. Now their eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, they could make out the scene. Hetherington, despite the din around him, had fallen into a drunken sleep and was snoring loudly in the corner. Charlotte, meanwhile, had tipped over the chair in which Melcott was tied, and was taking her opportunity to whip him mercilessly with her hands and feet, all the while continuing her loud lamentations. “Oh, how the rogues are beating and kicking me,” Melcott wailed amid the din. “Help me, Charlotte, anyone, for the love of God, or I shall be killed.” “Should we not stop her?” Anna whispered, as Charlotte landed a particularly heavy blow on his side. “He is an old man, and she will kill him if she does not take care.” Lord Ravensbourne pulled her away. “Come, let’s go.” His voice was harder than she had heard it before. “Melcott whipped her black and blue to make her consent to the marriage he arranged for her. He deserves every blow she could ever give him—and more. If he dies, so much the better. I will dance on his grave myself, with the greatest pleasure.” Goody Hepney kissed them goodbye as they sneaked out the kitchen door again. “I’ll see you both in the morn,” she said. “I won’t want to miss the face of that miserly, old reprobate when he

sees the pair of you together again.” There was no urgency to their walk home across the fields. Anna sauntered along beside her betrothed , feeling well-satisfied with her night’s work. Only a couple of hours ago she had been weeping over her wedding dress as she reconciled herself to the unhappiness of an unwanted marriage to prevent herself from starving. Never again would she fear hunger or death. There were many worse things in the world. They stopped by an old oak tree in the grounds of the dower house. Lord Ravensbourne took her hand in his. “You do not regret this night?” She shook her head emphatically. “Never.” He bent his head towards hers. “Thank you, Anna, for everything that you have done for me.” His lips touched hers in a gentle embrace that sent sparks of fire shooting through her body. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her, deepening their kiss. After the numbness of her grief in the last few months, all she wanted was to feel alive again. Her cousin made her feel alive as no man ever had—or ever would again. He put his arms around her and hugged her close to his body, his warmth covering her. With a gentle motion he stroked her back with the palms of his hands as he explored every inch of her mouth with his tongue. When her senses were reeling from the touch of his mouth, he drew his head away. “We must go in and get out of these clothes. I have no mind to spend another night in prison—this time for housebreaking. I am a sad jailbird already.” She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. Hand in hand, they entered the dower house and latched the door securely behind

them. The darkness inside overwhelmed her. The few rush tapers she had left alight had long since burnt themselves out, and all that was left of them was a faint acrid smell of smoke lingering in the air. With faltering footsteps, the two of them groped their way up the stairs to her chamber, where they had left their clothes. A faint beam of moonlight shone through the casement window. She shrugged off her jacket and let it drop to the ground. “I shall put it away for a rainy day,” she said, with a laugh, “in case I get a yen for breaking into your house at night when all your household is asleep.” Lord Ravensbourne took her into his arms, stroking the back of her neck through the coarse fabric of her thick woolen smock. “You may break into my chamber any night you choose, my sweetheart.” His words sent shivers of a new kind of excitement skittering along her spine. “You like me dressed as a man then?” He moved his hand to cup one of her breasts. “I like the way you are all woman underneath.” He shrugged off his own jacket. “All my very own.” She reached for him, sliding her hands underneath his shirt. Tonight she would celebrate his return to life in every way she knew how, and face the consequences in the morning. His skin felt rough under her hands. She caressed his back with her fingertips, reveling in the groan of pleasure she wrung from him. “We have wasted so much time,” he said, as he pushed her smock down over her shoulders and kissed her neck. The touch of his mouth on her bare skin sent a wave of pleasure through her, which rocked her body to her very soul. She laid her head against his chest. “If only I had trusted what my

heart was telling me, I would never have come so close to losing you.” “You did what you thought was right. No one can do more than that.” It was not too late. She would trust her heart now in everything it told her. Lord Ravensbourne had returned to her, and she knew in her heart that he loved her still, as he had loved her before. She would place her trust in him forever. Shivering with excitement, she reached out for his breeches and fumbled with the laces. Lord Ravensbourne suffered her clumsy efforts for a few moments before he took over with a laugh. “You have not become any more experienced while I was away, I see.” Anna hid her face in his chest to hide her blushes. “I saved myself for you.” He stepped out of his breeches and drew his smock over his head. “I am glad of it. I could not bear the thought of another man making you his wife. I had rather face death than that.” Anna gloried in the sight of him. “You came back to England for me?” He turned his attention to her clothes, hastily dispensing with her breeches, stockings and smock, before standing back to look at her with admiration in his eyes. “For you, and you alone.” “I am glad of it.” Gently he tugged her onto the coverlet. “You are not afraid?” Willingly she lay beside him. As he moved on top of her, she knew she would never be afraid of him again. It was barely dawn when Anna woke. Lord Ravensbourne was lying next to her, tickling her with the feather from his cap. “Rise

and shine, sleepyhead,” he said with a grin. “Time to wash and brush and dress yourself in your best. Have you forgotten that today was supposed to be your wedding day, and you have not yet told your poor bridegroom you have changed your mind and will not marry him after all?” She had not forgotten. Turning over, she hugged him close to her and murmured sleepy, contented sounds in his ear. There was no need for her to rise just yet. The guests would not be arriving for some time yet for the wedding breakfast, she had little to do to get herself ready, and she wanted him again. “I would jilt a thousand bridegrooms for you,” she said, as she caressed his chest with her hand, then moved it slowly lower, “though they were rich as Croesus and handsome as Apollo to boot. What hope then for the wicked pinchpenny whom I promised to wed in one foolish moment?” He gave a gasp of pleasure as her hands found their target. “I would do the same for you, though they were more beautiful than Aphrodite, and had five hands apiece to pleasure me with, instead of a mere two.” She nipped his chest with her thumb and forefinger. “Would you now? And, pray tell, what is wrong with my two hands?” He took her hands in his and guided them back to his swollen shaft. “Nothing at all, my love. I love them just the way they are.” Then it was her turn to gasp as, in his turn, he touched her intimately with his fingers until she was slick with need. Not until her mind was too scrambled with passion to think did he move on top of her, filling her with himself over and over again until she screamed out her release into the still of the morning. He awoke her with his feather again, this time tickling her in the most intimate places. With a sleepy sigh, she batted his hand

away. “It is not yet time to rise,” she mumbled into his chest, which she had made into her pillow. “I still have some hours yet.” “Ahalf-hour at the most,” he replied, in a conversational tone. “The first carriage full of wedding guests has already arrived. I heard it trundle down the lane some ten minutes ago.” At his words, Anna sat up in bed with a start. He was right. It seemed only a few minutes ago he had woken her for the first time, but the sun had already gotten high in the sky. With a muttered curse, she threw on her best black dress and brushed the night’s tangles out of her hair. She had intended to tell Mr. Melcott first thing in the morning that the wedding was off. Despite his wickedness, she had no wish to humiliate him before his chosen guests. Now that kinder course was denied her, and she would be forced to break her news to him in public. Beside her, Lord Ravensbourne had put on his breeches of soft doeskin and a soft brown velvet jacket with handsome ribbons on the neck and sleeves. He held out his hand to her. “Ready?” “As ready as I ever shall be.” Together they walked towards the manor house. Mr. Melcott was standing over the fireplace in the large parlor, talking with his guests, his eyes still bloodshot and his face pale. Anna and Lord Ravensbourne opened the door and stood in the entranceway, hand in hand. Slowly the conversation around them died, and Melcott raised his head to see the cause of the sudden silence. When he saw his nephew, his face turned gray with anger. “Tom, my lad,” he said, “how good of you to escort my betrothed to her wedding.” And he sent Anna a false smile that promised a speedy retribution for the embarrassment she was causing him.

She did not fear him. She felt nothing for him at all—he was beneath even her contempt. “There will be no wedding today,” she said simply. A buzz of chatter started around her, but she was oblivious to the whispers and stares of her neighbors. Melcott tried to brazen it out. “Come, no more of your maidenly modesty,” he cried, as he came up to her and tried to take her by the hand. “The pastor is here, our wedding license awaits, and the food is prepared for our wedding breakfast. We may as well be married today as tomorrow.” Anna took a step backwards. “You mistake my meaning, sir. I shall not marry you at all. I plighted my troth to my cousin long before I agreed to wed you. Now he has returned from the dead, and my faith returns to him as well.” “Your cousin, Tom,” Melcott sneered. All trace of good humor had vanished from his tone as he turned to his nephew. “You left England some months ago after being found guilty of a foul murder and condemned to hang, did you not?” Lord Ravensbourne shrugged his shoulders easily. “All men make mistakes. The justice made one when he condemned an innocent man.” “But condemned you were,” Melcott spat, “and like a traitor, you shall die.” He turned towards one of his guests. “Constable Hitchins, do your duty and arrest this fugitive from justice.” The man Melcott addressed moved forward unwillingly, his hands held palm up in front of him as if asking for pardon. “If you are indeed a fugitive, then I m…must arrest you in the name of the k… k…king,” he stammered. “Not so fast, not so fast, my good man.” Lord Ravensbourne reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a piece of vellum

decorated with the king’s seal. “The trouble I have had to get hold of this makes me unwilling to let it out of my hands,” he explained, as he waved it at the constable, “but if you would come over here and look over my shoulder, you may read it for yourself.” Constable Hitchins took out a pair of spectacles from his pocket and came to stand behind him. “It seems in p…perfect order,” he said, his relief evident in his voice. “C…c…completely regular. A p…p…pardon signed by the k…king himself.” Melcott’s face looked grayer than before. He turned his back on the room and put his glass down on the mantelpiece of the fire with a studied gesture that didn’t disguise the trembling of his hands. “Congratulations, nephew,” he croaked when he turned around again, looking and sounding as though he wanted to be vilely ill. “And welcome back to England.” Lord Ravensbourne took him by the elbow and ushered him to the door. “I do not take it so much amiss that you killed the squire,” he said conversationally, as he maneuvered his uncle out the front door. “He was worse than vermin, and the world was well rid of him. But I take exception to the way you used my dagger and tried to throw the blame on me. I take exception to the sailor you hired to murder me on the streets of Amsterdam. I take exception to the way you lied to my sister and my betrothed about my death. And, most of all, I take exception to the way you tried to steal my betrothed from me. Do I make myself clear?” Melcott nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat convulsively. They were at the stables now. Lord Ravensbourne ushered his uncle inside. He untied a donkey and threw a halter around its head . “Fortunately for you, you are my uncle,” he said, “or I would set the constable on you, as you tried to

do on me. But, as you are family, I will merely banish you from here forever, and woe betide you should you ever set foot on my grounds for the rest of your days.” “Set the constable on me? Banish me? Nephew, you are doing me a grave injustice. I have never tried to harm you.” Lord Ravensbourne shook his head sadly. “The kind person who delivered my pardon into my hands also gave me some other documents along with it. I found them very interesting reading. So, no doubt, would the justice, if I saw fit to give them into his hands.” Melcott’s bluster died and he fell silent, the muscles in his face twitching. “This is the last time I will call you uncle or own you as my relative. As my last gift to you, take the donkey and go.” Without another word, Melcott looped the rope over the donkey’s neck, climbed aboard and set off down the road. Lord Ravensbourne watched him depart, his legs dangling over the donkey’s sides nearly to the ground, and his black cape flapping in the wind like that of a bat, brought to earth at last. With a light heart, Lord Ravensbourne walked back into the manor house. The guests had taken the opportunity to disappear. Only Anna, Charlotte, the pastor and a man Lord Ravensbourne recognized as Melcott’s card partner of yester-evening were left in the parlor. The man walked up to Lord Ravensbourne and grasped him by the hand. “Tom, me lad, pleased to meet you.” Lord Ravensbourne lifted his eyebrows and looked down his nose. “Can I help you?” The man lowered his voice. “Well, it’s hardly a topic I can speak to you about in front of the ladies, but I was hoping my bargain still stands.”

“Your bargain?” “For Miss Charlotte, your sister. I’ve already paid my friend Melcott half of the thousand pound I promised him for her, but I’ll give the rest to you if you like.” “You bought my sister for a thousand pounds?” “Expensive, wasn’t she? But I’ll make sure I get my money’s worth out of her.” And he turned around and gave Charlotte a great wink. “My sister is not for sale.” “But…but…my five hundred pounds?” “You gave it to Melcott. I suggest you get it back from him as well.” And the card player stomped out of the house, muttering under his breath about swindlers and cheats, and how he would get the law on them. In the pause that followed the departure of Charlotte’s erstwhile suitor, the pastor, in a threadbare cloak and a beaver hat with most of the pelt rubbed off, sidled quietly up to him.. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said, in a soft voice, as he took the hat off his head and turned it around nervously in his hands, “but Mr. Melcott promised me ten shillings to marry him this morning, and it cost me a shilling to hire a horse to get here.” “You have the marriage license with you?” The pastor reached into his pocket and drew it out. Lord Ravensbourne glanced over it briefly. “Stay here for a moment, if you please, sir. Charlotte, would you get the pastor a glass of Madeira?” He held out his hand to Anna. “My love, come walk with me in the garden.” He held out his hand to her, and she took it with a smile. It was cold outside, but the sun shone brightly, making the icicles hanging from the trees sparkle and shimmer in the sunlight, and throwing rainbows of all colors onto the snow.

“Anna, my love, I asked you to be my wife once before, and you agreed. Are you still of the same mind now?” Anna turned to face her cousin. She had learned to trust him, to look below the surface and see the good that lay in his heart. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly to her. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.” “Today?” His voice was as eager as that of a little boy. “But we cannot. We have not read the banns. We have no license.” He showed her the license in his hand. “Blank,” he said, with a grin. “It is a sign of God’s providence that we can put it to far better use than that for which it was intended.” Hand in hand, they walked back to the parlor. Lord Ravensbourne drew a handful of gold from his pocket and put it on the table by the pastor. “Drink up quickly,” he said, with a smile so wide that it nigh split his face in two. “You have a wedding to conduct this morning.”