Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
“Oh, Miss Taylor! I was so hoping you’d come in this morning.”
Kate froze in the entryway of the All Things shop.
Sally Bright, the village shopgirl and gossip, looked up from her ledger and cast her a sly smile. “I can’t wait to hear everything.”
Oh, please. Please, don’t let word have gotten around.
Kate herself could scarcely believe last night’s interview with the Gramercys, much less be pressed to explain it. “Hear everything about what?”
“Everything about you and Thorne, of course. Miss Taylor, you must tell me. I’ll forgive your entire line of credit, but I want to hear every detail. I heard you’re betrothed.” The girl hopped for emphasis. “Betrothed!”
Kate closed her eyes. Oh. That. The girl wanted to hear about her and Thorne. She was having a hard time crediting those events, too.
“Did you say betrothed?” In her peripheral vision she saw a lace cap swivel.
Kate adjusted the heavy basket on her arm. Mrs. Highwood, a matron in her middle years, stood at the far corner of the shop, accompanied by the eldest of her three daughters, Diana.
“Who is betrothed?” the older woman demanded.
Mrs. Highwood was a woman of advancing age—but when it came to the subject of matrimony, her hearing was positively canine in its acuity. Between her voracious interest in all things nuptial and Sally’s love of gossip . . .
Well, at least this would be over quickly.
“It’s Miss Taylor and Corporal Thorne,” Sally jumped to inform her. “It happened just yesterday, on their way home from Hastings.”
“How do you even know all this?” Kate asked, marveling.
“Your new music pupil came in the shop. Lady Lark, is it? She popped in first thing this morning for tooth powder and told me everything.”
Mrs. Highwood crossed to the counter. “Miss Taylor? Betrothed to Corporal Thorne? I cannot believe it.”
“Is this true, Kate?” Diana asked. “I must admit, that’s . . . rather a surprise.”
Of course it would be a surprise. She and Diana were friends, and not only had she never said a thing to the eldest Miss Highwood about liking Corporal Thorne—she’d given every indication of despising the man.
Because she did despise him. He was horrid and cold and unfeeling and now . . .
“It’s true,” Kate said, inwardly cringing. “We’re engaged.”
It’s all right,she reminded herself. It’s only temporary.
“But how did this happen?” Diana asked.
“Very suddenly.” Kate swallowed. “I’d gone into Hastings for new music, and I missed the last stagecoach home. I chanced across Corporal Thorne in the street, and he offered me a ride home.”
“And then . . . ?”
“And then we stopped to rest the horse near a turnpike. We . . . discussed the past and the future. By the time I settled in for the night at the Queen’s Ruby, we were engaged.” There, all of that was the truth.
Sally pouted. “That is the worst recounting I’ve ever heard! You owe us more than that. Did he go down on one knee, declare mad love for you? Was there a kiss?”
Kate didn’t know how to answer. Yes, there had been a kiss. And her first kiss should have been an occasion to bubble over with excitement and regale all her friends with breathless details. Instead, she just wanted to conceal her humiliation.
“Look at your face,” Sally said. “Red as sealing wax. It must have been a very good kiss indeed. The man’s no kind of monk. You’ll be a lucky bride, Miss Taylor. I’ve heard such tales . . .” She scribbled in her ledger.
Mrs. Highwood snapped open a fan and worked it vigorously. “Insupportable. My Diana’s poor health has us confined to this seaside hamlet, while all England celebrates the allied victory. Here we stay, doomed to watch her chances of marriage sail by, like so many ships viewed from the shore. And now Miss Taylor is engaged?”
Diana gave Kate an apologetic smile. “Mama, I believe what you mean to say is that we are thrilled for Kate, and we wish her much joy.”
“Much joy,” the older lady muttered. “Yes, Miss Taylor may have much joy, but what of us? I ask you, Diana, where is our joy? Where?” She drew the last word into a wavering lament. “Everyone who is anyone is in Town this summer. Including your sister, who—I remind you—has recently married a viscount.”
“Yes, Mama. I do recall.” Diana coughed pitifully into a handkerchief. “It’s so unfortunate my health has taken a sudden turn.”
“You do look very pale today,” Kate said.
Diana and Kate exchanged knowing looks. Minerva Highwood’s recent marriage to Lord Payne was the entire reason for this subterfuge. Left to her own devices, Mrs. Highwood would have descended on the newlyweds within a day of their arrival in Town, demanding introductions be made and balls be held. Diana wanted her sister to have a quiet honeymoon—hence the mysterious and sudden “decline” in her health.
“I tell you,” the older woman muttered, “in my youth, I should not have let consumption, malaria, and typhoid put together keep me from the celebrations of the Glorious Peace.”
“But you would not have been much fun at parties,” Kate couldn’t help but say. “All that hacking and shivering with fever.”
Mrs. Highwood sent her a sharp look.
Just then Sally Bright slammed her ledger shut. “There, that’s done. Now, Miss Taylor, spill everything.”
What Kate spilled were the contents of her hamper. Inside it, Badger startled at the crack of the ledger closing. The pup leapt from the wicker basket, then darted about the shop, rocketing from one corner to another.
“It’s a rat!” Mrs. Highwood cried, displaying the spryness of a woman ten years her junior as she climbed a nearby stepladder.
“It’s not a rat, Mrs. Highwood.”
The puppy scampered under a bank of shelves.
Kate ducked and scouted under the cupboards. “Badger! Badger, do come out.”
“Even worse,” the matron moaned. “It’s a badger. What sort of young woman carries a badger in a handbasket? It’s like a harbinger of the End of Days.”
“I believe it’s a puppy, Mama,” Diana said. Crouching, she joined Kate in the search. “Now where’s the dear thing gone?”
Down on hands and knees, Kate peered under the cupboard. Badger was there, wedged far at the back. She stuck her hand into the gap and groped for a handful of scruff. Drat. Just out of her reach.
Diana knelt beside her. “Poor dear. He must be frightened.”
“Here. Try this.” Sally joined them, holding out a bit of salted bacon she’d taken from a barrel in the storeroom. “Before he leaves a puddle under there.”
Kate blew out a swift breath, lifting a lock of hair that had fallen over her brow. The puppy had already left two puddles in her room at the Queen’s Ruby. One on the floorboards, and another in her bed. By the time she’d returned from breakfast with a slice of ham and a roll tucked in her pocket, the little beast had chewed up the handle of her good fan and one half of her most comfortable pair of slippers.
“Come now, Badger. That’s a good boy.” Kate pursed her lips and made encouraging noises. The pup sniffed and advanced a little, but not quite far enough.
Recalling Corporal Thorne whistling for the dog yesterday, she pressed her lips together and gave a short, chirping whistle. That did the trick. The pup came darting out—a furry bullet shooting straight into her lap.
Kate fell back on her backside with an oof. She laughed as Badger devoured the bacon from her hand, then set about licking every trace of salt from her palm and fingertips.
“You will get me into so much trouble,” she whispered. “And I’ve no strength to chide you.”
Badger knew it, too. He cocked his head. Then his ear. Twitched his nose. Wagged his tail. As if to say, Look upon my arsenal of adorable behaviors . . . and tremble.
“This naughty little dear is Badger,” she said. “He’s the reason I came in today, Sally. I was hoping you’d have something I can use as a leash. Carrying him in the basket obviously won’t do. And perhaps you’d have some stray bits of something for him to chew? Last night, I let him destroy a copy of Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom.”
Sally crossed her arms. “I might have a dog lead in back. As for things to gnaw . . .” She considered a moment, then snapped her fingers. “I know. What about Finn’s old leather foot? He’s been fitted with a nicer prosthetic now.”
Kate shuddered at the thought of Badger gnawing away at a human limb, even a false one. How macabre. “That’s a . . . creative . . . thought, but perhaps we’ll just stick with Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom. It is a very useful book.”
Mrs. Highwood came down from the stepladder and examined the dog. “Wherever did you acquire such a mongrel, anyhow?”
She gave Badger a brisk rub. “Corporal Thorne picked up the little urchin from a farmer.”
Sally perked up. “That’s Thorne’s dog?”
“Well, he’s my dog now.” She covered Badger’s ears, lest he hear himself being disparaged. “It’s only a mongrel pup he took in on a whim.”
Kate knew she couldn’t offer a growing puppy the most suitable of homes. But she could give Badger love, and that was what he needed most.
Sally shook her head. “Are you certain? Rufus told me Corporal Thorne’s been wanting a coursing hound. He’s had one on special order from a breeder. The pups come quite dear, I understand.”
Kate stared at the dog in her arms. Valuable? Badger? Such a funny-looking thing, all long, thin limbs and patched fur that was not quite straight, not quite curly. He was like an animated heap of cowlicks.
And if Thorne prized him, surely he would have told her so.
“Sally, I think you must have your puppies confused.”
“For the love of St. Ursula!” Mrs. Highwood cried. She’d moved to the window. “This, I’ll have you know, is why this place is called ‘Spinster Cove.’ While you featherbrained girls carry on about mongrel dogs, there is a gentleman walking down the lane. A tall, marvelous-looking one, carrying an expensive walking stick. I detect no hint of marriage in his demeanor.”
Diana laughed. “Mama, you cannot determine a man is single just by viewing him from across the lane.”
“But I can. My intuition has never failed me.”
“His name is Lord Drewe,” Kate said. “He’s here on holiday with his two sisters and an aunt.” She prolonged the suspense another moment. “And he’s a marquess.”
“A marq—” Mrs. Highwood swayed on her feet. “An unmarried marquess. Oh, my nerves. I will faint.”
The men of the Spindle Cove militia were not particularly interested in a visiting marquess. And the addition of a few more female oddities to the Queen’s Ruby coterie was simply the normal course.
But it wasn’t every day they had a chance to needle their commander.
“Engaged to Miss Taylor?” Aaron Dawes exclaimed, once drill was finished for the morning.
Thorne ignored the question. He stretched his neck to one side until it cracked.
“Thought you went to Hastings for a hunting dog,” Dawes said, “not a wife.” The blacksmith shook his head. “I must say, never saw that coming.”
“None of us saw this coming,” said Fosbury. “Exactly how did you woo her, Corporal?”
“This is Thorne we’re discussing,” Dawes said. “He doesn’t woo. He commands.”
“But that wouldn’t work on Miss Taylor. She’s got spirit.”
“And humor,” said the vicar. “And good sense.”
Yes, Thorne silently agreed. All that, plus distracting beauty and a mouth so lush and sweet, he’d spent the whole night dreaming about it and woken with a rod of forged steel between his legs.
“Yes, Miss Taylor’s a very sweet girl,” Fosbury said. He eyed Thorne with good-humored curiosity. “Makes a man wonder . . . What’s she see in you?”
Nothing. Nor should she.
“Enough,” he said. “We have a great deal to make ready before the ladies have their fair. My personal affairs are none of your concern.”
“Don’t think we’re concerned for you,” Dawes said. “We’re concerned for her. Miss Taylor has a great many friends in Spindle Cove. None of us want to see her hurt. That’s all.”
Thorne cursed silently. If all Miss Taylor’s friends knew the truth, they’d thank him. He was only trying to protect her from a far more dangerous threat.
The Gramercys.
It made no sense that the family would so eagerly take up residence in Spindle Cove, and even less sense that Lord Drewe himself would remain. Thorne could only conclude the marquess was reluctant to let Miss Taylor out of his sight. Why would he feel so protective of an illegitimate second cousin?
Higher mathematics might not be his strength, but he knew when something didn’t add up.
“Corporal Thorne!” Rufus Bright called down from the turret. “Miss Taylor’s climbing up the path.”
Thorne dismissed the men with a curt nod. “That will be all. Go assist Sir Lewis with the trebuchet.”
The men groaned. But they obeyed, crossing through an arch and wandering out to the bluffs where Sir Lewis Finch had his monstrosity erected.
Spindle Cove denizens whispered a prayer whenever the aging, eccentric Sir Lewis approached a trigger, a fuse, a powder charge—or in this case, a medieval catapult designed to lay whole cities to waste. However, instead of launching flaming balls of pitch over fortified walls, this trebuchet’s sole purpose was lobbing melons out to sea. Just a bit of show for the midsummer fair.
The mechanics of the ancient weapon were apparently more sensitive and twitchy than a virgin’s inner thigh. A great many test runs were needed before it would be ready.
Sir Lewis’s sonorous baritone carried over the castle ruins. “Ready, men! Three . . . two . . .”
A great whomping and whooshing noise coincided with the count of one, as the men released the trebuchet’s counterweight. The sling made its groaning orbit upward, then lurched to a halt and sent its missile soaring in the direction of the sea.
In the direction of the sea. Not all the way there.
From the loud squelch that followed, the thing couldn’t have flown more than fifty feet before smashing to pulp on the rocks.
“Corporal Thorne?”
“Miss Taylor.” She’d appeared out of nowhere while he was distracted, Badger nosing at her heels.
“I’ve a matter to discuss with you. Can we have a private word?”
He led her through the remains of a crumbled archway and around a low sandstone wall. It was a place apart, but not enclosed. The armory was no place for her, and he damned well couldn’t take her into his quarters alone.
If he got her anywhere near a bed . . . this temporary engagement could all too easily become permanent.
God, just look at her this morning. The sunlight gave her hair hints of cinnamon and threw gold sparks in her eyes. The exertion of a steep climb up the bluffs showed her slight figure to its best advantage. And the heart-shaped mark at her temple . . . it was the worst and best of everything. It made him painfully aware she wasn’t some unearthly apparition, but a flesh-and-blood woman who’d warm in his embrace.
None of this was for him, he reminded himself. Not the careful curl of her hair, nor the spotless new gloves that gave her hands the look of bleached starfish. She wore a pale blue frock that seemed more froth than muslin. A border of delicate ivory lace trimmed the low, squared neckline. He shouldn’t be noticing that lace. Much less staring at it.
He wrenched his gaze up to her face. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Except that I’m not accustomed to having a puppy for a roommate.”
“Ready to give him back, then?”
“Not a chance. I adore him.” She bent to give the dog a brisk rub. “But how do I keep him from chewing things?”
“You don’t. It’s what he’s born to do—chase down small animals and rip them apart.”
“My. What a little savage.”
He pulled a handful of rabbit hide twists from his pocket. He tossed one to the dog, then offered the rest to her. “Give him these, one at a time. They should last a few days, at least.”
“Can I buy more at the shop when these are gone?”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t purchase them.”
He expected her to give the knotted bits of scraped hide a faintly disgusted look, now that she knew just where they’d originated. Instead, she regarded him with the same soft, liquid eyes she used on the pup.
“You had all those prepared? She must have been right. You do value this dog.”
“What? Who must be right?”
She pocketed the extra rabbit hide scraps. “Sally Bright told me—”
“Sally Bright says a lot of things.”
“—that you had a puppy on order from a breeder. Bred from some kind of superior hunting stock. She said the pups come very dear. Corporal Thorne, if Badger means something to you, I’ll give him back. I just need to know he’ll be cared for.”
Not this again.“The dog is mine. That’s all I should need to say.”
“What’s so horrible about admitting a fondness for the creature? I’m a music tutor, as you well know, and music is just another language. Unfamiliar phrases come easier with practice. Say it with me now, slowly: ‘I care about the dog.’ ”
He didn’t say a thing.
“That’s a very intimidating scowl,” she teased. “Do you practice that look in the mirror? I’ll bet you do. I’ll bet you glare into the looking glass until it shatters.”
“Then be a clever girl and turn away.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t. I came up here to talk privately because we need to make our stories straight. The whole village has heard of our betrothal already. Everyone’s asking me how we came to be engaged, and I don’t know what to tell them. Aren’t the men asking you the same? What have you said?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Of course. How could I forget? No one expects you to talk. You’re Corporal Taciturn. But it’s different with la—”
Shouts from the other side of the wall interrupted. “Ready, men! Three, two . . .”
Thunk. Creak. Whoosh.
Then, a few seconds later, splat.
“More sand in the counterweight,” Sir Lewis shouted to the men. “We almost have it.”
“It’s different with ladies,” Miss Taylor said, continuing where she’d left off. “You don’t understand. When a girl gets engaged, they want to know everything. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word. I can’t abide lying to them, so I’d prefer we hold to the truth. We became engaged yesterday. Our first kiss was on the way home from Hastings. We’ve—”
He held up a hand, halting her mid-sentence. “Wait. You’re telling people about the kiss?”
She blushed. “I haven’t really, not yet. But I think I must. They’re skeptical as it is. No one believes we’ve been courting. Because we haven’t been.” Her gaze dropped to the turf. “Oh, this is miserable. I should have never agreed to the idea.”
“If it’s causing you that much anguish, release me from the engagement.”
Her eyes widened. “I couldn’t do that so fast. I would look fickle, even mercenary. What kind of woman would engage herself to a man one evening, then throw him over the very next day just because her circumstances changed?”
“A great many women would do that.”
“Well, I’m not one of them.”
Thorne knew very well she wasn’t.
“The Gramercys might be my relations,” she went on. “I want them to like me—and to know me—for who I truly am. I’m not the kind of woman to marry for convenience. Unless we lie a little bit, I’ll feel dishonest.”
Thorne frowned. Was she asking him to behave like an interested suitor? He’d made concealing his attraction to her such a habit, he wasn’t sure he knew how to do the reverse.
He opened his mouth to speak, but from beyond the wall came another shout: “Ready!”
Another count: “Three, two . . .”
Another shot from the trebuchet. This time, after several seconds of silence, he heard a distant, watery splash.
“Better,” Sir Lewis called. “The force is right, but the aim is off. I need to adjust the mechanism.”
“Our stories,” Thorne said, once the men had gone quiet again. “Let’s make them matching, as you say.”
“First, what are our plans after the wedding? Supposedly you’re going to America.”
“I am going to America. So supposedly you’re coming with me.”
“Are we headed for New York? Boston?”
“Philadelphia, but only to gather supplies. I’ve a plan to claim some land in Indiana Territory.”
“Indiana Territory?” She scrunched up her face. “Indiana. That sounds very . . . primitive.”
Thorne shifted his weight. Through the lacy castle ruins, he could see the glistening, aquamarine cove and the expansive Channel beyond. Clearly the prospect of wide-open spaces didn’t appeal to her the way it called to him. He’d been planning this for some time now—his own tract of land. He’d been clinging to the idea so long, he could feel the grit under his fingernails. There’d be rich soil to till, game to hunt and trap. Ample timber for the felling.
True freedom, and the chance to make his own life.
“Where would we live?” she asked.
“I’d build a house,” he said.
“How would I continue with my music? I couldn’t give it up. Not plausibly. This is me we’re talking about. Everyone knows I’d never have agreed to marry you—or anyone—unless music was part of the bargain.”
“I’ll see that you have a pianoforte.” He had no idea how one would be transported to the middle of the woodlands, but the logistics hardly signified.
“And pupils?”
He gestured impatiently with one hand. “There’d be children, eventually.”
“I’ve tutored the daughters of dukes and lords. And now I’d be teaching frontier neighbor children?”
“No, I meant ours. Our children.”
Her eyebrows soared. A rather long time passed before she said, “Oh.”
He made no apology for the insinuation. “This is me we’re talking about. Everyone knows I wouldn’t offer marriage to you—or anyone—unless bedding were part of the bargain.”
Her cheeks colored. Thorne had a vivid, sudden vision of the two of them in a rough-hewn log cabin, tucked between a straw-tick mattress and a quilted counterpane. Nothing but heat and musk between their bodies. He’d curl his strength around her softness, keeping out the cold and howling wolves. The scent of her hair would lull him to sleep.
That picture looked damn near paradise to him—which meant it was unattainable. And he could imagine she wouldn’t see the charms.
“What about love?” she asked.
He jerked his head, surprised. “What about it?”
“Do you mean to love me? What about all these children you mean for us to create? Am I to believe you’ll laugh and play with them, be open with them, let them into that stony thing you call a heart?”
He stared at her. If he thought he could ever give her those things, he would have offered to do so. Months ago.
He said, “No one needs to believe love’s involved.”
“Of course they do. Because I would need to believe it.”
“Miss Taylor . . .”
“This will never work.” She rubbed her brow with one hand. “No one will credit that I’ve agreed to leave my friends, my work, my home, and my country behind. And for what? To cross the ocean and take up residence in a remote wilderness cabin with a man who can’t fathom the meaning of love? In Indiana?”
He took her by the shoulders, forcing her to face him. “We’re ill suited. I know that. I could never make you happy. I know that, too. I’m so far beneath you, the best I could ever offer would be a paltry fraction of what you deserve. I’m aware of all of this, Miss Taylor. You don’t have to remind me.”
Regret softened her eyes. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I shouldn’t have said—”
“Save the apologies. You spoke the truth. I was only agreeing.”
“No, no. I can’t stand for you to believe that I’d . . .” She reached for him.
Holy God. She reached for him, and before he could duck or step back or fall on his sword to prevent it, her gloved hand was on his cheek. Her palm flattened there, warm and satiny. Sensation jolted through his body.
When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but strong. “You’re not beneath me. I’d never think that.”
Yes, you are beneath her, he reminded himself, bracing against the forbidden bliss coursing through his veins. And don’t dare imagine you’ll ever be atop her. Or curled behind her. Or buried deep inside her while she—
Bloody hell. The fact that he could even think such a thing. He was crude, disgusting. So undeserving of even this slight caress. Her gesture was made out of guilt, offered in apology. If he took advantage, he would be a devil.
He knew all this.
But he flexed his arms anyway, drawing her close.
“You’re worried you’ve hurt my feelings,” he murmured.
She nodded, just a little.
“I don’t have those.”
“I forgot.”
Amazing. He marveled at her foolishness. After all he’d said to her, she would worry about him? Within this small, slight woman lived so much untapped affection, she couldn’t help but squander it on music pupils and mongrel dogs and undeserving brutes. What was it like, he wondered, to live with that bright, glowing star in her chest? How did she survive it?
If he kissed her deeply enough and held her tight—would some of its warmth transfer to him?
“Wait,” came a call, echoing vaguely in the distance. “Hold still! Not yet!”
Perhaps the voice belonged to his conscience. He couldn’t bring himself to pay it any mind. All he knew was her touch and her caring and the raw, trembling force of his own need.
He drew her closer still. Her eyes went wide. Larger and more lovely than he’d ever seen them before. A whole world of possibility was opening in those dark pupils.
And then . . . Her gaze drifted up and a little to the side. Her lips fell apart in wonder.
A strange shadow appeared on her face.
A shadow that was round, and growing larger by the instant. As though some projectile were rapidly approaching from above.
Jesus, no.
Thorne had been here before, many times. Battle, sieges, skirmishes. Thought ceased, and instinct took over. His grip tightened on her shoulders. His already thundering heart pumped faster, powering strength to his limbs.
The word “Down!” tore from his throat.
He threw himself forward, wrapping her body in his arms and flattening her to the ground—
Just as the explosion hit.