A time to love, and a time to hate: a time of war, and a time of peace.
Ecclesiastes 3:8
January, three months later
Warwyk Hall, about ten miles outside of London
Avalon read the first line in the letter from her son’s guardian, Gavin Farris, the Earl of Larkton. By all appearances the words resembled something innocuous, purely designed to lull a person into thinking it contained real concern with a touch of whimsical affection.
My dearest lady, I do hope this finds you and your intrepid son well.
“Avalon, did you hear the news?” Seventeen, on the cusp of eighteen years of age, Avalon’s sister, Lady Sophia Cavensham, looked up from her embroidery and smiled. Her gaze darted to her friend Miss Penelope Rowley, the one and only niece of the wealthiest gentry landowner in the shire. Though she was two years older than Sophia, Penelope had become somewhat of a fixture at Warwyk Hall over the last six months since she’d moved to her aunt and uncle’s home. The two women were inseparable.
Penelope let out a dramatic sigh then collapsed in a swoon across the pink-and-gold brocade sofa. In the process, she kneed the table, upsetting the delicate pink china cup and saucer. “Oww.”
Avalon tried to ignore their chatter. The Earl of Larkton’s correspondence had increased in frequency over the last several months. The weekly letters were turning into biweekly posts. Each one wanted more and more control over the Warwyk estate and more decision-making control over her ten-year-old son, Thane Pearce, the Marquess of Warwyk. She doubled her concentration on the letter as she read the entire first paragraph.
The purpose of my correspondence is to inform you that I’ve appointed a new vicar for the village of Thistledown. The man comes with impeccable standing and experience. In addition, his educational training is second to none. He’s a protégé of Lord Bishop Marlowe.
“He’s extraordinary.” Sophia’s dreamlike whisper floated through the air like a dandelion seed.
“He’s … simply exquisite.” Penelope’s voice joined Sophia’s in a chorus of dazzled fascination.
My dear Marchioness, it’s my pleasure to announce that my brother—
Avalon swallowed the sudden onrush of bile that marched up her throat. It couldn’t be. Fate was not that hateful.
“Mr. Devan—” Sophia sighed.
“Farris.” Penelope finished the sentence and slowly drew her hand against her forehead as if saying his name caused her to faint.
“No. Not him.” Avalon murmured the words aloud. The sanctimonious prig had arrived to make her life a living hell. Avalon grimaced to keep from casting her accounts. Now she was just exaggerating like the girls. She wasn’t really physically sick, but the news could make a person ill. “When did he arrive in the village?”
Clueless as to how the news affected her older sister, Sophia scooted to the edge of the crimson-and-white-striped club chair that sat adjacent to Avalon’s matching one. “Two days ago. Penelope and I just happened to be walking in front of the vicarage when we saw the Earl of Larkton’s coach arrive. The new vicar followed behind on horseback.”
Penelope nodded vigorously as if Sophia’s story needed affirmation.
Avalon wanted to roll her eyes. The two women “never just happen” to do anything. They orchestrated and connived everything from shopping to men. God save anyone who crossed their paths. If one of the girls took a shine to any of the ton’s marriageable men, then London’s finest would soon understand what it meant to be hunted.
As the girls continued their chatter, Avalon devoted her full attention to the rest of the letter. Better to finish the horrid task, then take a long walk through her gardens. Though it was January and bitterly cold outside, a brisk hour of exercise would help Avalon clear some of her unease at the news that Mr. Devan Farris had invaded her village.
I’ve considered your request that the young marquess continue his studies at home, but at the age of ten, his interests would best be served by attending Eton sooner rather than later. That’s where boys turn into men. Your suggestion that he attend Harrow won’t do. His father had insisted that I promise he attend Eton. However, since his Latin skills are somewhat lacking, I’ve decided to hire my brother, Mr. Farris, to tutor him in the subject.
Her blood simmered at the words. The earl’s declaration was nothing more than gilding the lily. Everyone within fifty miles of London knew that Devan Farris sought to marry an heiress. Until he found one, the fortune-hunting vicar thought to use her son’s marquisate to pay double for his services. Since her son’s estate paid for the vicar’s wages, Mr. Farris would receive another wage from the coffers for tutoring lessons.
But what really brought her blood to boil was that the smug vicar would be nosing into her business, and that wouldn’t do at all. She and only she ruled the parish with a fair and impartial hand. No one, including Devan Farris, would upset her world.
I’ve instructed my brother to send a note when he arrives so he may call on the young marquess and evaluate the boy’s abilities for himself. If there are any other subjects where the young lordship is lacking, then Mr. Farris may tutor him in those also.
My brother is quite gifted in numbers also. Perhaps you could allow him to review the estate books. It never hurts to have someone else examine the expenditures. Anything I can do to lighten your responsibilities is my pleasure.
Avalon gritted her teeth. Devan Farris reviewing her books was nothing more than a spy expedition. Larkton thought she’d not see through such a thinly veiled scheme.
I know we share a difference of opinion on your son’s educational requirements, but madam, as a man, I believe that my knowledge and insight are far superior to yours. Since I’m his only male legal guardian and the conservator of his estate, my wishes tip the scales, so to speak. I hope that you’ll come to see the wisdom in my decision. I’m hopeful that Mr. Farris will help in that regard also.
Yours,
Larkton
Her long-dead husband, Richard, had haunted her for the last nine years by appointing his friend Larkton as guardian and conservator of the marquisate. Avalon had been forced to continuously steer the earl to her way of thinking. She’d handled him like a piece of china—delicately but purposefully.
Devan Farris was another matter. The man was one of the few in the male species who could rattle her. The sympathy in his eyes that day Richard had humiliated her still bothered her. Then when he’d followed her out into the corridor? She shuddered at the memory. It was one of the last times she’d ever shown she’d been hurt by her husband’s actions, and Devan Farris had seen her weakness. Now he was here to poke his nose in her business.
There was only one thing to do. Avalon would write a polite declination of Mr. Farris’s tutorial services, then she’d continue to argue that her son still wasn’t ready to attend Eton. Really, she hoped he’d never be ready. Avalon had seen the effect of these schools on young men. It turned them from sweet, caring boys into selfish, rakish bullies. That’s what had happened to Richard. If she’d needed more proof, then Warwyk Hall had provided it. The loyal staff had been quite open that he’d become a different person after he’d finished his studies. He’d returned a cruel brute of a man.
Thane would not fall victim to such temptation.
Sophia interrupted Avalon’s musings. “Naturally, we introduced ourselves to the new vicar.” She took a sip of tea, then leaned back against her chair. “You should invite him to dinner as a welcome.”
She’d rather invite a Scottish wildcat to dinner. At least the conversation would be more interesting than what Mr. Farris could offer.
“As the Marchioness of Warwyk, it’s your responsibility to welcome him into our community,” Sophia continued.
“May I come to dinner when you invite him?” Penelope purred.
Sophia stifled a giggle, then nodded. “I’ve heard he’s a wild rake.”
Avalon shot her a look. “Sophia Maria Cavensham.”
Sophia straightened in her chair at the chastisement. “How rude of me. I apologize. I meant he’s a devout rake.”
Penelope leaned forward in her chair and lowered her voice. “My uncle said that the Earl of Larkton and the bishop sent Mr. Farris here to deal with the ‘ladies’ since he’s a man of the world.” She shrugged. “Seems the church wants to discover why so many have settled here.”
“Is that what you think?” Sophia asked Avalon.
“No,” she answered. “Perhaps the church wants to find out more about the dormitories and the other structures we’re building so the women have a place to live and work. They undoubtedly want to know how we’re accomplishing such a feat.”
“So where does the money come from?” Penelope asked.
“The Ladies Auxiliary earns money, and I’ve supplemented with some of my own,” Avalon said.
“I’ve never understood why so many have settled here in Thistledown.” Penelope’s brow crinkled into neat rows.
The answer was simple: Avalon had purposely invited them here. Some of the women had no place to go when fate had turned its back on them. Avalon had seen enough in her time on earth, and truthfully her experience with her parents and her short marriage to Warwyk, to understand their plight to a certain extent. She hadn’t experienced the horrors of prostitution or poverty or even the violence they must have had to face. But she couldn’t sit idly by when she had the resources to help. So, she’d made it her business to provide a refuge for them to seek shelter when they wanted out of prostitution.
“Our village is prosperous because of the marquisate,” Avalon said. “We’re the wealthiest community this close to London. It only makes sense that the women would try to settle here and start a business. It’s our Christian duty to help them.”
When the last two women she’d invited had arrived a month ago, they’d kept to themselves except when they had business with Avalon. As the Marchioness of Warwyk, she had instructed her steward to open an empty cottage the Warwyk marquisate owned in the village for the women to let. It was a perfect place for the women to live. The small rent they paid went into the Warwyk coffers. Of course, Avalon had given clear instructions to the steward not to share the information with the marquisate’s conservator, the Earl of Larkton, or his representatives. This was Avalon’s business.
Her carefully crafted community would not be destroyed by Thistledown’s new vicar. A tiger never changed its stripes, and Mr. Farris was renowned for causing havoc whenever he came in contact with her. She only had to think up a plan for convincing the vicar to leave. Perhaps she’d offer him money to take a position elsewhere. Of course, she could have her personal solicitor handle the transaction, but Avalon had little doubt she’d be successful in eradicating the Vicar of Vermin, the King of Pests, from her village. She’d learned everything she needed to know about men from her husband, Richard. When he’d humiliated her that day, she’d vowed never to allow any man to have any say in how she lived her life.
Yet, after ten years, the humiliation of the confrontation with her husband still stung and caused her cheeks to heat. It was inconceivable that at the age of twenty-eight, he still had an effect on her. It had been nine years since he’d died from a fever, and she’d never missed him a day. A true match made in hell. It wasn’t a very Christian thought, but it was the truth.
If it hadn’t been for Mary Bolen, Avalon might have suffered real pain that day. The thought that he might have struck her and injured her baby or, God forbid, worse sent chills skating down her back. Though she and Mary came from different worlds, Avalon would always think of Mary kindly even if she was her husband’s lover. Mary had been the only person who’d ever stood up for Avalon.
When Richard had turned to Mary Bolen for companionship that fateful day, Avalon had turned to Warwyk Hall, the ancestral seat. She’d spent her lonely days cultivating a community that epitomized warmth and welcome. How ironic that she wanted to remove the vicar from their friendly and hospitable community. But this was no ordinary man. He was sent to spy on her. Under no circumstances would Avalon allow such a surly, corrupt soul as Devan Farris to invade her perfect home and village, which led to only one conclusion.
Avalon would visit the new vicar and make him an offer his greedy soul would joyfully accept.
“My lady, perhaps the vicar is counseling one of the members of his flock and can’t be disturbed.” Avalon’s lady’s maid, Henrietta Calvert, twisted her fingers together in a knot. Four years older than Avalon, the petite woman had been a comfort over the years. “I’ve heard it’s a pleasure to look at him,” Henri added. “Handsome as the devil, some say.”
“Hush, Henri,” Avalon lightly admonished. “Remember Lucifer was the most handsome of all angels until he was cast out of heaven. Then he became a monster.”
Henri nodded, and Avalon smiled in reassurance.
She couldn’t lose Henri to the insidious charms of the vexatious vicar. Her maid had been with her since Avalon’s introduction into society. Loyal didn’t begin to describe Henri’s devotion, and Avalon felt the same about Henri. She’d have never survived the last month of her pregnancy if it hadn’t been for Henri. After the midwife had ordered complete bed rest, Henri had stayed by her side night and day.
“I won’t be dissuaded in my work by a new young vicar, and neither will you.” Avalon’s toe tapped in a sharp pattern against the wooden floor of the vicarage entry. It was beyond the pale for Mr. Farris to keep her waiting for fifteen minutes, but perhaps her maid was correct. Perhaps someone in their community needed guidance.
Mentally, Avalon went through those who currently needed a little extra attention.
There was one family in Thistledown that Avalon constantly worried about. They’d suffered tremendously over the last several months. Mrs. Annie Dozier, one of the prostitutes who had first settled in the village, had given up her occupation as a light skirt to start a new life. Six months pregnant at the time, she’d had nowhere to go. So Avalon had taken her in.
James Dozier, one of the Warwyk tenants, had immediately become smitten with Annie and had married her immediately. It had been a match made in heaven. Though Byrnn wasn’t James’s son, he’d treated the boy as his own. But fate wasn’t kind to the couple. James died five months ago from a head injury after falling off their barn while he’d repaired the roof. James Dozier could only be described as strong and rugged, but after lingering for several days, he’d succumbed to death, leaving Annie pregnant once again and their son, one-year-old Byrnn, alone. Annie and Byrnn had struggled mightily to make ends meet this winter.
Avalon had taken to visiting weekly with a basket containing enough food to last the week. It was a small thing, but Avalon enjoyed her weekly visit with the two. Holding the squirming Byrnn in her arms, Avalon thought of all the times she’d held and cuddled with Thane, the only good thing to have come from her marriage.
“Lady Warwyk, Mr. Farris will see you now,” Mrs. McVey, the vicarage’s longtime housekeeper, announced. She held a tray in her hands with freshly baked cinnamon and current buns along with a fresh pot of tea.
“Thank you.” Avalon stood, then followed the housekeeper to the vicar’s study. She really didn’t need the escort as she’d visited the elderly vicar, Mr. Knightley, literally hundreds of times over the last ten years as they’d worked on various projects together. A devout and fair man, he’d proven to Avalon that a few men were worth their weight in gold. Mr. Knightley had whole-heartedly accepted Avalon and her need to help these women. When he’d retired and moved to his daughter’s home in Brighton, it’d been a loss for their community.
The study door stood open, and Mrs. McVey entered with the tray.
Avalon stopped in the hallway and turned to Henri. “Ask for a cup of tea from Mrs. McVey. Keep her in the kitchen for as long as you can.”
Henri’s eyes narrowed in understanding. “You don’t have to ask twice, my lady. I’ll keep her entertained for as long as necessary. All I have to do is ask about her nephew in Perth.” Henri shook her head and smiled. “She’ll not let me get a word in edgewise for at least an hour.”
“I’m hoping I won’t need that long,” Avalon whispered, ensuring that they weren’t overheard. With the offer she planned to make, she had little doubt that Mr. Farris would agree to anything she said. It should only take ten minutes to have him eating out of her hand.
She inched her chin up, then proceeded into the vicar’s study, summoning forth every ounce of courage and persuasive ability she possessed. As Mrs. McVey fussed with the tea tray on a small table between two chairs, the black-haired, green-eyed devil looked up from the papers on his desk, then captured her gaze.
For several moments, they appraised one another like one combatant does with another before an epic battle. Well, he didn’t have to worry about her just yet. She’d not unsheathe her weapons unless absolutely necessary. If he played nice, then she’d play nice too.
Slowly, with a deliberate insouciance and an impertinent smile to match, Mr. Farris walked around his desk to greet her. “What a delightful treat to have tea with a member of my new flock today. How did I get so lucky? Lady…”
She tightened her stomach as if preparing for a blow.
“… Warwyk.”
Over the years they’d met at various social engagements. It was an understatement to say they were never pleasant. He’d always privately called her Lady Warlock after she’d jilted his best friend, William Cavensham. Too many times to count, she’d wanted to inform him why she’d been forced to jilt William. But really, would he understand? Or just think her complacent in her deceased parents’ scheme for wealth and prestige?
Both of her parents had succumbed to an illness several years ago, but her mother’s words still gnawed through her thoughts when she thought of her marriage to Richard. “Climb the ladder of the peerage until you find the highest-ranking unmarried lord, marry him, then beget an heir and a spare. After you satisfy that sole duty, then you’re free to do whatever you want.”
She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
As if the vicar knew that he’d unsettled her, he graced her with a smile that would have charmed Lucifer and his minions if they had been in attendance. Such a grin emphasized his full lower lip. Because the fierce winter wind was relentless in its pounding of flesh, the majority of people suffered from cracked and chapped lips. His looked perfect. An intense urge made her want to reach out and touch his lips with her fingers to see if they were as soft as they appeared.
Instead, she licked her lower lip to gauge the condition of her own.
“Hungry?”
She shook her head once. “No.”
The gleam in his green eyes seemed to suggest he wasn’t talking about biscuits or scones. His eyes were one of his most striking features. Large and seemingly endless in their green depths, they reminded her of a lush forest inviting one to rest and forget one’s worries. His features could only be described as angelic. His straight nose fit the shape of his face. Dimples graced both sides of his mouth when he smiled.
He looked like a royal prince with his bearing.
Much like the Prince of Darkness.
This was pure madness that had possessed her. Why was she mooning over his eyes? She doubled her determination to see this through. She had a mission, and nothing would deter her from it.
Somehow, she’d forgotten how tall he was. He’d reached her side and currently stood towering over her. He took her hand in his and slightly bowed over it. Though she wore gloves, the heat from his hand seeped through the kidskin leather. As if scorched, she yanked her hand from his.
What was the matter with her? He was the enemy.
Six months ago, they’d met at the wedding breakfast party for William and his lovely bride, Lady Theodora Eanruig. Avalon had relished being invited to the breakfast as it meant that all was forgiven between her and William. Though he was her third cousin, since their great-grandfathers were brothers, he’d been a suitor for her hand when she was seventeen, until her parents had squashed that dream like a rotten potato.
But the breakfast hadn’t been without its problems. Mr. Farris had sat next to her and teased her throughout the meal and accompanying toasts from family members. When he’d called her the despicable nickname of Lady Warlock, she’d been tempted to toss her glass of champagne in his face. She’d gone as far as picking it up.
But when she’d seen the love on William’s and Theodora’s faces, she had forced herself to take a sip, then set it down. How uncouth to upset their special day because of the vicar’s rudeness.
“Thank you for tea, Mrs. McVey,” Mr. Farris said without taking his gaze from Avalon.
As if nailed to the floor, Avalon didn’t move. He’d have to retreat first.
“Where are my manners? Lady Warwyk, please forgive me. Do come in.” He waved a hand to the two chairs that sat in front of a cozy fire. Between them, an old but sturdy Chippendale table held the tea service. Two hot steaming cups of tea sat side by side on the tray. He picked up one, then raised one brow in question.
“No sugar, just cream, please.” By now, the gallop of her heartbeat had slowed to a barely controlled canter. His hand dominated the saucer and teacup. Seemingly unaware of the turmoil playing havoc with Avalon, he handed the cup to her.
“Something to eat?” he asked.
She shook her head instead of answering.
He didn’t serve himself. Instead, he turned slightly in his chair and regarded her. That was her cue to start the conversation. Carefully, she sat the teacup on the table and met his gaze.
“Let’s not make this any more uncomfortable than it currently is.” Avalon pasted a slight smile on her lips. “I received a letter from your brother today, along with some unsettling news.”
“I see. How may I assist you?”
He didn’t blink or smile. The seriousness of his countenance caused her to momentarily consider fleeing the study. But that wouldn’t serve anyone’s interests.
“I’ll come right to the point. I don’t approve of you as the new parish vicar.”
His eyes blazed for a moment, but she’d not back down.
“Let me explain. The Warwyk marquisate has invested heavily in building the parish and community. Your renowned talent for helping troubled parishes would be wasted here. Personally, I’m committed to the care and safekeeping of these people and have done so for the last ten years. This is an idyllic place with bright prospects for all the residents. Frankly, we just don’t need someone like you here.”
His eyes softened and he nodded his head, giving her hope that convincing him to do her bidding wouldn’t be difficult. “I can understand how unsettling this must be for you.”
The empathy in his voice emboldened her. “Even the church must see your time should be devoted to another parish, one that needs firm guidance.” She released a pent-up breath. “We’ve a lovely women’s auxiliary group which meets weekly to find ways of helping those who need a hand. We’re a close community who pride ourselves on helping those who have fallen on hard times.”
He nodded again, and a slight grin creased his lips. His green eyes had darkened in color.
“Pride is a dangerous trait, my lady.” The words sounded harmless, but she heard the threat in his mellifluous baritone. It was a warning shot to take heed. She stiffened her spine just as the vicar stood and then walked to the fireplace. With his back turned, he fed another log into the fire, then adjusted the burning ones with a poker.
While he tended the fire, her gaze traveled the length of his breeches as she studied his long and muscular legs. The remarkable definition in his calves resulted from hard physical work and not just walking from one parishioner’s home to another. What could he possibly work on that would cause his muscles to be so defined? His legs fascinated her, and her fingers itched to touch them.
Her palms grew wet while her pulse pounded at the sight of his body. It was simply sinful on her part to ogle him. Long ago, she’d put aside her cravings for the physical touch of a man. Now those cravings roared to life at the most inopportune time. She was practically salivating over the new vicar’s haunches—she closed her eyes—their soon-to-be former vicar—that’s all she had to remember.
Normally, she’d always thought of the vicar’s study as a comfy and cozy place whenever she’d visited Mr. Knightley. However, with Mr. Farris in the room, it had shrunk in space, and everything within it set her on edge.
He set her on edge.
“Are you warm enough, Lady Warwyk?” He had turned from tending the fire and stood staring at her. Slowly, that devilish smile of his spread across his full lips. He taunted her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
She schooled her unease as best as she could. “Indeed. I’m not cold.”
“I never thought you were,” he practically purred like a large cat playing with its prey.
She would not let him unsettle her any further. “Mr. Farris, we’re God-fearing people in this village. We’ve enough trials and tribulations to handle on a daily basis. Your placement in the community is simply a poor match. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do,” he soothed.
When he walked back to his chair, she couldn’t help but notice the exquisite cut of his morning coat. It fit him like a glove, and the buttons reflected the firelight as if gleaming in approval of him.
Avalon took a sip of her tea in a desperate attempt to regain her bearings. No matter how handsome Mr. Farris was, she couldn’t let her thoughts drift anymore. “I’m a fair person, and I won’t let you go away empty-handed. I’ll give you a cash settlement to leave and provide a stipend until you acquire another parish better suited to you.”
Mr. Farris’s brow drew into neat lines. “But I’ve been appointed to lead this parish. Only my brother and the bishop can change my appointment.”
“I’ll write the bishop and explain the circumstances. I have little doubt you’ll be assigned a new parish within the month. Since I’m in a generous mood, I’ll pay your stipend for two years. You could use the money and hire a curate to take your place until you’re ready. Perhaps you could travel or”—she waved her hand in the air—“something.”
“Or something?” Resting his arm on the back of the chair, he studied the fire.
Eventually, a tenuous but somewhat peaceable quiet enveloped the room, occasionally interrupted by the crack of a log breaking in the fire. Avalon allowed herself to relax. The vicar had never made it a secret that he wanted to marry an heiress, which meant he was motivated by money.
“My offer is generous. As soon as you accept, I’ll contact my solicitor and have the papers drawn up.”
He turned to her and flashed a brilliant smile. One that bespoke his ready acceptance. Avalon smiled in return.
“Your generosity knows no bounds, my lady.” He leaned toward her as if to speak with her intimately.
She matched his movements, anxious for his agreement. When their gazes caught, he studied her with such an intensity that she believed he could see every fear, hope, and want she possessed. Something tugged deep inside her chest, and she tried to ignore it, but the pull became more powerful, more resolute. Perhaps it represented the constant loneliness that shadowed her every day of her adult life.
But she feared it was more. This man might have the power to peel a layer from her very essence, one that she’d carefully cultivated to protect herself. Never again would she allow herself to be manipulated in the name of other people’s wants and desires. She’d fight Devan Farris with every power she possessed. He’d never discover her secrets. The quicker he left their village, the better it was for all, including her.
He nodded once, and she allowed herself to relax for the first time this morning.
It was done.
“How could I refuse?” He smiled.
Such a simple act emphasized his angular cheekbones and the perfect set of those wide green eyes. Sophia and Penelope had declared him handsome. Unfortunately, Avalon completely agreed.
“Excellent. Until you’re reassigned, I’ll allow you to tutor my son. That’ll add additional monies to your savings.” She relaxed slightly and smiled. “I’m so happy that we’ve come to a mutually beneficial resolution.”
“I thought it was for the benefit of the village.” He tilted his head slightly.
“Of course,” she said hastily. “That’s what I meant.”
“My lady.” His voice deepened. “I am truly sorry, but I must decline your generous offer.”
Shaking her head slightly, Avalon must not have heard him correctly. He couldn’t be turning her down. She was offering him the world. Or at least, a nice salary that not many in the church would ever hope to earn. “You mean the tutoring? If you’re not interested, I understand.”
“That’s not it,” he said.
“You mean you must ask permission from the bishop?”
He shook his head with a devilish grin.
“Then you must seek the Earl of Larkton’s permission?”
A deep rumble started in his chest. At first she thought it a growl, then she realized it for what it was. He was laughing. Goose bumps broke out across her arms. Whether it was from the cold or the sudden onset of disquiet, she couldn’t tell. She hadn’t said a single word that could be construed as funny.
Finally, he wiped his hands down his face. His fingers were uncommonly long, and his hands were huge. He leveled the most mesmerizing gaze her way.
“No. My brother always looks out for my best interests as family should.” His voice was so low, it practically sounded like he was humming in a deep baritone. “I refuse because it was you, Lady Warlock, who asked.”
She tightened her stomach at the hateful name. “I know all about you, your hunt for an heiress, and your tomcat ways.” She threw the proverbial gauntlet down and waited for him to accept the challenge. She would not, in no uncertain terms, allow him to stay.
“My reputation precedes me, I see.”
“One well deserved, I have no doubt.” She straightened in her seat. It was time to strike the fatal blow. “Surely, you’ve seen the articles in The Midnight Cryer.”
He nodded with a sly grin that reminded her of a mouser out for a midnight stroll, one on the hunt for perverse pleasure.
She’d not let him succeed.
“I’m particularly fond of the description ‘a debauched lecher who has mastered carousing.’ But between you and me”—he bent forward as if divulging a secret—“it may be gauche, but I’ve kept all the ones that featured me. I do enjoy reading about my escapades.”
“Like the time you were caught swimming in Lord Peters’s fountain with Lady Peters and Mrs. Hemsley completely naked?”
“Someone had to save them from drowning. As I recall, I was still wearing clothes,” he said. “I can’t vouch for the ladies’ attire.”
“Oh really?” She stared in disbelief. “What about you stealing a kiss from the Duchess of Southart in front of her duke?”
“There was mistletoe. Come now, my lady, you wouldn’t deny a man a simple holiday merriment?”
His expression reminded her of a guilty child feigning innocence.
“The article that said I was ‘sniffing’ after the Countess of Eanruig’s hand is incorrect.” He leaned back in his chair and grinned as if pleased with himself. “She was sniffing after me.”
Unbelievably, she found herself leaning forward to hear his words, hungry for his gossip. She exhaled silently. Best to get ahold of herself before she lost her nerve and her advantage.
“Sir, we don’t need your stench of scandal in Thistledown. You’re a wild rake.”
“As in untamed?” He arched one brow.
“Uncouth,” she proclaimed.
The most devilish half grin graced his lips.
“And wicked,” she huffed while looking down her nose, but really it was more looking up as he was so tall.
“Birds of a feather…” he murmured.
“Careful, Vicar. You’re showing how provincial you really are.”
“I consider it ‘pastoral.’” His deep voice softened as if charming the devil’s minions.
“You and your reputation are not welcome in our community.” There. She’d said it. The words to drive him away. She didn’t want to insult him, but sometimes it was best to go for the jugular, as they say. He didn’t need to know that she was the only one in Thistledown who subscribed to The Midnight Cryer. Nor did he need to know that she watched for articles about him as fervently as he did.
“How ironic? You do realize that you’re welcoming me by gracing me with your presence. Speaking of reputations, what does that say about you?” He tapped the indentation in the middle of his perfect chin with one long, masculine finger. “I think it suggests you’re interested in me.” He had the audacity to laugh.
“I’m interested in getting you to leave.” The clipped words echoed around the room.
“You haven’t lost any of your rudimentary charm, Lady Warlock. You’ll just have to try harder.” He narrowed his eyes. “I’m staying. Now, when shall I meet the marquess?”