The Forbidden Lady (10 page)

She shook her head.

He winced.
Dumb question
. “Do you need a handkerchief?” He held his out to her.

She looked askance at it. “Does it stink?”

“No. I wouldn’t bring a foul one to your house.”

She turned, leaning her back against the tree, and accepted the handkerchief. Her tear-filled eyes and damp cheeks tore at his heart. He didn’t know what to say, only felt a powerful need to take her in his arms. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge.

She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. It must have looked strange, the way I behaved.”

“I’m only sorry to see you so distraught.”

She sighed and turned away. “Now you know the truth about me.”

“That you’re afraid of fire?”

She pushed away from the cherry tree and strode toward the neighboring apple tree. “ ’Tis more than that. I’m a coward. I let her die.”

“Who?”

“My great-aunt. She came to help when Caroline was born. I was helping her cook supper, when she . . . caught on fire.”

“She burned to death?”

Virginia nodded. “I just stood there. I was so horrified.”

“Of course you were. How old were you?”

“Six.” She twisted the handkerchief around her fingers. “I was so afraid, I didn’t run for help.”

“You were a young child. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

She crushed his handkerchief in her fist. “You don’t understand. I did
nothing
. There were fire buckets on the hearth. I didn’t even throw water on her.”

He walked toward her. “Don’t blame yourself. It was an accident.”

Her voice broke as the tears began to flow. “But she screamed and screamed! She needed my help, and I was too afraid.”

He reached for her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “ ’Twas not your fault.” He searched his mind for comforting words. “Couldn’t other people hear her screaming? Didn’t they come to save her?”

Her head nodded against his chest.

“Don’t you see? They tried to save her. ’Twas not your fault.”

She sniffed and rubbed her cheek against his coat. “That’s what Father said.”

“He was right.”

“It was so long ago. I should be over it by now, but it still haunts me.”

“I know.” He brushed back her hair from her brow. “There are some things we carry with us forever.” Like being an unwanted bastard. Or the memory of a small, dark room in a cellar.

She squeezed handfuls of his coat in her fists. “I didn’t want you to think I’m a coward.”

“I don’t.”

She glanced up at him. “You don’t?”

“No.” The sight of her red-rimmed eyes struck at his heart. “Ginny, don’t cry.” He touched her damp cheek. Her lips were parted slightly, perfectly shaped pink lips. How would the curves, the fullness of them feel, how would they taste? He leaned down.

“Oh, no, I’ve ruined your coat.” Releasing him, she stepped back.

“What?”
Damn.
He had come so close to kissing her.

“Your pretty silk coat is wrinkled and wet. I’m so sorry. And I destroyed your wig, too.”

“Actually, you’ve destroyed two of them. But don’t worry, I still have more.”

“Two? How did I . . . ?”

He smiled. “The one you threw last night in the garden, it landed in the Oldhams’ ornamental fish pond.”

“Oh, no!”

He shrugged. “I truly don’t care.”

“That’s not so. You love your fine clothes.”

“Why do you think that?”

“You always dress so well, and it must cost you a fortune.”

“I don’t care about the clothes. Look.” He paced toward the fence and removed one of his high-heeled shoes. “I hate these blasted things.” He hurled the shoe over the fence.

“Ouch!” A shout returned from the other side of the fence. “What the hell is this?”

Quin stared at the fence, his mouth dropped open. “Sorry!” he shouted. “I didn’t know anyone was there.” He gave Virginia an apologetic look. “Oops.”

She slowly smiled. “There’s been a boy on the corner there for a week now, selling roasted chestnuts.”

“Oh.” With one shoe on, Quin stepped toward her with a lopsided gait.

Her smile widened.

He returned her smile, relieved to see her happy again. He removed his other shoe and left it behind as he drew closer to her. She was still smiling at him. He wouldn’t have to lean over so much to kiss her now.

“Virginia.” He touched her shoulder.

“You shouldn’t walk home without shoes.”

Was that a dismissal? Perhaps she had been through enough today. He withdrew his hand and wandered toward the path. When he glanced at the house, he spotted four faces glued to the window. “We’re being watched.”

She rested against the apple tree. “They cannot see back here amongst the trees. The bean rows block the view.”

Was that an invitation? He looked at her. She watched him steadily, then raised her hand to brush away the moisture on her cheek. Within seconds, he was in front of her, pulling her into his arms.

She gasped. “Quin?” She dropped his handkerchief and pressed her hands against his chest.

“Ginny, I want to kiss you.” He cradled her face in his hands. Her eyes widened with a look of alarm. He would have to start slow. He bent down and touched his lips against hers. A light kiss.

He pulled back to gauge her reaction. She was gazing at his mouth, the look of alarm transformed to one of wonder. He slipped his hands to the back of her head and kissed her again, a little longer.

This time when he checked her reaction, her eyes were closed, her lips parted. She looked so sweet, so trusting, he kissed the tip of her nose. Her eyelids flickered open. With a shy smile, she eased closer to him, sliding her hands up to his shoulders.

He grinned, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close ’til her breasts pressed against him. “Yes.” He planted soft kisses across her cheeks. The taste of salt lingered upon her skin, making him thirsty for more.

He kissed her mouth again, much more thoroughly. He wanted inside, but restrained himself for fear of frightening her. Instead, he concentrated on the shape and fullness of her lips. They tasted of sweetened tea. He raked his fingers into her hair. The ringlets curled around his fingers, tickling soft. The scent of lavender filled his head.

Her lips began to move with his.
Yes
. She was feeling it, too, this desire that ran hot through his veins. He pulled her tighter. Her hands stole up to his neck. Her breasts moved against his chest with each excited breath. Within seconds, the pleasure became torture. He groaned, realizing his appetite far exceeded what he could realistically expect.

He wanted her. Now.

He released her and stepped back. Her lips were pink with a just-ravished look that made him want to beg for more pain.

Gritting his teeth, he attempted to mentally halt the erection in process. “I . . . I have to go. I’ll call on you again soon.”

He loped down the path, spotted a gate in the fence, and made his escape. Pausing on the side of the street, he breathed deeply to clear the lust from his mind. She was a lady, a proper lady. He had to control himself.

“Sir?” the boy on the corner yelled. “Do you want your shoe?”

Quin peered down at his feet in sheer hose. “Aye, I suppose.” He padded over to the boy selling roasted chestnuts. “Sorry I hit you. May I buy some of these?”

“Aye, sir.” The boy grinned, handing him a cloth bag and pocketing the coin.

“Quin?” He heard Virginia’s voice from the other side of the fence. A fraction of her face appeared between two riven boards. “Don’t you need this?” She tossed his other shoe over.

He pulled both shoes on and with his added height peered over the fence. “Are you all right, Ginny?”

She smiled shyly, her cheeks coloring. “Yes, I am.”

“I forgot to ask. Do you mind helping me with Josiah?”

“No, of course not. Should I pay for the wigs I destroyed?”

“No, of course not. Here.” He passed the bag of roasted chestnuts over the fence. “I’ll see you soon.”

Quin strode home without his wig, without his walking stick and gloves, without feeling the pinch of his high-heeled shoes. Never had he wanted a woman before like he wanted Virginia Munro. When it came to his green-eyed mermaid, what the Boston elite said was definitely true.

He was insatiable.

C
HAPTER
N
INE

V
irginia returned to the apple tree with the bag of roasted chestnuts. On the ground lay Quincy Stanton’s handkerchief. She must have dropped it just before he kissed her.

She picked it up. His initials were embroidered in a corner. With a smile, she smoothed her thumb over the raised letters. She lifted the handkerchief to her nose. It didn’t possess the foul fragrance he had used before, the scent of a dissolute dandy. It smelled clean and masculine. It smelled like Quin.

Leaning back against the tree, she gazed through the twisted branches to the blue sky overhead. Only a few colored leaves remained on the tree, fluttering in the breeze. It had finally happened. Her first real kiss. Oh, there had been friendly and flirtatious pecks in the past, but nothing like this. Nothing that had left her breathless and unable to think. Nothing that had awakened a need to have more.

She inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. She needed to keep her wits about her. How much did she really know about Quincy Stanton? She knew he was handsome, intelligent, and charming, but he masqueraded as a vain, pompous fool. Did she dare involve herself with a man capable of such duplicity?

’Twas not your fault.
He had been so kind and sympathetic. He knew everything about her now, yet still found her attractive.

You shouldn’t blame yourself
. Perhaps he was right. She was twenty-one years old. The memory of Auntie’s death, as horrible as it was, should be put to rest and not allowed to control her anymore. Quincy thought she was brave. If she were truly brave, she would face her fear and deal with it.

She pushed away from the tree and strode toward the house.

“Are you all right, dear?” her aunt asked as she entered the kitchen.

“I’m very well.” Virginia sat at the kitchen table, placing the bag on the surface. “Quincy bought us some roasted chestnuts.”

“Why did he run away?” Caroline sat across from her.

“Excuse me?”

“We were watching from the window,” Caroline explained, “and all of a sudden, Quincy Stanton ran down the path and out the gate.”

Virginia felt the warmth of a blush across her cheeks. She had sensed the tension in Quin, the desire, the control he had exercised. It had engulfed her to the point she had been unable to think. “Aunt Mary, I have a confession to make.”

Her aunt gasped. “What did you do with him?”

Caroline clapped her hands together. “I knew it. You seduced him.”

“No.” Virginia glared at her sister. “This has nothing to do with Quincy.” She shifted her gaze to Aunt Mary. “ ’Tis about me. Since the age of six I’ve been so terrified of fire, I’ve allowed this fear to dictate how I live my life.” She steeled herself for her aunt’s reaction, but Aunt Mary simply nodded her head.

Virginia glanced at her sister. “You told her?”

Caroline turned bright red and shook her head.

“Your father told me before he left.” Aunt Mary sat next to Caroline. “He was explaining about that ridiculous rumor that you’re unfit for marriage.”

“I am unfit,” Virginia said. “I don’t know how to build a fire, how to make soap, or do the laundry. I cannot cook at all. ’Tis ridiculous for a woman my age to be so ignorant.”

Caroline shrugged. “Just marry a wealthy man like Quincy Stanton.”

Virginia frowned at her sister. “Neither one of us will have much of a dowry. Wealthy people tend to marry other wealthy people. Besides, marriage will not cure my fear of fire. I need to do that myself.”

“How do you propose to go about it?” Mary asked.

“She could learn to cook.” Mrs. Robertson stirred the pot of stew over the fire. “I’ll be happy to teach the lass.”

Mary nodded. “Aye, that would be a step in the right direction.”

Virginia examined the large kitchen hearth and swallowed hard. “All right, I will. And when I go back home, those nasty people will have to find someone else to humiliate with their vicious gossip.”

Caroline covered her face and burst into tears. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you, Ginny. I was afraid you would hate me.”

Virginia blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“It was all my fault,” Caroline wailed. “The rumor at home. I told one of my friends. We were telling each other secrets, and I told her you couldn’t cook, that you were afraid of fire. I didn’t think she would tell anyone, but she did. It was all my fault, and now, everybody will hate me.” She lowered her face into her hands, sobbing.

Virginia skirted the table to sit next to Caroline.

Aunt Mary scooted down the bench and hugged the crying girl. “Hush now, lass. Nobody hates you.”

Virginia hugged her sister from the other side. “Come now, there’s been enough tears for one day.”

Caroline sniffed. “I’m afraid that, because of me, you’ll never want to go home. And Mama and Papa will hate me.”

Virginia handed her Quincy’s handkerchief. “Nonsense. No one could hate you. Besides, I’m not afraid of what a few people in North Carolina think of me. You know there’s no one there I want to marry.”

Caroline smiled tremulously with bleary eyes. “Not even Hans Schroeder?”

Virginia laughed. She and her sister had teased each other in the past, saying that the chubby widower Hans would come courting one of them, looking for a wife to take care of his five chubby children.

“As far as I’m concerned, you two can stay with me forever,” Aunt Mary said. “I would be terribly lonesome without you.”

George barged into the kitchen. “We have another guest. I showed him into the parlor.”

“Who?” Virginia asked.

“Edward Stanton. Remember? I went to his house this morning and left him a message.”

“Oh, my.” Aunt Mary popped up from the bench and smoothed out her skirts. “Do I look all right?”

Virginia stood and adjusted the lace cap perched on her aunt’s auburn curls. “You look lovely.”

“Oh, my.” Mary dashed from the room.

Virginia exchanged a look with her sister. “I have a feeling Aunt Mary won’t be lonesome much longer.”

Caroline grinned, her unsinkable spirit bubbling back to the surface. “Perhaps there’ll be a double wedding?”

Virginia scoffed. “In a hurry to be rid of me?” She glanced at George, who stood by the door. “What is that you’re holding, George?”

“A walking stick. It was in the parlor.”

“Oh, may I see it?” Virginia skimmed her palm along the smooth ebony surface. “This belongs to Quincy.” She fingered the silver knob on the end. “The knob feels a trifle loose. Perhaps we can fix it.” She gave it a twist and jumped when a sharp blade sprang out the other end. “Good Lord!”

They stared at the transformed walking stick.

“Godsookers,” George whispered.

J
osiah arrived Monday morning, brown hair wet and neatly tied back, clothes clean, shoes polished, hornbook in hand, and a surly expression on his freshly scrubbed face.

“Good morning, Josiah.” Virginia gave him a friendly smile. “Won’t you come in?”

He glowered at his clipped nails. “The master made me come. I don’t need no education.”

“You don’t need
an
education,” Virginia corrected him.

“Right!” He flashed a grin at her and bolted down the front steps.

“Josiah, come back here!”

He was rounding the corner with no indication of returning.

“That little scoundrel.” Virginia darted down the hall into the kitchen. “George, run out the side gate and catch the boy. He’s running away!”

She dashed after George as he sprinted to the side gate. At the street, she paused to catch her breath. Josiah was ahead a few feet with the older George quickly gaining on him.

The boy selling chestnuts stuck out a foot. Josiah tripped and splattered into a puddle of water and filth.

George yanked him up and hauled him back to the garden. “I caught him, Miss Virginia!”

She inspected Josiah, now covered with foul-smelling muck, the hornbook in his hands filthy. “Were you this much trouble in school?”

The boy grinned. “Oh, aye.”

“You’re too filthy to let in the house.”

“Then I can go home?”

“No.” Virginia smiled. “You can have a bath here in the garden.”

With George standing guard, she succeeded in washing Josiah in a tub of cold water while the boy complained loud enough for the entire south side of Boston to hear. George was left with the task of cleaning Josiah’s clothes and hornbook as she marched the boy into the parlor and sat him down at the table. Wrapped in a linen towel, he scowled at her.

She removed the vase containing flowers Quin had sent the day before and placed it on the mantelpiece in front of the gilded mirror.

“Do you know the alphabet?” She fetched paper, inkwell, and sharpened quill from the secretaire against the wall and set the items on the table in front of Josiah.

“Aye, I ain’t no muddlehead. Ye’re giving me real paper? And ink? Ye’re not afraid I’ll make a mess in yer fancy room?”

“If you do, you’ll clean it up.” She sat across from him.

He chewed his lip, apparently judging the situation.

“I’m waiting.”

Frowning, he went to work and finished quickly. “There.” He passed the paper to her. “I can write real fast when I’ve got a good chair.”

She examined his work. “What do you mean?”

“That scurvy old schoolmaster, he made me sit on the unipod for a week.”

“Unipod?”

“Aye, a stool with one leg. ’Tis a punishment for bad boys like me.” He lifted his chin with pride.

“You’re not bad, Josiah, and I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous in my life. What kind of schoolmaster is he?”

Josiah beamed. “That’s what Mr. Stanton said. He fussed at the old man, said he didn’t know how to handle the clever ones like me.”

“Well, perhaps, but I don’t believe you made it very easy for your teacher.”

The boy squirmed in his chair. “I don’t need no education.” He glanced at her with a hopeful look.

She smiled. “I try not to make the same mistake twice. And you do need an education. You can do very well in America if you’re willing to learn and work hard.”

“Ye sound like me master. He said if I gets an education, he’ll cut me time in half. Seven years instead of fourteen.”

“That’s very generous of him.”

Josiah grimaced. “Seems like forever to me.”

“How old are you?”

“Nine.”

“I see.” Virginia studied the boy before her. Seven years would seem like forever to a nine-year-old. The boy needed more immediate rewards for his efforts.

“I could make a living for meself, I could. I don’t need no big people taking care of me.”

“What would you do?”

He sat up straight in his chair, puffing out his scrawny chest. “I’d be the best damn pickpocket in the New World!”

She kept her face expressionless, aware the boy was trying to shock her. “That’s not a profession with a promising future. Now let’s see how good you are at ciphering.”

The rest of the lesson proceeded well enough. Josiah was correct; he was not a muddlehead. She rewarded him with a big piece of apple pie. Without mentioning she had discovered the hidden blade inside, she gave him the walking stick to return to Quincy. Then she sent him home in his damp but clean clothes.

Friday, October 27, 1769

V
irginia fanned herself, seated next to her aunt and sister in Concert Hall. The air was warm and stuffy with so many Bostonians crammed into the building, eager to hear the band of the 64th Regiment play. Virginia sighed. The inhabitants of Boston lacked consistency. They hated the British army’s presence in their town, but loved their music. Of course, the fact that the concert was free might account for the heavy turnout.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for one Bostonian in particular. Josiah had come by that morning for a quick lesson and had confided that his master would attend this evening. She needed to discuss the boy’s lessons with Quin, but she knew that was a convenient excuse.

The truth was she longed to see him. She ached to see him with a hunger that worried her, for the overwhelming nature of it defied clear thought.

Every night she went to sleep with the memory of his mouth against her own and his arms around her. For a week she had dreamed of him, and where was he? Was he so occupied with business that he didn’t come visit her?

Her heart leapt in her chest when she spotted him entering with his younger brother. Quin’s gray silk coat and breeches fit him to perfection. Buttons of engraved silver lined his waistcoat of black-and-silver brocade. With his gray wig and gray eyes, he epitomized wealth and elegance.

Her initial excitement dwindled into uncertainty. He claimed not to care for rich clothes, yet he looked like he had spent half the day dressing. His frilly flock of peahens gathered around him, fawning over his fabulous plumage. His natural charm eased out with flowing speech and a dimpled smile, and his ladies responded with twitters of laughter. So intent was he on entertaining them, he never noticed her presence.

A slow throb of pain crept from the middle of her forehead to lodge in her temple, and she pressed her fingers against the side of her brow. With his wealth and handsome looks, Quincy Stanton was one of Boston’s most eligible bachelors. The group of females surrounding him attested to that fact. So, why would he be interested in her? Did his duplicity extend to his treatment of her, so that he not only pretended to be a dandy, he also pretended to be attracted to her? Was that why he kissed her, then never came back?

“Virginia, how marvelous to see you.”

She gave Captain Breakwell a halfhearted smile. “How do you do?”

“Is this seat not taken?” He helped himself to the seat she had saved for Quincy.

She glanced sadly at Quin and his brother where they held court. Another sad face, that of Priscilla Higgenbottom, peered back.

“Oh, look, there’s Priscilla.” Virginia raised her hand in greeting.

Mrs. Higgenbottom loomed over her daughter, whispering, and Priscilla turned her attention to Clarence Stanton.

“Poor Priscilla.” Virginia resumed fanning herself. “Her mother insists she flirt with Clarence Stanton.”