An Unmistakable Rogue (12 page)

Losing Sunnyledge was not Chastity’s greatest fear at that moment; Reed and his precarious physical condition, was. “Reed, do not— Wait. Let us—”

“Too late, sweet Chastity Somers.” The door shut behind him with a single, final clap.

“Godspeed,” Chastity whispered.

After minutes, or hours, of watching the door, she stretched out on his makeshift bed, buried her face in his pillow, inhaled his scent, and wept.

* * *

Thea lowered the door to the dumbwaiter. Foolish, foolish woman deserved no better, coming here, expecting to get Sunnyledge for herself. ‘Twas tantamount to robbery. If anyone deserved Sunnyledge, it was her, for all the years she put in here.

She lowered the ropes to the cellar and ran through the underground passage. Edward was getting away without paying. She had to follow him, find out where he was going. No, wait! She faltered. Edward had already paid. It was his son she had to stop. Reed, he was called. She needed to keep him here, by fair means or foul. She could not let her plan go awry. She had waited too many years for satisfaction to slip from her fingers now.

‘Twas for the best that she failed with the arrow. She had been too eager. Slow revenge was sweeter than quick. She could accomplish much, given time.

She needed to be more careful. If she rushed her fences, she might keep her lover’s other son away. She wished he would arrive soon.

Did he resemble Edward as Reed did? Clive said they had not looked alike at birth, but who could tell with babies? She was only glad that Reed bore no resemblance to the simpering twit who bore him.

The Vindicator spent the next few days following her wandering puppet while gathering wolf bane and hemlock. When she was certain he planned to stay nearby, and she had all the ingredients she needed, she would return to bake cakes and cookies for the children.

* * *

Chastity had missed Reed for three days, and she feared he might go to Mr. Sennett, after all. Yet, beneath his hard exterior, something good and worthy lived. She sensed it from the beginning. Before ever setting eyes on him, in the dark of night at the workhouse, she knew she could trust him, yet with his threat still echoing in her heart, how could she be certain?

She supposed she was a fool. She could not bring herself to tell the children that her time and theirs, together, might be over. Whatever time they had left, she wanted to make special. To do that, she needed a diversion, or the lot of them, her included, would sit right down and bawl.

When her allowance arrived from Mr. Sennett that morning, Chastity decided to take the children on a jaunt to the village, to take their minds off missing Reed.

On the way, they plodded listlessly behind her, until the village came into view, children’s laughter drifting on the crisp spring breeze, and then they passed her and urged her along.

After a few shy minutes—for all but Luke—they played hide and seek with the locals, and a rough-and-tumble game of tag. Despite her regret for instigating Reed’s departure, despite missing him, Chastity enjoyed their play.

Later, she bought crimson thread and a length of ribbon to make Bekah a dress. They lunched on sausage pasties, hot potatoes, and jam tarts beside the Painswick Stream, before heading home. On the way up the hill, she told them she bought a surprise and showed the wrapped parcel. They wanted to know what it was, but no matter how much they cajoled, Chastity kept silent.

So as not to be reminded of the time they spent with Reed, they ate in the formal dining room that night. But Chastity wished she had purchased more food in town, as there was not as much left as she thought. Dinner was quick, and just as well, considering the children’s rabid curiosity.

She took the mysterious parcel from the highboy and lit a candle for each child. “Come along now and I will show you the surprise.”

Bekah’s face appeared animated for the first time since Reed left. Mark said, often in the last days, that they didn’t need Reed, so she knew he missed him, too. Whether that was good or bad, was difficult to say.

Upstairs, Chastity opened the doors to the long Gallery, a majestic hall with floor to ceiling windows at one end and gilt-framed St. Yves lining the walls. Ancestors in facing portraits seemed to scrutinize each other, as if to ascertain whether their blood ran true.

Early evening shadowed the elegant salon, fingers of waning light stroking claw-footed tables and tapestried chairs set in intimate groupings along the periphery. Despite the room’s size, the overall effect was warm and welcoming, and though their candles were tallow, Chastity imagined the bees wax tapers that must once have brightened the splendid room in years gone by.

She sat on a damask settee and arranged her skirts with flare, setting the scene for a grand event. “Ladies and gentlemen, do be seated,” said she, in her best English accent, as she snapped open a fine lace fan.

Giggles said she achieved her tone. Bekah sat beside her and pulled a piece of Chastity’s wide skirt over her little legs, and with a surge of love, Chastity pulled her close and presented her with the fan. The boys sat on the parquet floor, backs straight, awaiting something grand.

Reed would have been proud. Whatever his purpose, her life and the children’s had been enriched by their time together.

Chastity revealed her surprise to
oohs
and
aahs
, and held it to the light to catch a sparkle on the glistening silver surface. For as long as she could remember, she had played the flute at vespers. So this cherished instrument sitting on a shelf in the mercantile had called to her. She had, perhaps, spent more of her allowance than she should, but music would cheer the children and bring peace to their hearts. That it held no connection to Reed was another reason she considered it a timely diversion. “What do you think?”

“What is it?” Luke asked.

Chastity looked from one face to the other and smiled. “It’s a musical instrument. A flute. Since Luke misplaced his horn, I thought he should take the first turn playing.”

“Dunno how.”

“Watch and listen.” Chastity put her lips to the mouthpiece and drew a sweet sound as she moved her fingers along the pipe to play a melodious hymn while she experienced a rare phenomenon—their full and silent attention.

When she finished, Luke and Matt clapped and begged for more. Bekah waited wide-eyed. Luke wanted his turn. The sounds he made were varied and original. Chastity taught them to dance the way she supposed ladies and gentlemen might at a ball in such a house, though perhaps her
brigands
danced more robustly. What she knew of the titled rich, she learned from reading, and the rest she improvised with a care toward her audience.

She curtseyed to each. “When I was the Countess of Honeysuckle....” She used her haughtiest accent. “And I danced with the Baron of Primrose at Lady Daffodil’s Ball, this is how we went.” She took Matthew’s hand and led him to the center of the floor. “Bow, Sir Matthew.”

Luck snickered.  “Don’t you mean, Sir Dandelion?”

“Very well, then, Sir Dandelion.”

Matt groaned and bowed.

“Now, Sir Lavender, play us a melody.” Luke played slowly at first, allowing Chastity and Matt to turn and dip, as if they knew what they were doing. Then he picked up the pace, and Chastity and Matt got tangled, and ended on the floor.

Except for Mark, laughing children fell atop them, Bekah with a glint of amusement in her eyes.

Chastity rose still laughing. “Now, Sir...” She worried her lip. “Violet,” she said to Mark. “It’s your—”

Chastity’s voice failed. The children’s gazes followed hers.

Reed stood—not smiling, not scowling, either—framed by the Gallery arch, his height and breadth diminishing the impressive entry. Chastity’s heart beat faster than when she danced. He looked good, healthier, though he needed a shave, and his expression conveyed a silent question.
“Did you miss me?”

Yes, she attempted to respond in kind. Yes!

She was being foolish. He could not have asked with a look, and she could not have answered.

He nodded. “Guess it was ... a bad idea to come back. Looks like you’re doing fine, Sister Chastity.” He turned and limped away.

Chastity made to go after him, but Matt’s words stopped her. “Is he going to stay?”

“I wish I knew.” Had he returned only to tell her they must leave? Were the children to be returned to that horrid workhouse? She covered her tortured reaction. If they were, they would remember the fun they’d had this night, by God. “Play yon flute Sir Lavender. A celebration. Our lord and master is back among us.” She wanted to cry, but from happiness or sadness, she could not say.

Luke played better and faster.

Matt laughed heartier.

Bekah watched the doorway, unmoving.

Mark reacted not at all.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Reed sat in his dim bedchamber.

Imagine such a simple sound as laughter piercing his heart, the organ Chastity once thought frozen. Well, she’d penetrated it, by God, weakened it so much, it had taken to bleeding.

Their laughter, though wonderful to hear, ate at him. They were happy, all of them. He had not been missed, as he had missed them.

Had he? Missed the brigands? Horror of horrors. But they had stopped dancing and laughing when they saw him, and resumed only
after
he left.

Why would they need him, anyway, when they had Chastity? A more nurturing woman, they could never find. He bloody-well did not need them, either. He did
not
!

Zeke hopped by his chair.

Angry at himself for wallowing in self-pity, Reed lifted the rabbit and settled it in his lap. He scratched behind a floppy ear and Zeke appeared content. At least someone, or something, was glad he was back.

He tried to turn his thoughts from the scene he had just witnessed, to think about anything, anyone, but sweet Chastity Somers.

He failed.

She looked good. More beautiful. Or had his days of yearning simply made her seem so? No, Chastity was beautiful, of face, of form, of heart and soul. She was sunshine and calm, warmth and renewal. No ice around that heart. Pudding, more like, sweet, warm and rich. Plum pudding, perhaps, spicy and delightful.

He was stormy, cold and dark, within and without. Chastity saw that from the first.
Get that ice chipped from your heart
, she said. At least she believed he owned a heart.

There, but inaccessible, unfeeling, inflexible. He did not deserve their welcome back. But oh, Lord, how he wanted. He supposed it should be enough to be here with them again, for a time. This was, after all, an episode, temporary.

Fine. He would take what he could get.

If only she wanted him to stay.

He looked up to find Rebekah standing in his doorway. Watching. Always watching.

The man-eater who’d taken a bite of his leg and cracked his icy heart in the process, walked toward him, stopping just short of close.

Reed smiled; he could not help himself.

She took another step, still watching him, her features passive.

He experienced a palpable draw, felt the pull, like an invisible thread connected them, her testing it, tugging slightly, to see if he would respond.

What did he imagine, here? Some emotional awareness, an elusive yearning for fatherhood? If so, why the devil with Bekah, who watched, as if she feared his every move?

She stunned him further by turning her back on him and folding her arms. You do not turn your back on someone ... unless you trust them.

Reed knew elation, but he did not know how to respond. Was she angry he deserted them? Was this, then, a symbolic punishment? Eloquent, for one who never spoke. He wanted to congratulate her for her delivery, to haul her on his lap with a cheer and a hug.

The need appalled him.

Bekah grabbed a hank of her hair in each hand and waggled them his way.

Reed straightened, comprehension dawning. “You want me to braid your hair?”

The poppet nodded without turning. Amazing.

“Come a bit closer,” Reed whispered, afraid to break that invisible thread.

She backed up until the heels of her slippers touched the toes of his boots.

Reed braided, realizing he’d never expected to be this comfortable with a child. He liked it. He liked Bekah. When he finished the single braid, identical to Chastity’s, except for its flaxen color, he tied it with a shoelace. Then he grasped Bekah’s shoulders gently and turned her to face him. “Beautiful,” he said.

Her eyes glowed. He’d swear a smiled lingered there, only for him. Certainly no one else could see it.

He opened a hand to her.

She placed hers in his, melting that last chip of ice.

As if he had come home, Reed tugged her forward.

She shocked him by climbing into his lap, poking him in the belly with her elbow, and setting fire to his side with her foot.

He saw stars but said nothing.

She nudged Zeke over and curled up in his lap, cheek against his heart, patting his chest with her little hand.

Reed experienced ... contentment, a foreign emotion, wonder of wonders, in the embrace of a child. His world tilted in a way that it would never hang straight again. But this was
not
to be examined too closely. It should be enjoyed as temporary. An aberration. Still he would revel in it for a time.

He realized that Bekah must have noticed his hurt when he saw how happy they were without him, and she offered him comfort. He cradled her like a babe, the pressure of her head on his heart a blessing. “Sleep Poppet,” he whispered. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Chastity gazed about the gallery in panic. Lord, she had been so wrapped up in her roiling emotions, Rebekah wandered off.

Leaving the boys to play, Chastity went to search. Bekah, timid as a mouse, would not go far.

Not in the boys room or in their own.

Shivering with expectation, or trepidation, Chastity glanced through Reed’s open door. The sight took her breath. That big, dark, compelling man, frowning and angry minutes before, now looked like a beast tamed.

The hint of a smile sparked in his deepening dimples, charming indentations that told more of the man’s emotions than he could know. Early on, he had had a way of holding back, making her question his reactions. But that only worked until she realized he could not stop his dimple from forming, if he experienced the slightest struggle to school his features.

Yes, a tamed beast, its master a slip of a girl who’d taken a bite of his leg and ended with his heart in her tiny hands.

Reed held Bekah as if she were made of porcelain. He patted her back, hummed as he rocked, for all the world like a ... father. He would hate being caught like this. If not tonight, then tomorrow, at the latest.

If only he would stay with them, and become the man these children needed, the man she needed, but she could not make him, not if he wanted to go.

She longed to change his needs. She had fallen under a spell cast by a hard-hearted man—though softer-hearted than she expected, if the picture before her was any indication—and she would never recover.

She crushed the idea of being held as gently. God what she would have given as a child to be rocked like that, even once. She prayed Bekah would come away from this with a memory to last a lifetime, rather than regret that it happened.

“Reed?” Chastity hated to interrupt, but she must get Bekah safe away before remorse overtook him—as it would—and he hurt the child with rejection.

To her surprise, Reed did not seem distressed to have her witness the moment, nor did he try to hide his vulnerability. “She’s asleep,” he whispered.

Chastity stepped closer. “I cannot believe she let you pick her up?”

“Let me?” Chastity felt the warmth of that proud smile to her toes. “She climbed up here, I’ll have you know. I think she was trying to make me feel better.” He stroked Bekah’s baby curls and she made a contented noise in her sleep.

“Feel better about what?” Chastity asked.

A scowl replaced his smile. Reed shook his head. “I cannot imagine what got into the man-eater.”

Chastity tried valiantly to keep from smiling, recognizing his words and manner as another indication that his bluster was often a result of his self-erected wall. A boundary. False. Weak. But a barrier, nonetheless. For protection? From them? “I think she’s happy you’re home.”

On Reed’s face, shock turned to wariness then to fear. He was obviously both pleased and frightened to be welcomed back. This, Chastity understood.

He felt as if he had been pole-axed. Home. Was he home? With Chastity? And her brigand-brats? Could these two warm, soft, frustratingly caring females mean home to him? And the boys, the happy, trusting scamp; the man-child determined to protect; and the boy afraid to need?

The notion that wherever Chastity was, was home, did not bear close scrutiny. Reed tossed the vagary aside to be brought out and examined later, perhaps. Home or not, her scent filled him with promise, like roses after rain.

Chastity, bringer of a new and better life? Could blue skies and sunlight be the result of the storm they weathered? “And you? Are you happy?” He could not finish his sentence ... happy that he was home? Home. Had he ever had one? Was home, as Chastity suggested, not a place, but a sense of belonging?

“I’m happy.”

Did she have the same wary sense of inevitability as he? Like they were falling, together, doomed to having their goals dashed, yet curiously happy about it? God he was losing his mind.

“Yes, I’m happy too,” she answered, as if he had questioned her again. “Happy we’re all together, again. For a time.”

For a time. He tried not to let the foregone brevity disappoint, but failed.

Chastity chewed her lip. He imagined her nibbling his, but must have watched too long. She firmed and straightened. “Is she bothering you?”

“It’s nice holding her. You’re right, Chastity, about the need to be close to someone. I think she needed to comfort me.” God the word love came to mind twice there. Could she tell he was trying to say that he was beginning to understand her reasons for taking the children? He knew mothering sat uppermost in her mind, love-giving ingrained in her. Her actions in taking and caring for them were as basic and simple as an act of love.

“Where did you go?” Chastity asked.

“Not to Sennett. There’s no reason for you to leave. Yet.” Why the hell had he added that? As if he could not bear his happiness or hers.  Or he did not trust it to last? Must he muddy every worthy moment? It certainly seemed so. He could not stop himself.

She covered his hand at Bekah’s back. “Thank you. I’m glad you’re back.”

He nodded once. “Me too.”

“I’ll put her to bed,” she said as she bent to take Bekah.

When had she stepped so close? Perhaps he had been too intent on her expressions to notice. “Put the boys to bed and go, yourself,” he said. “I’d like—” He cleared his throat. “I’d like to hold her a bit longer. I’ll bring her to you in a while.”

Chastity wavered.

“Please?”

“Fine,” she said.

He hated that he begged. Thank God she did not seem of a mind to point that out.

More than an hour later, Chastity laid in her bed conscious of the fact that she waited for Reed to come to her. She had unbraided her hair and fanned it carefully on her pillow, wondering how she would look when he came in.

Why should her appearance matter? What foolishness.

She smoothed the blanket, again, arranged her hair over her shoulders and breasts and placed her arms at her side, over the blanket, then under it a few minutes later.

Time crept at the pace of a garden snail going uphill.

He was only bringing Bekah. She was being foolish. She was not imagining him lying beside her. Not imagining him along her length, seeking her lips. Especially not him reaching for her when she put her arms around his neck, pulling her against him, crushing her to his hard, beautiful chest.

The fact that he kissed her that first morning was proof he would not pull away, if she reached for him, thank God. Lord that kiss haunted her almost as much as the ones he gave her before he went hunting. What would such kisses feel like, here in her bed, his body against hers, head to toe? Without the restraint of blankets? Clothes?

Chastity huffed and rolled to her stomach, undoing all her preparations and tangling her hair. Hot as she was, she pulled the covers over head and muffled her scream in her pillow. Let him find her cowering under her blankets like a frightened waif, blast it.

Chastity pictured Reed’s view, should he come in now and realized that the most prominent lump would be her bottom. Emitting a high pitched squeak, she flipped to her side, facing away from the door. Except she could not bear not to watch for him, so she flipped to her other side.

She could not bear watching either, she soon discovered.

Returning to her original position, she refused to fuss with her hair. Placing her arms over the covers to rest at her sides, she decided she would not move from this spot.

Lord it was warm in here.

What was wrong with her?

She was beginning to believe she really did have the proclivity of a wanton. Worse, she was beginning to be glad. She was pretty sure she would be willing to accept the certainty of hell just for a minute in Reed’s arms, here in this bed. She ached to know where his kisses would lead. She only wished she understood for what she ached.

When she finally heard movement in his room, her heart beat so fast, she feared a whisper would make her scream. When he pushed her door open, quiet as he was, she thought her heart would jump from her chest.

She was as surprised as him when she sprang from the bed with a yelp and stood at attention.

He stood framed in the door for a long beat, examining her nightgown with interest, regarding the buttons at her collar with ... speculation?

Mortified at her reaction, Chastity wanted to melt from sight. What a fool she must seem. ‘Twas a wonder he did not laugh.

“Get into bed, Chastity.”

His words purled heat and shivers through her body, made her warm and pliant, cool and needy. How in heaven’s name could she be hot and cold at the same time?

Lord, she was going to faint.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, she remained standing. “Where is Bekah?”

He smiled. “Sleeping. I put her in my bed for a few minutes, so we could talk.” His eyes were darker and deeper, more intense than she remembered.

“Oh.”

As if her yearning called to him, he walked slowly toward her. When he stepped before her, he reached for her top button, slowly, perhaps to see if she would stop him. She did not. He undid all four buttons and examined her, as if waiting for her to speak.

Nothing in life had prepared her for this moment. She had no wellspring from which to draw a response to his questioning look. Yet at this moment, she would not trade her life with another’s. That shocked her. Never had she been content to be her.