Tempted by the damsel in distress!

Captain James Warriner is startled to find a curvaceous beauty caught up a tree in his orchard! Despite his shattered leg, he rescues Miss Cassandra Reeves, then is determined to have nothing more to do with the enticing vicar’s daughter.

Except when Cassie seeks Jamie out to apologize, they find themselves persuaded to work together on her storybook. Secret liaisons with the dashing soldier make Cassie wish Jamie would rescue her once more...by making her his wife!

The Wild Warriners

Four brothers living on the edge of society…scandalising the ton at every turn!

Tucked away at their remote estate in Nottinghamshire are the ton’s most notorious brothers.

The exploits of Jack, Jamie, Joe and Jacob Warriner’s parents—their father’s gambling and cheating, their mother’s tragic end—are legendary. But now, for the first time, the brothers find themselves the talk of the ton for an entirely different reason…

Because four women are about to change their lives—and put them firmly in society’s spotlight!

Find out what happens in:

Jack’s story

A Warriner to Protect Her

Already available

Jamie’s story

A Warriner to Rescue Her

Available now

And watch for Joe’s and Jacob’s stories—coming soon!

Author Note

When I wrote the first book in this Wild Warriners series, A Warriner to Protect Her, I was pretty certain of the sort of direction I wanted the second book to go. James Warriner is a damaged former soldier, with a talent for covert reconnaissance, and I wanted to bring those skills into play for his story. I envisaged some sort of tale involving intrigue—perhaps even espionage. However, as my characters so often do, Jamie took me down a completely different path. The more I got to know him, the more I came to know that he was actually a deeply sensitive soul underneath all his monosyllabic gruffness. A man who painted delicate and beautiful flowers was not really ever meant to be so fluent in violence. He didn’t need to return to his military ways—he needed saving. It was then that I first began toying with the idea of introducing Jamie to a vicar’s daughter.

Around the same time I was rooting around the attic one day, looking for something, and came across one of my children’s old storybooks: The Tale of Peter Rabbit by the wonderful Beatrix Potter—a woman who used her childhood pets as inspiration for her wonderfully vivid and brightly illustrated stories. Before I knew it my soft-hearted vicar’s daughter had a horse called Orange Blossom and a talent for writing. With his art and her words, surely they were a match made in heaven? If only I could convince Jamie, of course…

A Warriner to Rescue Her

Virginia Heath

www.millsandboon.co.uk

When VIRGINIA HEATH was a little girl it took her ages to fall asleep, so she made up stories in her head to help pass the time while she was staring at the ceiling. As she got older the stories became more complicated—sometimes taking weeks to get to their happy ending. One day she decided to embrace her insomnia and start writing them down. Virginia lives in Essex, with her wonderful husband and two teenagers. It still takes her for ever to fall asleep…

Books by Virginia Heath

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

The Wild Warriners

A Warriner to Protect Her

A Warriner to Rescue Her

Stand-Alone Novels

That Despicable Rogue

Her Enemy at the Altar

The Discerning Gentleman’s Guide

Miss Bradshaw’s Bought Betrothal

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.

For Ellen.

For always being there for my children with either a ready bandage or unconditional love.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

The Wild Warriners

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

May 1814

The blood-curdling female scream shook him out of his daze instantly. Jamie pulled up his horse and glanced frantically around to see if he could locate the source. All he saw was familiar meadow and trees, and for a moment he thought he might have imagined it. With the warm sun on his face and the leisurely motion of his mount ambling aimlessly beneath him, it was quite feasible he had nodded off. He was exhausted, after all.

Constantly exhausted from his brain’s inability to stop whirring when darkness fell, conjuring up memories from his past which haunted him even though he knew both men responsible for the pain were undeniably dead and therefore no longer a threat. Yet the ghost of them lingered in his mind, forcing him to stay vigilant and preventing him from snatching more than a few hours here and there, usually as the sun began to banish the darkness away. Or perhaps it was simply the darkness which frightened him as it had as a child? After so many months, he was no longer sure. Just irritated with his own inability to move past it.

The second scream, no less curdling or high-pitched, raised all of his hackles, putting him on instant alert. With his soldier’s instinct, Jamie raced his horse in the direction of the shriek, which happened to be towards the orchard near the huge wall which surrounded Markham Manor. The orderly trees were arranged in parallel lines with person-width paths of grass in between; aside from the gentle swish of leaves blowing in the summer breeze, silence reigned.

He cast his eyes methodically up and down the rows until he saw something—a dainty skewbald pony casually munching on the tiny, unripe apples that littered the ground around its hooves. As it was wearing both halter and a side-saddle, yet there was no sign of the rider, Jamie carefully lowered himself to the ground and wrapped his own reins loosely about a branch. At the best of times his temperamental black stallion was foul tempered; around other horses he was prone to be a brute. The pretty cream-and-dun pony, with her long fluffy mane and even longer eyelashes, would not stand a chance.

Jamie limped towards the abandoned animal slowly, conscious any sudden movement might spook the strange pony and send it galloping off to who knew where. ‘Easy, girl...’ At least he assumed it was a girl. If it were a boy the other horses would tease him mercilessly for that effeminate mane.

‘Hello!’ A slightly panicked woman’s voice came from above. ‘Is somebody there?’

‘Hello?’ He hadn’t been expecting to address the sky. The sun pierced Jamie’s eyes to such an extent he could not see a thing except blinding yellow light. The woman’s exact location remained a mystery. Unless she was an angel sent to fetch him and drag him off to heaven, which he sincerely doubted. They had had their chance and failed miserably and if he was bound for anywhere it was probably hell. ‘I can’t see you!’

‘I am in the tree... I wonder if you would be so good as to assist me, sir. I appear to be stuck.’

Surreal words, again unexpected. How did a woman come to be stuck in an apple tree? Jamie did his best to shield the worst of the glare with his hand and squinted through the tangled branches. Two wiggling feet dangled nearly six feet above his head. They were encased in half-boots and were attached to a very shapely pair of female legs, clad in fine silk stockings which were held up with rather saucy pink garters. His eyes widened at the garters. From this perspective they appeared to be completely festooned with flowers. Above them, about an inch or two of creamy thigh was also on display. The rest of the woman was hidden by leaves.

Thankfully, a passing cloud chose that exact moment to block out the worst of the sun, allowing Jamie to get a better look at the rest of the dangling woman. Her slate-coloured skirt, so incongruous in comparison to her choice of vibrant underthings, had inverted and appeared to be wrapped tightly around her upper body. One arm clung to a branch above, the other, and her head, were apparently trapped within the fabric. Her generous bottom was resting on a feeble branch which appeared likely to snap at any moment and, with nothing beneath her except the hard ground, his best assessment of her position was precarious.

‘Try to remain still. I’m coming up!’

He supposed it was the gentlemanly thing to do, although Jamie had no idea if he was still actually capable of climbing a tree. Thanks to Napoleon, he could hardly walk, certainly struggled to run and his dancing days were most definitely over. Quickly, he tried to work out the best way to tackle the challenge. The last time he had cause to climb a tree, he had been a scrawny, nimble boy and he recalled it had been a simple procedure by and large. Thanks to his burly Warriner ancestors, and over a decade of growing, he was now an ox of a man. An ox of a man with a useless left leg.

However, that damned leg was not going to define him. If he wanted to climb a tree, he would climb a blasted tree! Putting all of his weight on his right foot, and using the strength of his arms, he managed to hoist himself laboriously upwards. It might have raised him less than a foot off the ground, but he had left the ground. He rearranged his good foot and heaved again. Two foot from the ground! What was that if it was not progress? Slow, laboured, feeble progress. Painful, humiliating, soul-destroying progress.

Oblivious to his grunts of exertion, or the supreme effort it took him to actually climb, the grey faceless bundle above his head decided this was the appropriate time for a conversation.

‘I suppose you are wondering how I came to be stuck up this tree in the first place...’ At this stage in the proceedings, how she came to be there was neither here nor there. All Jamie could concentrate on was putting one foot painfully above the other. ‘It’s a funny story really. My pony, Orange Blossom, has a fondness for red apples.’ As she spoke, her legs and bottom jiggled, causing the fragile branch to quiver with indignation. ‘And rather stupidly, I assumed... Oooh!’

The flimsy branch suddenly bent downwards as it split from the main trunk of the tree. Fortunately, she had the good sense to hook her legs around an adjacent branch and managed to halt her descent. Unfortunately, in doing so her dress had now ridden further up her thighs, displaying all of her legs quite thoroughly. As legs went, they were rather nice although now was really not the time he should be admiring them. As he had suspected, those saucy garters were festooned with pink-silk flowers. Her shapely derrière now hung between the two branches and directly over Jamie’s head. In her panic, she was wiggling in earnest now in an attempt to free her head from its dull, muslin prison, her visible hand still clinging desperately on to a straining branch above.

Jamie began to inch closer to her struggling form. ‘Madam, it is imperative that you remain still!’ Because if she fell, it was his cranium which would bear the brunt and the closer he got, the less confident he was he was strong enough to catch her. If her bottom was anything to go by, she was not exactly petite. He pulled himself on to a sound-looking branch and locked one arm around it.

‘Take my hand!’ Perhaps he could swing her down to the ground? Unless, of course, she wrenched his shoulder out of its socket. Then he would have a crippled arm to go with his ruined leg.

He watched her wrestle within her tangled skirts until her other hand burrowed its way out and her arm made a frantic bid for freedom, but instead of grabbing his outreached hand as he had quite plainly instructed, she used it to attempt to cover her exposed legs with her inverted clothing. Tiny, hard, barely formed apples began to tumble out of the fabric and rained down around him. Two of the lead-lined fruits bounced off his head like miniature cannonballs and made him yelp.

‘What in God’s name are you doing, woman! Grab my blasted hand now!’ For good measure, he prodded her arm to help her locate him.

More wood splintered somewhere close by and the faceless wench squealed again, her bottom lolling further between the branches and coming level with his face. At last, she swung her free arm around and grabbed his hand, but it was a moment too late. Thanks to weak, young wood and gravity, her advancing bottom had begun to gain some momentum and continued to slide on its journey downwards. Acting on impulse rather than gentlemanly manners, Jamie looped his good leg over another branch and tried to halt her descent in the only way now left open to him. Grabbing a handful of a rather pert, round cheek, he unceremoniously braced himself against it to stop her falling.

The headless woman squeaked in outrage and vehemently attempted to remove her posterior from his clenched hand by grasping at anything wildly to haul herself back up again. This frantic new movement proved to be problematic for both the tree and Jamie’s tenuous grasp of it. The branch supporting his good leg snapped with a loud crack, sending them both careening helplessly downwards.

He landed flat on his back, with a resounding thud. A split second later the woman landed on top of him. Jamie was hard pressed to decide which event caused him more pain. If he’d had any breath left in his lungs, he probably would have screamed in agony. All that came out instead was a weird hiss, almost as if his entire body was slowly deflating. By some miracle, his eyes still worked. He knew this because he was currently drowning in a sea of hair.

He felt her brace herself on to her hands and lift her head up. Two brown eyes stared, blinking directly into his, far too close to allow him to see anything else. ‘Are you all right?’

Hiss.

One hand came to the side of his face and she patted his cheek ineffectually, oblivious to the fact he was munching on a mouthful of her hair. ‘Sir? Can you speak to me? Are you injured?’

Jamie flexed his fingers. When no pain shot down his arms, he brought them up to grab her by the shoulders and smartly lifted her upwards. ‘Get your blasted hair out of my face this instant.’

She hastily scrambled off him and knelt at his side, peering down in concern. It was then that Jamie finally got his first proper look at her. Big brown eyes, with eyelashes so long they would give her pretty pony a run for its money, a heart-shaped face, obscenely plump lush mouth and a smattering of freckles dusting across the bridge of her nose. The hair which had threatened to choke him was neither red nor blonde. It hovered somewhere in between. But it was thick and heavy and really quite lovely. Even the way the twigs and leaves sprouted out of what was left of her hairstyle was strangely becoming. It was odd that splinters of foliage would suit a woman so.

He managed to lift himself up on to his elbows to test his neck. He moved it from side to side before stretching out his spine. Nothing broken so far, which frankly, was a miracle after he had been effectively dropped from a great height, then crushed.

‘You broke my fall.’

‘I am well aware of that.’ Jamie gingerly moved his bad leg. The fact it appeared no worse than it had before gave him some confidence. Carefully he raised himself to a sitting position and glared at the woman. She responded by grinning broadly and sticking out her hand. She grabbed his and shook it vigorously.

‘My name is Cassandra Reeves. I am the daughter of the Reverend Reeves, the new vicar of this parish. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, sir.’

Well, he definitely wasn’t delighted by the way the acquaintance had been made and, because he certainly did not feel like grinning, Jamie frowned instead. Her inappropriate cheerfulness was disconcerting. ‘James Warriner.’

‘Well, thank you for saving me. I really do appreciate it, Mr Warriner.’

‘It’s Captain Warriner.’ Why he had the urge to make the distinction to her, he could not say, when nobody hereabouts ever called him anything other than either his first name or, sneeringly, ‘one of those Warriners’. Yet to become plain old mister again, when he was still technically an officer in His Majesty’s army, was tantamount to accepting defeat. Until he resigned his commission, he would remain Captain Warriner for as long as was humanly possible. He might well have accepted his military career, as well as his life, was well and truly over—his shattered leg was never going to get any better than it was—but the rest of the world did not need to know he was finished. To be barely twenty-seven and rendered useless was a bitter pill to take.

‘A military man? That explains it.’

‘Explains what?’ He was growling because his probing fingers could feel a tender bump forming on his scalp from the impact of one of the apple cannonballs she had fired at him.

‘Your abrupt tone.’ She screwed her face into a frown and put on her best impression of a man’s deeper voice. ‘“It is imperative you remain still...” “Grab my blasted hand now!”’

Jamie stopped rubbing his head and stared disbelievingly at the woman. Was she pulling him up on his manners? Seriously? ‘Had you grabbed my hand in the first instance, then perhaps I might have prevented you from falling out of the tree. Your dithering caused us both to fall.’

‘My clothing was in disarray.’ That, he knew. He had seen those garters and they were hardly the sort of garters he would expect a vicar’s daughter to wear. ‘It would have been improper to leave it that way.’

‘Yet your nod to propriety proved to be remarkably ineffectual, did it not? Not only did it send us both crashing to the ground, it was a completely pointless exercise. Your skirts had been up for some time, Miss Reeves, and I am not blind.’

She blushed then, quite prettily, and those huge brown eyes widened with alarm. ‘You might have told me. It was hardly gentlemanly for you to look.’

‘Perhaps you would have preferred I closed my eyes and groped around in the branches blindly in the vain hope I might grab you on the off chance?’

‘You did grab me, as I recall, and most improperly, too.’ Her freckled nose poked into the air as she delivered this set down.

‘You are absolutely right. I apologise sincerely for grabbing the only part of your body that I could reach as you careened towards me at dangerous speed. What I should have done was avoided grabbing you in the first place. That would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. It also would have meant that you would have plummeted out of the tree there and then, and thus relinquishing me from the noble task of breaking your fall.’

* * *

When he put it like that, Cassie was prepared to concede he had a point. She had practically flattened the man, the poor thing could barely breath a few moments ago. If only he hadn’t seen her pudgy thighs. Or manhandled her massive bottom. And if only he wasn’t so devilishly handsome then she wouldn’t be feeling so self-conscious about her entire, ungainly body below the waist, as well as already feeling ridiculous for getting herself stuck up a tree in the first place. Captain Warriner’s eyes were the absolute bluest eyes she had ever seen. Like the clearest summer’s sky flecked with speckles of lapis lazuli. With all the dark, slightly over-long black hair and permanently frowning expression, he was exactly what she imaged a pirate to look like. Or a highwayman. Or a mythical knight sat around King Arthur’s table. Very few men could carry off chainmail or a dashing pirate’s earring, but she was quite certain Captain Warriner would. She would store his appearance away in her memory for when she needed inspiration for a handsome rogue...

But here she was, weaving him into one of her stories and the poor man was still sat on the floor. Probably still winded and trying to pretend not to be. Why, he hadn’t even raised himself from his seat on the grass.

‘I am being unforgivably ungrateful, Captain Warriner. You have been extremely decent in trying to save me and I am truly sorry for squashing you when I landed. If it’s any consolation, I did try to avoid you.’

Her fictional, fantasy pirate was still frowning. ‘I already know I am going to regret asking this question, Miss Reeves, but how did you come to be stuck in one of my brother’s apple trees?’

‘I did not realise they belonged to someone, else I never would have taken the liberty.’ Stealing was a sin, after all, and she was guilty of enough of them already to add one to the list. It was the Eighth Commandment. Cassie knew all of the Commandments verbatim. Forwards and, because her attention had a tendency to waver, backwards as well.

‘Did you fail to notice the twenty-foot wall and giant wooden gates?’

As he was gesturing behind her with his hand Cassie allowed her eyes to turn to take in the towering stone barricade looming against the horizon. Now that he happened to mention it, she had noticed the enormous structure as she had ridden down the unfamiliar lane, but as the gates were wide open, she had assumed it was a public park. Both Hyde Park and St James’s had gates, too, although granted nowhere near as imposing, so did the many parks she had frequented in Nottingham, Manchester, Birmingham, Liverpool and Bristol. But she was a very long way from those cities now and she supposed they had no real need for actual parks when lush, green countryside stretched out before you in every direction.

‘I did not realise this was private property. I am used to living in big towns, Captain Warriner, where people take the air in big parks. I feel very silly now.’

He waved her explanation away impatiently. ‘Anyway—the tree, Miss Reeves?’

She could tell by his expression he thought she was odd. His dark eyebrows were raised in question, but his eyes swirled with irritated bemusement. Cassie knew that look well. It was the way most people had always stared at her. Usually, it only hurt a little bit, because she was quite used to it—but for some reason having this dashing pirate view her in such a manner, when he had barely any time to get to know her, hurt a great deal. Clearly she was now irredeemably odd if an officer in the King’s army had spotted it straight away, when Cassie had been trying so very hard not to be quite so odd since she arrived in Retford. To make matters worse, her reasons for being up the tree were, now she considered it, quite daft indeed. Further evidence of her unfamiliarity with country life.

‘I was searching for apples for Orange Blossom. The ones on the lower branches were so very small and hard, I thought those higher up might be riper. Because they were closer to the sun...but I realise now, that it is far too early for any of the apples to be ripe. The ones I picked from the top were just as hard as the ones at the bottom.’

‘This, I am also aware of. The majority of them fell on my head while you were trying to adjust your clothing.’

Could this day get any worse? She had made a fool of herself, unwittingly trespassed and stolen unripe apples, then winded the most handsome man she had ever seen after flashing her fat legs at him. ‘I am sorry about your head, too,’ she said miserably, ‘and for climbing the stupid tree in the first place. When the branch beneath my feet gave way, my dress got caught on something and I couldn’t move. I shall be eternally grateful you came along. I might still be stuck there otherwise and I promised Papa I would be home by four to listen to Sunday’s sermon.’ Stuck inside again when she so loved being outdoors.

Captain Warriner merely stared at her, his magnificent eyes inscrutable, though obviously happy to end their acquaintance swiftly. Cassie stood up decisively and brushed the worst of the leaves and twigs out of her hair, chiding herself for her own ineptitude. Why did she always have to be so clumsy and so odd? People were always put off by her exuberance. As one pithy matron had said in the parish before the last one, Cassie was like a cup of tea with three sugars when only one was required. At little too much. Too loud. Too talkative. Far too passionate and prone to cause irritation in every quarter. Why couldn’t she simply pretend to be like all of the other young ladies? Why did her silly brain put daft ideas into her head and why did her even sillier head listen to them? Ripe apples and pirates. Two classic examples of her wandering, odd mind.

‘I suppose I should get going. Papa will be wondering where I have got to.’

Captain Warriner nodded, seemingly content to remain seated on the grass. ‘Yes. Probably best.’ He was a man of few words—either that or he didn’t suffer fools like her gladly.

‘Well, good afternoon then. And thank you again.’ Cringing with awkwardness, Cassie untied Orange Blossom and began to lead her down the narrow path out of the dreaded Orchard of Embarrassment. A jet-black stallion, obviously as unimpressed with her shenanigans as his owner, glared at her in disgust.

You are a very silly human, aren’t you?

Don’t listen to him, said Orange Blossom loyally, you meant well, Cassie.

It was cold comfort. Captain Galahad still thought her odd. For some reason, it was imperative she did not leave him on such a bad impression.

‘I am not normally this silly Captain.’ Cassie spun around only to see him wincing, resting painfully on one knee, as he tried to stand. ‘Oh, my goodness! You’ve hurt your leg.’ She dropped the reins and dashed to his side to offer him some assistance. ‘Let me help you up and then I will escort you home.’ After causing his injury it was the very least she could do.

Those lovely blue eyes hardened to ice crystals. ‘I’m not a blasted invalid, woman! I can get myself up off the floor and find my own way home!’ To prove his point, he stood and stubbornly limped towards his horse.

‘Please, Captain Warriner—allow me to assist you. Your poor leg!’

But he ignored her. He reached his horse quickly and grabbed the pommel of the saddle to steady himself. Then, with another wince, put all of his weight on his injured left leg so that he could place his right foot in the stirrup. He hauled himself upwards using only the power in his arms. Large muscles bulged under the fabric of his coat, emphasising his strength and excellent broad shoulders. He arranged himself comfortably before shooting her a scornful glare which could have curdled milk.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Reeves. Next time you decide to go out for a ride, kindly remember this is private property.’ He nudged the foreboding black stallion forward and the pair of them galloped off without a backward glance.

Chapter Two

Jamie dipped his brush in some water and used it to soften the cake of blue paint to create the perfect wash. He preferred to work with watercolours rather than oils. Oil took too long and he was never completely happy with the effect. With watercolour, you could play around with the finish. He loved the translucency it created when he painted skies or water, yet with less moisture you could still create solid lines and definition, and mixed with gouache it could mimic oil paint when he needed texture. It was the perfect combination for recreating scenes from nature, his preferred studies, and definitely the most therapeutic.

He could paint a reasonable portrait if he put his mind to it, but his style was more romantic than practical, far too whimsical for a career soldier and most certainly not something he was ever prepared to discuss. Soldiers were not supposed to enjoy the shape and curve of a petal or the lyrical pictures drawn by clouds—yet he did. He always had. Right from the moment he had first discovered he could draw, somewhere around the age of seven or eight, Jamie had always created fanciful, dream-like depictions of all the beauty he saw around him. His father had always disparagingly claimed he painted like a girl. And as vexing his noxious father was something he had done thoroughly as a point of personal honour, the man’s obvious disgust had only encouraged his talent more.

‘That looks like the orchard.’ His sister-in-law Letty peered over his shoulder, smiling. ‘I always think things appear so much more beautiful once I have seen them through your eyes.’

‘Hmm.’

It was as far as he was prepared to go in acknowledging her compliment and she knew him too well to push. He watched her move towards her favourite chair and carefully lower herself into it. There was no disguising the evidence of her pregnancy now, and every day it reminded Jamie of what he would never have. Not that he wasn’t happy for his elder brother Jack and his wife. He was delighted for them. They both deserved every happiness. A man would have to travel a very long way to find two better people. A part of him was even excited at the prospect of being an uncle—but it was bittersweet. He had always thought he would have a family, although he had never spoken about it aloud because admitting such things was not manly, but he had always hoped he would have a large one. The promise of it had sustained him during his years fighting on foreign battlefields: little, dark-haired versions of himself running riot and driving him to distraction.

But the romantic part of his soul had refused to consider just any woman in those days. He had wanted the whole cake to eat, not just the icing. Fighting for King and country had occupied all of his time and he had stupidly assumed he still had plenty of time left to search for the woman of his dreams; that elusive soulmate who enjoyed nature’s beauty as much as he did and who would want to sit with him while he painted because they adored each other. With hindsight, Jamie probably should have married a few years ago, when he was handsome and complete. He doubted any woman would consider the broken man who had returned from the Peninsula. And who could blame them?

Any decent young bride worth her salt would expect her new husband to be similarly brimming with vigour. Two working legs were a prerequisite, as was a sound financial future. Crippled soldiers had few career choices open to them and he could hardly expect a wife to be content to live under the benevolent charity of his brother for ever. He tried not to envy his three brothers. Jack was about to be a father, Joe was finally pursuing his dream of becoming a doctor by studying at medical school and Jacob was having the time of his life at university. Their lives were just starting while his had come to a grinding halt. A wife would definitely not want a man devoid of prospects.

Nor could he ask one to cope with his other peculiarities—peculiarities so evident he could hardly keep them a secret from a wife. Finding the right words to explain them to the unfortunate woman, without making himself sound dangerous and ripe for immediate incarceration in Bedlam, was almost impossible. No, indeed, marriage and family were lost to him until he could find a way to fix it all and as he had spent the better part of a year since his return home failing dismally, he did not hold out much hope a solution was around the corner. Mulling the fact was not going to change it. It was the way it was, yet the death of his dream still stung.

Jamie began to sweep the first layer of wash on to his paper, pleased with the hue he had mixed. It was exactly as he remembered the sky yesterday as he had stared mournfully up at it.

‘What made you draw it from that perspective?’ Letty was still scrutinising the picture and he supposed it was a little unusual to paint exactly what he had seen when he had been flat on his back, minus all of the hair covering his face, of course.

‘I thought I would try something different.’

The lie seemed to appease her and she picked up her embroidery, but the truth was Jamie could not stop thinking about those damned pink garters. Or the way the wearer had pitied him when she had seen him struggle. At this stage he had no idea what colour to paint his complete humiliation. Black seemed fitting, but did not quite go with the sky. Maybe he would try to leave it out, in the vain hope he could erase the shameful memory from his mind by creating an alternative memory here on paper.

Their butler crept in stealthily and coughed subtly. Every time Jamie saw him it gave him a start. Six months ago they had not even had a maid—now, thanks to Letty, there was a veritable army running Markham Manor, all transplanted from her opulent mansion in Mayfair.

‘You have a caller, my lady.’

A rarity indeed. Nobody called on the Warriners unless they were baying for blood or demanding immediate payment.

‘A young lady. A Miss Reeves. She is enquiring as to whether Captain Warriner is at home.’

Jamie could feel the beginnings of nerves in the pit of his stomach, warning of further impending humiliation, but tried to appear impassive.

‘Captain Warriner?’ Letty was staring at him with barely contained delight. ‘How very dashing that sounds.’

‘Tell her I am not at home, Chivers.’

‘Tell her no such thing! Have her shown in immediately, Chivers. And arrange for some tea.’ His sister-in-law tossed aside her already forgotten sewing and sat eagerly forward in her chair. ‘Why is a young lady calling for you, Jamie?’

He considered lying, but as the real reason for Miss Reeves’s unwelcome visit was doubtless about to be unveiled there seemed little point. ‘I tried to rescue her from a tree yesterday.’

‘Tried?’

‘Yes. And failed. Miserably.’

Further explanation was prevented by the arrival of his embarrassment. Just as it had yesterday, those red-gold curls refused to be tamed by her hairpins. Several very becoming silky tendrils poked out of her sensible bonnet and framed her pretty face. Her lovely chestnut eyes were wary as they darted between him and Letty.

Politeness dictated he should stand in the presence of a lady, but if he stood she would see more damning evidence of his infirmity and his pride was already bruised and battered quite enough. Letty, of course, sprang to her feet in an instant and gushingly greeted their guest.

‘Miss Reeves! I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I am Letty Warriner, technically the Countess of Markham, although my husband is reticent about using his title. Do take a seat. I hope you will join us for tea?’

It was all a little over the top, in Jamie’s opinion. Yes, a visitor was something of a rarity here, but the way Letty was behaving was a little too effusive. Especially as he was already counting the seconds until Miss Reeves left him in humiliated solitary peace.

‘Tea would be lovely,’ she said, flicking her eyes towards his briefly as she arranged her bottom on a chair. Jamie could still remember the feel of it in his hands. Firm. Rounded. Womanly. Which of course made him think about the incongruous garters again. ‘I came to check on Captain Warriner’s recovery. Because of my own lack of judgement, he was injured yesterday.’

Jamie stared straight ahead, but could feel Letty’s eyes boring into him. ‘Really? Jamie made no mention of an injury. Come to mention it, he also made no mention of the accident which must have led to the injury. All I know is what I have just been told. You were apparently stuck in a tree, Miss Reeves, and my brother-in-law tried and failed to get you down.’

She put unnecessary emphasis on the words brother-in-law, clearly making a point to their guest. A point which made Jamie uncomfortable.

He is single, in case you were wondering, Miss Reeves, and desperately in want of a wife. Try to ignore the fact he is lame, futureless and has the potential to kill if the mood takes him.

Miss Reeves blushed like a beetroot, a beetroot with distracting freckles on her dainty button of a nose, and wore a pained expression. ‘Captain Warriner climbed the apple tree to save me, but I fidgeted too much and the branch snapped. I am afraid we both fell to the ground. The poor captain absorbed the brunt of the impact.’

An understatement. His ribs had damn near snapped in half.

Letty was grinning like an idiot. ‘You fell on top of him? In the orchard?’ And like a nodcock he just happened to be painting the same blasted orchard and things looked so much more beautiful through his stupid eyes.

Miss Reeves nodded. ‘I feel awful about it.’

For his own sake, now was the opportune time to intervene, before Letty started to matchmake in earnest. ‘As you can see, I am in fine fettle, Miss Reeves. You needn’t have troubled yourself by coming all this way to see the evidence for yourself.’ His sister-in-law shot him a pointed glance for his rudeness, but Jamie was unrepentant. The last thing he needed was Letty reading more into his choice of painting than he was comfortable with her knowing. Miss Reeves’s fine eyes swivelled towards his leg, raised as always on a supportive footstool, and he inwardly cringed.

‘But I can see your leg is still injured, Captain Warriner, and that is completely my fault.’

She thought his infirmity was a temporary affliction, and as tempting as it was to go along with the fantasy, his innate sense of futility kicked in. ‘This is Napoleon’s fault, Miss Reeves. Not yours.’

Now, please go away, woman!

‘Napoleon?’

‘Indirectly. It was his guns which fired the musket balls.’

‘Balls!’

Her voice came out a little high-pitched and he simply nodded. He had no intention of telling her how they had had to dig three of the blighters out of his thigh while he was still conscious and he’d very nearly lost the whole leg, as well as his life, to infection afterwards. She blinked rapidly and Jamie could see her imagination filling in the blanks, those long lashes fluttering like butterflies as she did so.

Very pretty.

Somehow that made it worse. Pretty and pity made him feel less of a man than he usually did. However, under the circumstances, it was probably best to divulge the horrible truth and suffer her pity rather than give Letty false hope that this delightful armful of woman might enter into a romance with a dangerous invalid. ‘They left me crippled, Miss Reeves.’ And cripples were not attractive. Especially not to freckle-faced fertility goddesses with positively sinful hair and saucy garters.

* * *

Cassie had no idea how to respond to such a statement. Part of her was sorry he had suffered, another part of her was hugely relieved not to have been the cause of his injury and a bigger part of her kept remembering how very big, solid and manly his body had been sprawled beneath hers. Just thinking about it made her feel all warm and those deliciously sinful sapphire eyes were not helping. Once again those exuberant passions she was trying her hardest to suppress jumped to the fore. Fortunately, the arrival of the tea tray meant she did not have to respond and had a perfectly reasonable excuse for removing her bonnet before she began to perspire from her wayward, wicked thoughts.

‘Do you take sugar, Miss Reeves?’

‘Just one, please, Mrs...er...my lady.’

The pretty blonde woman giggled. ‘To be honest, it confuses me, too. Perhaps we should simply dispense with the formalities. Why don’t you call me Letty?’

‘In that case, please feel free to call me Cassie.’ She risked peeking at Captain Galahad, but he made no move to invite her to call him anything familiar. In fact, he looked quite irritated at her continued presence. His gorgeous eyes were distinctly narrowed, which made her babble. ‘I am new to the area. My father has recently been appointed the vicar of this parish. We live at the vicarage.’ A completely ridiculous clarification only an idiot would make. It would probably be sensible to stop babbling nonsense and wait to be asked a question. Unfortunately, once her nerves got the better of her, Cassie’s mouth had a habit of running away with itself. ‘I couldn’t help noticing you are going to have a baby.’ Was it polite to mention such things?

Whether it was or it wasn’t, her hostess smiled and Cassie watched in wonder as the young woman’s hand automatically went to her protruding stomach lovingly. ‘Yes, indeed. But not until the autumn. I appear to have got very fat very quickly.’ She handed Cassie her tea. ‘Are you engaged to be married, Miss Reeves, or is there an ardent suitor on the cusp of proposing to you in the near future?’

A very sore point.

Cassie’s odd personality, off-putting exuberance, unfortunate freckles combined with her father’s ferocious temperament had all proved to be highly effective deterrents to the male sex. ‘No to both questions, I’m afraid.’

I am doomed to sit on the shelf and gather dust; I only hope it is sturdy enough and wide enough to bear my weight.

‘Well, I am sure it won’t be long before some lucky gentleman snaps you up—you are uncommonly pretty, Miss Reeves. Isn’t that right, Jamie?’

Captain Galahad grunted and appeared very bored. Clearly he disagreed. He was sipping his tea and practically glaring at her over the rim of the ridiculously delicate cup in his large, manly hand. Or perhaps he was glaring at his sister-in-law for asking him such an impertinent question? It was quite difficult to tell.

‘Did you enjoy being a soldier, Captain?’

A safer topic might make their exchange less awkward, although this also seemed to annoy him because he frowned.

‘It had its moments.’

‘You will have to forgive Jamie, Cassie. He is a man of very few words and even fewer smiles. However, beneath that surly, unfriendly exterior he is actually rather sweet. He also paints the most beautiful romantic pictures of the English countryside.’ This comment garnered another warning glare. ‘Do you have any hobbies, Cassie?’

‘I like to write stories. Children’s stories.’ It was the first time she had admitted that to anyone, but Letty did appear friendlier than the usual person she came into contact with.

‘Oh, how lovely! What are they about?’

‘As she is a vicar’s daughter, Letty, I dare say they are morality tales,’ the Captain said disparagingly, clearly disapproving of such things. Sensible men of action like him would disapprove of her whimsical nature and romantic fairy tales.

‘Not at all!’ There was no way of explaining without sounding odd, but as Captain Galahad was of that opinion already, Cassie confessed all. ‘At the moment they are about my pony—Orange Blossom. Or rather how Orange Blossom views our life together. In my stories, she talks. All of the animals talk.’

And she was babbling again.

‘I often weave the tales around my own personal experiences. For example, the story I am currently working on is called Orange Blossom and the Great Apple Debacle...’

Her voice trailed off when she saw Letty and Captain Warriner exchange a strange look.

‘I suppose it all sounds very silly to you, but I have read one or two of my efforts to the children in my father’s congregation; they seemed to enjoy them.’ Cassie had also sworn the children to secrecy. If her father got a whiff of her vain and pointless hobby, he would forbid her from writing—or worse.

‘They sound quite delightful. Maybe you should consider getting them published.’

Cassie already liked Letty Warriner a great deal. ‘I doubt my scribblings are good enough for that. But perhaps one day.’ After my father is dead and buried—because that was the only way he would allow such self-indulgent frivolity. Unless she ever did manage to escape his clutches just as her mother had done before her. The meagre savings she had secretly accumulated in the last twelve months would barely get her a seat on the post to Norwich and there were woefully no ardent suitors clambering at her door who might whisk her off from her dreadful life. Unless a miracle happened, she was stuck.

Miserably stuck.

Her father had no idea she wrote stories about talking animals. Or about anything at all for that matter and Cassie had no intention of alerting him to the fact. It had certainly never been broached in conversation, not that they ever had conversations. Such an atrocious sin would doubtless require a great deal of solitary repentance, so Cassie had kept it all hidden. Mind you, he also had no idea that she was plotting to run away either. The image of his stern face as he spun manically in his grave at her sinful, open defiance, despite everything he had done to curb her dangerous passions, popped immediately into her thoughts and threatened to make her smile. She hid it by sipping her tea.

Chapter Three

Jamie could see the light of mischief in his sister-in-law’s eyes and did not like it one bit. If ever there was time for a speedy exit, it was now, but that meant standing like a creaking old man and then limping laboriously out of the room in front of Miss Reeves. He was torn between the devil and the deep blue sea. Staying opened him up to more mischief—of that he was in no doubt. Letty had a tendency to be tenacious when she set her mind to something and her mind was clearly set. However, leaving and displaying his infirmity was humiliating in the extreme, although why he was so keen to appear less useless in front of the vicar’s daughter was as pointless as it was pathetic. She was only being kind, after all.

‘I would certainly be interested to read The Great Apple Debacle. Will Jamie be in it?’

Pregnant or not, he was going to strangle Letty later, but for now he had to take the bull by the horns and direct this unwelcome conversation or else die of total humiliation. Unfortunately, that meant making conversation. Something he had never been adept at. ‘What drew your father to darkest Retford, Miss Reeves?’

‘The diocese sent him here. We were in Nottingham for a few months beforehand and they felt his talents might be better used in a rural parish...away from trouble.’

As Jamie had always thought Nottingham was a dire place, filled with poverty and crime, he completely understood. It was certainly no place for a lovely vicar’s daughter. ‘I dare say your father is relieved.’

‘Hardly. My father prefers working in a city, although I cannot say I do. Of all of his parishes, this one is by far the nicest we have ever lived in.’ Her face lit up when she smiled and her freckled nose wrinkled in a very charming manner.

‘You say that as if you have lived in a few places.’

She nodded, the motion causing one of her burnished curls to bounce close to her neck, which in turn drew his eyes to the satiny-smooth, golden skin visible above the bodice of her plain dress, and, of course, the magnificent way she filled out that bodice. Jamie had always had a great deal of affection for a woman’s bosom and Miss Reeves’s bosom was undoubtedly one of the finest he had ever had cause to notice.

‘Indeed we have. Why, in the last five years alone, we have lived in eleven different towns.’ Her face clouded briefly and he realised this gypsy lifestyle was not something she enjoyed. He doubted he would enjoy being moved from pillar to post either. He had had quite enough of that on the campaign trail, although it was not the same. Moving about then had always been temporary and transient as he had always had a very solid place to call home. A place to go back to which remained resolutely constant. If Miss Reeves did not have that consolation, no wonder it made her unhappy. But then she was smiling again so maybe he was mistaken. ‘I have lived in Manchester, Newcastle, Sheffield—and obviously London. We have moved there several times although always to different parishes in different corners of the capital. It is so vast; I never had cause to revisit the places we had already lived in. Also we have spent some time in Bristol, Liverpool and Birmingham.’

All industrial, overcrowded places, he noted. ‘I think you might find Retford a lot quieter than the places you are used to. Nothing much happens here.’

‘That is what I enjoy the most about it. I love all of the trees and nature, so does Orange Blossom, and it goes without saying the air is cleaner. I do so love being outdoors. I have spent hours aimlessly riding around every afternoon since my arrival. Hence I trespassed here yesterday without realising. I am sorry about that, too.’

‘Trespassed? Of course you didn’t.’ Letty was smiling kindly. ‘You are very welcome to ride on our estate whenever you want to. In fact, I absolutely insist you do. There are some very lovely spots in the grounds, especially close to the river at this time of year.’

Miss Reeves’s eyes locked on his briefly and he saw her trepidation. He supposed he had been rude to her yesterday and, much as it pained him, Jamie felt the need to extend a tiny olive branch. ‘The river is a very pleasant place to ride. Even Satan likes it.’ Her eyes widened and he realised his choice of name for his horse was perhaps not really suitable in the presence of a vicar’s daughter.

‘You named your horse Satan?’

‘In my defence, he can be truly evil. He has a troublesome temperament and can be hostile around people.’

‘Much like his surly owner,’ Letty added for good measure. Jamie chose to ignore it.

‘Oh! I almost forgot.’ Miss Reeves rummaged in her capacious reticule and handed him a package wrapped in string. ‘I brought you a small gift. To thank you for attempting to save me and for breaking my fall.’ The gesture was strangely touching. When was the last time someone, other than Letty, had extended the hand of friendship to a Warriner? Jamie turned the gift over in his hands before undoing the wrapping. Miss Reeves became flustered and her words tumbled out. ‘Please do not get excited. I had no idea what you might want, but as you are a fellow horse lover I brought some carrots.’

She was blushing again. She apparently did that a lot. As promised, three orange spears were nestled in the paper and, despite himself, Jamie felt the corners of his mouth curl up. What an odd, useful and totally charming, gift. ‘Satan loves carrots. Thank you.’ If he had not been broken and useless, he might have suggested she accompany him to the stables to help him feed them to the bad-tempered beast. But he was, so he didn’t. The thought of her politely accepting and slowing her pace while he limped along next to her made him feel queasy. Suddenly, his brief good mood evaporated. He covered the carrots with their paper and placed them on the arm of the chair and withdrew into himself.

* * *

For the next half an hour he remained almost mute. Miss Reeves and Letty held up the conversation and, if a response was required, Jamie grunted. To compound his discomfort, the subject of the ‘Great Apple Debacle’ was brought up and he was forced to listen to it regaled for Letty’s entertainment. Miss Reeves had a knack for storytelling. He had to give her that even though she barely paused for breath. Listening to her take on the unfortunate events of yesterday, combined with her self-deprecating wit and her insistence on trying to see the whole sorry affair through the eyes of her pony, was amusing. By the time she got to the end, he came out appearing sensible and noble, while she painted herself as silly and severely lacking in common sense.

‘It definitely would make an entertaining children’s story, Cassie, and if you do eventually consider getting it published, you should ask Jamie to do the illustrations. In fact, the painting he is doing right now is hugely appropriate, isn’t it, Jamie? And from such an interesting perspective.’ The innocence with which this statement was delivered was astounding and he gave Letty a tight smile which he hoped conveyed his intent to murder her as soon as it was politely possible.

‘It is just a study of the grounds and I sincerely doubt Miss Reeves would have any desire to have my amateur sketches in her book.’ Jamie had the overwhelming desire to pick up his stupid, ill-conceived picture and march out of the room with it. If only he could still march.

‘Nonsense—go and take a look at it, Cassie. Jamie is merely being modest about his abilities. Orange Blossom and the Great Apple Debacle would make a wonderful picture book.’

To his horror, the vicar’s daughter appeared to find this idea intriguing and clearly something she had never considered before his meddling sister-in-law had planted the seed. ‘Pictures would be good.’ She began to rise from her seat and walked towards him with cheerful interest. His only hope was she would not put two and two together and recognise the orchard. She peered at the painting, bending slightly at the waist to get the best possible view, and wafting some deliciously floral scent directly towards his nostrils. Violets. He had always loved violets.

‘Letty is quite right. You are an exceptionally talented painter, Captain Warriner. Even unfinished, I can see this picture is outstanding. And quite charming.’ He risked a peek sideways at her and saw her eyebrows draw together as she studied the details more closely. ‘Is that the apple orchard?’

‘Yes.’ The inward cringe threatened to seep out and display itself on his face. Only pride kept his upper lip resolutely stiff.

‘Isn’t it peculiar the pair of you have both been inspired by yesterday’s incident? The Great Apple Debacle is already a blossoming story and a half-finished painting.’ Jamie sent his sister-in-law a glare which was a stark warning to stop. Typically, she ignored it. ‘Have you worked out his perspective yet, Cassie?’

‘You are painting it from your position on the ground, aren’t you? Just after I flattened you.’ Two mortified crimson blotches bloomed on her cheeks.

‘It was an interesting view I had not considered before.’ Come on, Jamie, old boy, brazen it out. ‘From what I remember, the branches and leaves formed an aesthetically pleasing contrast to the sky.’ That sounded suitably arty.

‘I should probably be going.’ She stood briskly upright, still blushing, and Letty heaved herself out of her own chair.

‘I hope you will call again soon, Cassie. I should like to get to know you better and I am certain my brother-in-law would, too.’ His sister-in-law shot him a pointed look. ‘Come along, Jamie, let us walk our guest to the door together.’

Trapped, because Letty knew hell would have to freeze over for him to openly admit he was lame and in pain, he had no option other than to grit his teeth and use the strength in his arms to push himself out of his chair. It was only then he realised he had been stationary for too long and his shattered leg had started to atrophy. It screamed in protest, but Jamie ignored the hot shooting pains jabbing him mercilessly in his hip. Normally, he would wait a few moments for the initial discomfort to subside before he tested his weight on it. Had he not been such a proud man, he might have made use of the hated walking stick gathering dust behind his chair. But if he had to humiliate himself in front of Miss Reeves, he was going to damn well do it without looking completely decrepit and good for nothing. He forced himself to walk despite the agony, knowing full well he was going to regret the decision immediately and pay for his folly later. Hot molten bursts of pain stabbed his left thigh muscle, but Jamie shuffled in his best approximation of a normal man’s gait towards the hallway, conscious Miss Reeves was right behind him.

Pitying him.

‘Oh, I forgot,’ said Letty unsubtly as they approached the front door, ‘I need to have a quick word with Cook. If you will excuse me, Cassie—I have thoroughly enjoyed your visit. Please do call again soon and remember I absolutely insist on you riding in our grounds here at Markham Manor. Jamie will see you safely out.’

Yes, he would.

Reluctantly.

Then he would find his brother and demand he keep his troublesome wife in check.

Left alone with Miss Reeves, he limped awkwardly towards the door Chivers was already holding open. Out on the newly gravelled driveway he could see her pretty pony waiting patiently. The incongruous animal suited her. ‘Thank you for the carrots,’ he said stiffly, ‘and for your misplaced concern for my well-being.’ Miss Reeves gave him a weak smile and started towards Orange Blossom, turning at the last minute, her expression quite wretched and her words tumbling out in rapid, panicked succession once again.

‘I really am sorry about yesterday. Getting stuck up a tree is a ridiculous thing for a grown woman to do—but unfortunately I am prone to act without thinking and often do things which are ridiculous. And I am sorry for not listening to you when you tried to save me, but I was embarrassed because you had seen my unsightly legs. I do not have the words to express how mortified I am to have caused you to fall and then for crushing you. I can be clumsy as well as inordinately stupid and ridiculous. And I am well aware I am ridiculous and more than a little odd. I do try not to be, but as you can see, it happens regardless. I am also aware that at best you find me irritating. Everybody does—and quite quickly. I am a cup of tea with three sugars when one is quite enough. Too loud. Too talkative. I am trying to be less enthusiastic about everything in a quest not to irritate everyone I meet, so please don’t panic and think for a moment I would even consider riding in your grounds again. I realise Letty meant well in suggesting it and that you were only being polite in agreeing with her. Nor do I intend to vex you further by pursuing her idea of you illustrating my silly stories. I am well aware of the fact you would like to be well shot of me and the sad thing is I really cannot blame you. Most of the time I irritate myself. I shall leave you in peace henceforth, Captain Warriner.’

‘I see.’ Jamie was not entirely sure what he felt about all that. There were several things he wanted to say, and would have if his damn leg still worked, so he stood awkwardly next to her long-maned pony. ‘I suppose I should say good day to you then.’ Even though he didn’t want to.

She blinked rapidly.

‘Yes. Good day, Captain Warriner.’

She took the reins and then stared mournfully at the ground. ‘Would you be so good as to ask for a riding block, please?’

‘No need.’ Without thinking he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her smartly off the ground to deposit her on her side-saddle. Judging from her wide-eyed look of horror, he had overstepped the bounds of propriety, but couldn’t quite bring himself to care. She felt good in his hands. Soft. Curvy. Definitely curvy. ‘My apologies, Miss Reeves, I realise now that was unforgivably inappropriate.’

‘No...not really. I was taken by surprise that I could actually be lifted. It’s never happened before. And I suppose propriety hardly matters when you have already seen my awful legs.’

Some devil inside him began to place her foot in the stirrup because he needed to touch her again, his fingers lingering too long on the silk-clad ankle above her half-boot.

‘You have very nice legs.’

What in God’s name had possessed him to say that? It sounded like flirting.

‘And lovely eyes.’

Good grief! The words he was thinking had just spilled from his mouth when he absolutely never actually said what he was thinking to anyone. Her lush mouth fell slightly open and those mooncalf eyes widened. Now he was definitely flirting. Futilely flirting and had no idea what had got into him. To stop his suddenly talkative mouth from humiliating him again he chewed awkwardly on his bottom lip and stared down at his feet.

Please go now. I feel like a total idiot and wish I was dead.

‘Thank...you. For the boost...’ Miss Reeves blinked uncomfortably as her usually rapid flurry of words trailed off, her freckles disappearing in the rosy glow of her blush. How splendid. Now he had made her hideously uncomfortable with his clumsy, ill-advised, totally mortifying outbursts. ‘Good day, Captain Warriner.’ Then she smiled shyly and peaked at him through her ridiculously long eyelashes. ‘And thank you for the lovely compliments.’ She held his gaze for several moments before chivvying her pretty pony on. Jamie allowed himself to watch her delightful bottom sway down the driveway and decided he felt peculiar.

Unsettled.

Slightly ridiculous.

Almost cheerful.

The good mood persisted even while he loudly castigated his meddling sister-in-law.

Chapter Four

Cassie spent the next morning accompanying her father as he visited some of his new parishioners. Those too old, too ill or too lazy to come to church were always graced with a fortnightly visit. Her father was nothing if not tenacious in his mission to bring the word of God into people’s lives, whether they wanted to hear it or not—but at least she was outside. Spending any prolonged periods of time with her father at home was always fractious. She had heard every lecture and every dire final warning for a person to save his soul before Judgement Day and, because she definitely wasn’t the world’s greatest vicar’s daughter, she had long ago stopped listening. Instead, she entertained herself by weaving stories in her head. Not the lofty novels of great writers, Cassie’s wayward brain did not work in that way, but wild fairy tales. Feats of derring-do, mythical lands, pirates, princesses, dragons and, lately, talking animals.

If her papa had asked her opinion, which of course he never did, she might have told him his over-zealous, accusatory stance did more to dissuade the reluctant to come to church than encourage them. He was too much fire and brimstone and not enough love or goodwill for his fellow man. The Reverend Reeves was so blinded by his own confrontational fervour he never saw how he raised the hackles of others. Time after time, he had gone too far, upset too many well-respected and reasonable people, resulting in them having to up sticks and move to yet another parish. Usually another parish so far away from his previous one, nobody had heard of him.

Hence they were here in Retford. A tiny rural congregation which was so very different from the city parishes her father preferred, because, as he was prone to point out at least once a day, where there is deprivation and temptation, sin festered. In the fortnight since they had arrived, Cassie already loved the bustling, little market town. Her father, on the other hand, was not so enamoured, but determined to hunt for enough sinners to justify his presence. The wide-eyed farmer and his cheerful wife were probably not the sort of people he was seeking. But it made no difference. Her father was in full flow. As he had only just mentioned Sodom and Gomorrah, it was fairly safe to assume they would be here for at least another half an hour.

Cassie dived into herself. A technique she had mastered around the age of ten and one which effectively blocked out all of the outside world so she could focus on her latest story and allow her characters to speak to her. She had started it last night, whilst listening to Papa rehearse Sunday’s sermon, and it was tentatively titled Orange Blossom and the Great Apple Debacle. Except, just as it had last night, the flow of the narrative kept being interrupted by thoughts of Captain Galahad, those aquamarine eyes and splendid shoulders.

Apparently, her affection-starved brain was determined to create a completely different sort of story involving him, his mouthwatering strong arms and a willing damsel in distress eager to fall into them so they could ride off into the sunset together. In her mind, the damsel was so thrilled to be going she did not even bother looking back at her hateful father as she headed triumphantly towards her new life. There was no point in pretending the damsel bore a passing resemblance to Miss Cassandra Reeves because she was Miss Cassandra Reeves. A bolder, braver version of herself, who batted her eyelashes coquettishly when the dashing Captain complimented her on her legs.

Really, Captain Galahad? Do you think so? Eyelash flutter. Well, while we are swapping compliments, I think you have a fine pair of shoulders. Perhaps the finest I have ever seen. I do like a man with broad, strong shoulders...

The word Warriner floated into her ears. The farmer’s wife was quite animated with indignation.

‘That family are the epitome of sin, Reverend. Debauchers, cheats and vile sinners every one of them. There’s four of them Warriner boys and all four of them would sooner fleece you than be neighbourly. It’s a scandal, I tell you!’

‘Those Warriners sound exactly like the sort of people who could do with hearing the benefit of God’s word. Perhaps I should visit them tomorrow?’

* * *

The zealot gleam was lit in her father’s eyes all the way home. Cassie said nothing as she frantically sought a believable excuse as to why he probably shouldn’t, then panicked when nothing suitable came to mind that would not result in him punishing her for speaking out of turn. As soon as they entered the vicarage Cassie busied herself with her normal daily chores, hoping he would forget, while her father disappeared in the direction of the church, appearing as preoccupied as he always was. With any luck, he would forget to visit the Warriners, as he so often forgot things that were not top of his list of immediate priorities. Fortunately, his priorities did tend to change like the weather and he had a memory like a flour sifter. Most of the time he forgot he even had a daughter, a very pleasing state of affairs as far as she was concerned as it gave her more freedom than most young ladies of her age. Cassie hauled the heavy kettle on to the stove to boil and got ready to prepare his luncheon.

Despite being well able to afford it, the Reverend Reeves never bothered with servants. Servants suggested he thought himself better than others, which hinted at vanity and vanity was one of the seven deadly sins. Something which was all well and good, but left the entire running of the house up to Cassie. Ungratefully, she supposed, she had come to believe her father kept her as a skivvy to ensure there was never any possibility of her meeting a nice young man and marrying him. She dreaded to think what sort of a rage he would fly into if he suspected she was desperate to leave. It did not help that his sour disposition and hot temper did not lend itself to finding willing employees. Far better to inconvenience his daughter, who slaved for free, and could barely scrape together a few coins for any luxuries whatsoever in the pathetic housekeeping allowance he counted out weekly like the miser he was.

* * *

Nevertheless, Cassie enjoyed two blissful hours of her own company, completely devoid of any fiery sermons or pertinent reminders about the need to continually spread the word of God to the seething cesspool of Earth-dwelling sinners. Or any veiled threats about the need for solitary penance to reflect on her wayward tendencies.

‘Wool-gathering again, girl?’

His sudden reappearance at the open back door startled her. Without thinking, she touched the pocket of her apron to reassure herself that the key to the door was still there as he resolutely shut it behind him. Something which always created a cold trickle of fear to shimmy down her spine each time he did it. ‘Not at all, merely thinking about what I need to do next.’ Cassie put down the bread and dutifully pulled out a chair for him at the table. He sat heavily on a chair and began to load his plate with the food Cassie had placed on the kitchen table.

‘I have had a most informative conversation with another parishioner.’

‘Really?’ Already she could feel herself glaze over, but tried to remain focussed, like a dutiful daughter who was not daydreaming about running away would have.

‘I made some enquiries into that family we were warned about—the Warriners.’

Cassie felt the icy grip of fear stiffen her muscles, dreading what was coming.

‘Yes. Indeed. A thoroughly bad lot. The eldest recently married an heiress, but in Nottingham there is talk he abducted the poor girl and compromised her into marriage.’

Letty certainly did not appear to be the unhappy victim of a kidnapper. Cassie had not met the woman’s husband, but she had seen the great affection in his wife’s eyes as she had talked about him and unconsciously rubbed the unborn child nestled in her womb like it was the greatest gift she had ever received. ‘People do like to embellish gossip, Papa. Perhaps the Warriner family are merely the victims of such nonsense.’

‘I fear not, Cassandra. There is too much evidence levied against them for there not to be strong foundations forged on truth. I have heard grave tales, far too terrible to sully your delicate ears, involving avarice, greed, debauchery. Suffice to say I am convinced they are in dire need of the Lord’s guidance.’

Oh, dear. ‘If they are as bad as you fear, Papa, then perhaps they are best avoided.’

‘Nonsense. I have never shied away from the challenge, Cassandra.’

‘Of course you haven’t, Papa. In a few weeks perhaps you should call upon them, when you are more familiar with your worthier parishioners.’

Her father’s response was as loud as it was instantaneous. ‘These Warriners are in desperate need of my guidance, Daughter. I will go this very afternoon!’

There would be no stopping him, but there was still a chance Cassie could avoid accompanying him. At least then she would not have to witness the tender new shoots of her friendship with Letty and her only link to the Captain ruthlessly trampled on. Good gracious! A far greater issue suddenly presented itself. As soon as he visited them he would learn she had already done so and blatantly neglected to mention it.

‘You came home a little earlier than I expected, Papa, and have rather spoiled my little planned surprise.’ Cassie tried desperately to sound nonchalant. Her father hated liars almost as much as he hated thieves, murderers and fornicators, especially when the liar happened to be his own daughter.

He lifted his head and stared at her quizzically. ‘I did?’

‘Yes! I was about to make your favourite spiced fruitcake. Why don’t we postpone our visit to that family until tomorrow?’ By which time Cassie might well have thought of something to prevent her father from ever darkening their door.

‘You would put cake above the saving of souls?’

‘But, Papa—I was so looking forward to making it for you today.’ Pleading to his better nature had not worked once in all of her twenty-one years, but still Cassie persisted. Her father smiled his benevolent I-know-better-than-you smile and took her hand, a gesture so uncharacteristic it took Cassie completely by surprise. ‘I know what this is about.’

‘You do?’ Surely he had not been apprised of her unaccompanied visit to the family or, heaven forbid, her sinful behaviour in the apple orchard?

‘Yes, and it does you credit. You are a God-fearing girl, Cassandra, and being exposed to the godless frightens you. But fear not. You shall be with me and that heathen family will see what a good example you are of my teachings.’

‘But I would rather not do it today. Just this once, Papa, could we...?’

‘No! You are a dutiful daughter Cassandra. Being dutiful means doing those things one might find unpalatable without complaining.’

‘But...’

‘Your mother was headstrong and weak-willed, Cassandra. Do I now see that unfortunate trait rearing its ugly head in you?’ He was peering at her closely, looking, no doubt, for evidence to support his suspicion. Again her fingers grazed the heavy key in her pocket. For the moment it was still hers although that could change in a heartbeat. ‘You must fight the temptation, girl!’ Cassie schooled her features and tried her best to seem compliant, because being compared to her mother always kindled his anger and then her bedchamber door would be locked again.

‘No, Father, I merely wanted to make you a cake...’ Tears were prickling her eyes as she forced herself to try one last time to escape the ordeal of watching him castigate an innocent family whilst selfishly still avoiding the ordeal of being imprisoned.

‘You will do as you are told, Cassandra.’ He stared pointedly at the stairs until she capitulated with a terrified nod. ‘We will leave within the hour.’

* * *

Jamie had spent most of the day riding Satan around the grounds. There was nothing out of the ordinary in that. He rode every single day, for goodness sake, because he enjoyed being out in the sunshine so it was hardly tangible proof he was being pathetic. Nobody apart from him knew he had lingered for the better part of an hour at the edge of the riverbank or that he had rode up and down every row of trees in the orchard until Satan’s hooves threatened to carve out a deep trench in the ground. And certainly nobody had any idea he did so in the faint hope he would ‘accidentally’ bump into the delectable Miss Reeves again.

As if she would have been tempted to visit again after his clumsy, and doubtless unwelcome, attempt at flirting with her. Pretty girls who wore saucy garters and had the sort of figure which would make any man sit up and beg like a dog were not likely to be particularly enamoured of a crippled former soldier who was afraid of the dark. He sincerely doubted she had given him so much as a passing thought since she had ridden away from him. Unfortunately, Jamie could not say the same.

He had done a great deal of thinking about her. Aside from her acute physical attractiveness, and the garters that tormented him, there was something quirky, unusual and refreshingly unique about the vicar’s daughter which appealed to him. Maybe because he was prone to being serious and she did, as she said herself, border on the ridiculous—but it was her ridiculousness which was so utterly charming. Jamie had never met anyone who imagined animals talked before, or who climbed trees and got stuck in them or who thought carrots were a gift. Or maybe all of this mooning had come about because Miss Reeves had been the first woman he had touched since his injury...

With a sigh, he limped out of the stable and headed into the house. It was a sorry state of affairs when you misguidedly counted an unfortunate accident as an amorous encounter. He found his brother Jack and Letty in the vaulted Tudor great hall they called the drawing room. His sister-in-law was sewing something which he assumed would clothe the baby one day and, like the besotted dolt he had become, his elder brother was watching her contentedly.

‘Don’t you have anything better to do than stare at your wife?’

‘Not at the moment, no. I find I never tire of it. Don’t you have anything better to do than gripe about it?’

Jamie shrugged, reluctant to admit that, no, he never had anything to do any more. His life was aimless because he was now pointless. His easel and paints lay within arm’s reach, calling to him, but he resisted picking them up. It would only give Letty another excuse to ask him how his orchard picture was coming along. Instead, he picked up a newspaper and made a great show of reading it.

‘Ahem.’ The butler appeared on stealthy feet. ‘You have visitors my lord. The Reverend Reeves and his daughter would like an audience.’

It was all Jamie could do not to sit bolt upright and neaten his unruly, windswept hair. She was here. Again. Very probably only to see Letty—but that was all right. At least she was here.

And he was pathetic.

‘Miss Reeves passed me this note while her father was not looking, my lady, I got the impression she wanted you to read it before I showed them in.’

Chivers handed Letty a letter, which was unsealed and appeared to have been hastily folded. She opened it, scanned it quickly, then scowled. ‘Well, I am not altogether sure what to make of this.’

Deliberately, Jamie slowly folded the newspaper in case he seemed too eager to hear what Miss Reeves had to say and schooled his features to appear bored, rather than slightly panicked and yet nauseatingly eager to gaze upon her again.

Letty read the missive out in hushed tones.

Dearest Letty and Captain Warriner,

Please accept my sincerest apologies for the clandestine manner of this note, however, my father would be very angry if he learned that I had visited you unchaperoned or that I had been climbing the trees in your grounds.

I would be eternally in your debt if you pretended this was our first meeting. I know I am asking you to lie for me and appreciate that you are under no obligation to do so and that my request is odd, to say the very least.

I should like to say sorry in advance for what is about to happen. None of this is of my doing.

Cassie

‘I suppose we have to honour her request?’ Letty folded the note slowly and looked towards first Jack, then Jamie for guidance. They both shrugged in response. It was a peculiar letter to be sure. ‘Show them in, Chivers.’

Like the others, Jamie stood. Miss Reeves had already seen him limp so there was no point trying to hide it, and if she had brought her father in tow then the man would expect to see proper manners. Meeting her father suddenly made him feel nervous, as if he were a potential suitor keen to make a good first impression. Where had that ridiculous thought come from? He was not suitor material. He was not anything material any more. Not until he was fixed. If he ever got fixed.

Stop getting ideas above yourself and just be pleased she has graced you with her company again. You have to take whatever crumbs are thrown at you, old boy.

For some reason, he expected to see a jolly, rotund man with his daughter’s friendly open expression. The sour-faced, reedy fellow who walked in, ramrod-straight and unsmiling, was nothing like her. Worse still, the effervescent Miss Reeves was apparently unavailable for this visit. The pained, slouched woman who dutifully walked behind her father was a shell of the vixen he had been thinking about incessantly. Behind her father’s back, she screwed up her face and stared at him mournfully, almost apologetically, then did the same to Letty. Judging by the stern expression on her father’s pinched face, he was not pleased to be here.

Odd.

Being the ranking man of the house, his brother stepped forward with his hand outstretched in welcome. The Reverend curled his lip in what appeared to be disgust and limply returned the handshake as if Jack’s hand was somehow offensive. As a greeting, it was definitely not particularly friendly and Jamie felt his hackles rise at the insult.

‘We are honoured to meet you, Reverend Reeves. Miss Reeves.’

Jamie’s eyes never left her as his brother spoke and her expression became more wretched by the second, yet she refused to meet his gaze and stared dejectedly at the handkerchief she was worrying in her fingers.

‘Allow me to introduce my daughter Cassandra.’ She stepped forward, looking completely dejected. ‘Stand straight, girl! Stop slouching.’

The vicar’s voice was clipped and cold and his daughter withered beneath his steely glare. Instantly, for that alone, Jamie decided he hated the man. The sort of man who would openly chastise his daughter in front of apparent strangers was not the sort he was inclined to think charitably towards. The Reverend Reeves was a bully, like his own father had been, and like all bullies needed standing up to. He bit back the urge to give the man a set down on her behalf, fearing it would only make this increasingly awkward situation much worse and might enlighten the imperious vicar of their prior acquaintance. Definitely not what she needed.

To her credit, Letty never faltered. His sister-in-law stepped forward and smiled benevolently. ‘My dear Miss Reeves, I am so glad you have come to visit us here at Markham Manor. You and your father are most welcome. May I introduce you both to my husband, the Earl of Markham, and his brother, Captain James Warriner?’

Jamie stepped forward and received his own version of the vicar’s limp handshake and bowed politely to the woman who had dominated his thoughts for the last few days.

‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Reeves.’ She smiled somewhat nervously and blushed bright pink as soon as her eyes guiltily flicked to his.

‘How do you do, Captain Warriner. Your lordship.’ Then she stepped back behind her father and stared back at her crumpled handkerchief as if her life depended on it.

It was all very peculiar, yet for reasons unexplained they were pretending to be complete strangers. It was obvious she was frightened of her father. Jamie knew how that felt. His own sire had been a nasty piece of work by and large, and one not averse to using his fists when the mood struck him, usually after dark when it was least expected. He had wielded the element of surprise perfectly. And the old Earl had not been particular about his choice of victim. His sons, his wife, servants, complete strangers. Was the reverend also a man like that? The prospect was as unsettling as it was galling. Surely a man of God would abhor the use of violence? But then again, already this man had openly criticised his daughter in front of strangers, so perhaps he was capable of worse and Miss Reeves appeared cowed in the man’s presence. It all looked far too familiar for Jamie’s liking.

Letty ordered refreshments and invited the vicar and his lying daughter to sit, and did the very best impression of a woman making polite small talk he had ever seen. Throughout the arduous pouring and serving of the tea, the reverend wore a mask of haughty superiority and barely said a word. His daughter said nothing, seemly content to watch her fingers tightly twist her handkerchief into a tangled ball, her lovely brown eyes limpid.

Jamie had just brought his cup to his lips when the good reverend cleared his throat and began to speak in an overly loud voice to no one in particular.

‘“The Lord knoweth how to deliver the Godly out of temptations, and to reserve the unjust unto the day of Judgement to be punished.”’ The vicar paused for effect and stared directly at his elder brother. ‘A stark warning from the gospels which is pertinent for this family, I believe.’

He watched Jack’s dark eyebrows come together in confusion while he tried to come up with a suitable response to what was undoubtedly meant as the most grievous of insults. As usual, his brother resorted to diplomacy, although those who knew him well heard the steel embedded in his words.

‘Perhaps the Warriner family of old, sir, but I trust you are not suggesting those of us who stand before you today are the unjust?’

Jamie felt his own eyes narrow and would have intervened if he had not seen Miss Reeves stare at him, her sorrowful expression completely wretched. He held his tongue reluctantly.

The vicar was unrepentant and glared back at his brother as bold as brass. ‘The whole of Nottinghamshire is rife with stories about the Warriner family. Cheats, liars, debauchers—fornicators! But fear not!’ One bony finger pointed heavenward. ‘It is not too late to save your miserable souls.’

Had the man come here to preach at them? How dare he? Jamie had had quite enough. ‘If your intent was to come here and grossly insult my brother and his wife, Reverend, you have succeeded...’

His brother stayed him with a placating hand and a warning glance. ‘Reverend Reeves, it is true the Warriners of old were a thoroughly bad lot—and I include my own father in that generalisation—however, I can assure you that his sons have chosen to tread a very different path.’

The bony finger pointed directly at Jack in accusation and wiggled menacingly an inch away from his brother’s chest. ‘“Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men.”’ Almost as an afterthought he added, ‘Proverbs,’ in case they had the urge to look it up in the Bible to check the validity of his unwarranted sermon.

Miss Reeves, Jamie noticed, had now completely covered her face with her hands and was bent over in the chair, almost as if she were trying to become part of the upholstery. It was obvious she wanted no part in her father’s zealous tirade, but felt powerless to stop it. Jack tried to reason with the vicar again. Clearly he had far more patience than Jamie gave him credit for as he’d have sent the man packing smartly. His fingers itched to grab the man by the lapels, toss him on the newly gravelled drive and to hear the satisfying thud as he slammed the door on him. But he and his elder brother were vastly different in character, therefore, Jack still persisted. ‘As I have just said, Reverend, my brothers and I have chosen a different path to our ancestors and I can assure you none of us are cheats, liars, debauchers or—’

‘“Behold, the day of the Lord cometh, cruel both with wrath and fierce anger, to lay the land desolate. And he shall destroy the sinners thereof out of it.”’ The vicar’s eyes were wide and he was practically quaking with righteous indignation. ‘Isaiah!’ His finger jabbed Jack’s ribs for emphasis and Jamie saw his brother’s expression harden although he still did not pull the obnoxious preacher up. ‘Repent, Mr Warriner! Before it is too late and your souls are banished to the fiery torment of hell!’

‘Oh, this is beyond the pale!’ Jamie briskly limped towards the vicar, snatched the teacup out of his hand and clattered it noisily on the table. ‘My brother is an earl, Reverend Reeves, not a mister, therefore when you next address him it had damn well better have the words my lord at the end of it, else you will have me to answer to. And, whilst we are quoting the Bible, he who is without sin, let him cast the first stone!’ He grabbed the vicar by the elbow and unceremoniously hauled him towards the door. ‘John! Chapter Eight, Verse Seven, I believe. Now, good day to you, Reverend Reeves! Take your unsolicited sermons elsewhere.’

‘Do you refuse to hear the word of God, sir?’

‘I refuse to listen to a sanctimonious, judgemental, self-righteous diatribe from a man who is little more than a gossipmonger.’

‘Gossipmonger!’ This, apparently, was the highest of insults as the vicar began to turn alarmingly purple. ‘I have it on the highest authority that—’

‘Highest authority? Whose?’

The vicar’s mouth opened to speak, then closed again, giving Jamie his answer.

‘I see. Hearsay? Gossip? History? Surely that is not what the Bible condones, Reverend?’ Jamie continued to walk the man to the door where Chivers stood waiting, still holding his elbow firmly.

‘Jamie.’

His brother’s calm voice penetrated his roiling temper. He understood the implication.

Stand down. We have to be above this.

He glanced at the wide-eyed Miss Reeves and saw the horror in those chocolate-brown depths and realised that his coarse physicality probably frightened her. Freckled-faced vicar’s daughters, as a rule, would not be exposed to such aggressive behaviour. Or at least he hoped she wasn’t.

Jamie let go of the man’s arm and forced his next words to be cold and final. ‘I believe the Gospel of John, Chapter Seven, Verse Twenty-Four, also tells us, “Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgement”. Righteous judgement. Based on actual facts rather than salacious rumours. Something, Reverend Reeves, you appear to be incapable of. Show him out, please, Chivers.’

The well-trained butler tried to manoeuvre the outraged vicar towards the hallway.

‘Cassandra. Come along, girl. Let us leave this house of sin!’

Jamie turned to see her stand, those beautiful brown eyes awash with tears. She sailed towards him miserably, wringing a handkerchief in both of her hands, and as she came level she never even looked at him. Whether that was out of embarrassment for her father’s behaviour or complete disgust at Jamie’s flash of temper he had no idea, but she continued towards the door in the wake of her father. Hunched. Afraid. Subservient. It was a horrible thing to see.

Chapter Five

No matter how much Cassie willed them, the words would not come. She was too distracted to write tonight, not when her cheeks still scalded with shame and her heart was heavy with bitter regret. She had hoped she had finally found a friend in Letty and did not dare put a name to what she had imagined between herself and Captain Galahad. But alas, like all of her brief and transient attachments, her interlude with the Warriner family was dead and buried. Unlike her, she doubted they would be holding a wake to lament its passing.

She closed her journal and carefully hid it under her mattress, sitting down on the bed afterwards and simply staring at nothing. Even by his usual standards, her father had been scathing. He had not even given the poor Earl a chance to defend himself against all of the slander laid at his family’s door and that was unforgivable. She had almost said as much to her father as they made the depressing walk back to the village. Almost, because the moment she had asked where he had acquired all of his salacious evidence against the family, he had pinned her with his penetrating stare and shaken his head in outrage.

‘Do not dare to side with those heathens over me, Cassandra. Where my information comes from is no concern of yours. “Honour thy father”, Cassandra!’

As always, he omitted the end of that particular biblical quote. ‘And thy mother.’ Her name was never brought up unless it was to compare Cassie’s unfortunate wayward tendencies with the legendary wanton wickedness of her father’s absent wife. The wife who scandalously took a lover and then shamelessly ran away with him when Cassie was but a babe. She had no memory of the woman apart from those planted in her head by her father. Memories which should haunt her, but threw up more questions than answers. Answers she would never get, from questions she did not dare ask. However, she envied her mother the escape, understood it and yearned for her own one day. In fact, it really could not come soon enough.

‘I was not siding with them, Papa, merely questioning the validity of the charges made against them. They did seem to me to be very pleasant.’

Her father pinned her with another outraged stare, as if she had gone quite mad and needed to be incarcerated in a lunatic asylum. ‘Have you learned nothing from my teachings, Cassandra? Appearances can be deceptive!’ Then, as he often did, he looked up towards the heavens to seek forgiveness for the silliness of his only daughter. ‘Help her, oh, Lord, to develop the fortitude and character you granted to me rather than the weakness cursed upon her by her mother.’

As she supposed it was meant to, this swiftly put a stop to any further impertinent questions. If she pushed too far, he would lock her in her bedchamber again for days on end, forced to pray and endure hour upon hour of his sermons behind the closed door while the inherited badness was exorcised from her soul. It was an ever-present threat; over the years those interminable hours in cloying solitary confinement had made her fear locked doors and crave a constant link to the fresh air of outside. Even in a blizzard, her bedchamber window remained steadfastly open. Just in case. ‘Honour they father, Cassandra.’

Cassie watched the satisfaction in his cold eyes as he spied her fear. ‘I always do, Papa.’ A lie that would probably doom her to an eternity in hell. She obeyed him, sort of, and hated him at the same time. There was no honour in that.

They had walked the rest of the way in complete silence. Despite the utter humiliation, she admired James Warriner’s loyalty towards his family. He had stepped in to defend his brother without a moment’s hesitation and then he had not thought twice about manhandling her father out of the house. Cassie had never seen her papa so flummoxed before or so effectively silenced.

The Bible quotations he threw back were also to be commended. If her father would listen to her, which of course he never ever did, she was sorely tempted to tell him a man who could correctly quote chapter and verse from the Good Book, without the need to first check the Good Book for reference, was hardly ungodly. Captain Warriner knew chapter and verse and wielded them with the same deathly precision her father did. Yet to better effect.

Then the Captain had practically lifted her father off the floor with those impressive strong arms of his, forcing her papa to do a funny little tiptoe dance as he was removed swiftly from the Warriners’ drawing room. Cassie would have enjoyed that particular part of the awful memory had she not been completely mortified by everything which occurred beforehand. She would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the spectacle. Perhaps she would be able to find the wherewithal to laugh if she ever managed to escape.

It was funny, but in her mind her father had always been such a towering, terrifying man. A man to brook no argument. Up against her dashing, serious pirate he was little more than a weed stood next to a mighty oak. Solid. Strong. Dependable. And oh-so-handsome Captain Warriner made her want to swoon. Perhaps, as her father was wont to point out, she was her mother’s daughter after all if she was so easily impressed and overwhelmed by the sight of a gorgeous man. A gorgeous man who probably wanted to wring her by the neck now. So far, she had inconvenienced him, squashed him, forced him to lie on her behalf and allowed him to be grossly, unforgivably insulted in the comfort of his own home.

* * *

Now, to compound her misery and right the wrong which he had perceived had been done to him, her father intended to vilify the poor family further from the pulpit. Cassie had already endured an hour of it over dinner, scathing, hateful words which blackened the Warriner name and cast fresh aspersions about their characters, and that was only the first draft of his sermon. There would be more fire and brimstone by Sunday. No mercy would be shown. Cassie’s only hope was that the family did not attend the service. She had not noticed them sat in the pews in the fortnight she had been in Retford, although that was hardly a surprise when she rarely paid attention in church at the best of times if her father was preaching the sermon. However, she had a feeling she would have seen Jamie. The sight of his fine shoulders in his Sunday best combined with his dashing good looks would have brought her out of even the deepest of daydreams. And those penetrating, soulful eyes... But there was nothing to be done about it now. Those eyes, quite rightly, would only regard her with wariness in future.

With a sigh, she blew out the candle on her nightstand and swung her legs into bed. She doubted she would sleep, but as Orange Blossom and the Great Apple Debacle had come to a shuddering halt in her mind at least she would be comfortable while she stared listlessly up at the ceiling.

* * *

As bad ideas went, this one ranked as one of the worst Jamie had ever come up with. It made no difference how well trained he was in covert reconnaissance, lurking in the bushes outside a lady’s open window at midnight was not really something any decent gentleman should do under any circumstances. As a Warriner, with the absolute worst of reputations, the repercussions for both himself and poor Miss Reeves did not bear thinking about. Nobody would believe he was there out of necessity because his conscience needed to know that she was safe and well. In fact, he had needed to know so badly he had even braved the darkness to find out, skulking in the bushes for the right opportunity to present itself.

But he had lurked for the better part of an hour already, waiting for her awful father to finally leave his study and head to bed, and now that he was sure the man must be fast asleep, regardless of the impropriety, he simply had to see her. Properly see her, to speak to her, rather than the fleeting glimpses he had seen of her moving about her bedchamber from his hiding place in the foliage.

At least she was still awake. The dim light of her candle did little to illuminate the darkness, but it was some light. There was also a full moon which offered a little more and a reassuring sprinkling of twinkling stars to alleviate the paralysing fear which came from total blackness. In view of the clandestine manner of his visit he had had to leave his lantern hidden down the lane with Satan, which was beyond unnerving. Without thinking, he checked the waistband of his trousers and settled his hand on the solid comfort of the handle of his pistol. Just in case.

In case of what, he would not be able to articulate to anyone. He certainly had no intention of using it on either her father or any locals who might happen to discover him in his current precarious position. Except, the incessant feeling of unease was his constant companion during these dark hours, and he could never let down his guard even though he understood the threat was gone. No matter how many times he gave himself a stern talking to, Jamie knew all too well that bad things occurred at night when he had least expected them, so it made perfect sense to him that he should always face it armed, even though the only danger nowadays came from himself.

The light from her window suddenly died and fear clenched his gut as the darkness choked him. The rational part of his mind reasoned with the irrational and he remembered his mission. Irrational fears had to be ruthlessly ignored until he knew Cassie was safe. Stealthily, Jamie crept out of the bushes and limped towards the vicarage. Her window was tucked to the side, offering him some camouflage. Fortunately, she had also left it open.

‘Miss Reeves.’ The rustling leaves stole his voice although he dared not speak any louder. Jamie chose the smallest of the stones in his hand and tossed it at the glass, then waited.

Nothing.

The next two stones tapped the window in quick succession. After half a minute of standing poised, Jamie decided there was nothing else for it. A handful of gravel pelted the darkened window as hard as he dared without shattering the glass. Finally, his perseverance was rewarded by the sight of her face peeking through the new crack in the curtains. He waved like an idiot, watching her eyes widen with alarm, and suddenly wished he had given up on his foolhardy plan an hour ago. As if the poor girl would actually want to see a broken, useless former soldier stood below her like Romeo. What the hell had he been thinking?

She flung open the curtains and pushed the window open further. Her head followed. Only then did he realise her hair was unbound. It hung down above him like a silk curtain, momentarily distracting him from the dark or from immediately explaining his presence and making him wish he was Romeo. If there had been a trellis, and if he hadn’t been lame, then he would have eagerly clambered up it then. Just to touch her hair.

‘Captain Warriner?’

She issued one of those weird whispered shouts which had no volume and appeared completely flabbergasted.

‘I apologise for the bizarre way in which I have sought you out, Miss Reeves, but I wanted to talk to you and could think of no other way to do it without raising the ire of your father.’ The words were out before he realised how stupid they were. If her father disapproved of her speaking to him in public, properly chaperoned and in broad daylight, his response to seeing his only daughter clandestinely speaking with him in her nightclothes at midnight was hardly going to go down well. The sanctimonious old fool would probably have an apoplexy. He could tell by her expression she thought much the same.

‘I was just thinking about you.’ A sentence to warm his cockles, dashed by her next. ‘And how you manhandled my father out of your drawing room.’

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