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  Nicholas found her response as exciting as it was unexpected. Her body yielded warmly against his, and yet at the same time he could feel her hesitancy. She was unversed in such intimacies, and her innocence was as affecting as everything else about her. It was as if she were precious to him, and in that moment his thoughts were of her, not himself.

  He knew well how to give her pleasure without taking things to the ultimate conclusion, and he wanted her to know what that pleasure could be, so, with his lips still moving tenderly on hers, he pressed her gently to him so she could feel the arousal pounding in his breeches.

  She was helpless but willing in his arms, a prisoner to her own emotions and the spellbinding atmosphere that pervaded everything. The thunderstorm had faded away to the periphery of her consciousness, and the only sound she could hear was the pounding of her heart. She could feel every sensuous line of his body, and the ironhard maleness pushing toward her through their clothes. She ached with need, and sank weakly against him as meltingly pleasurable sensations fluttered gratifyingly over her entire being.

  Still he kissed her, moving his lips gently to prolong her pleasure. They were still two separate entities, unjoined in the full physical sense, but he’d never felt more in love and at one with anyone before. He could hardly believe their actions, breaking every rule and dashing aside as meaningless every reserve. A strange magic had them both in its grip, and its sorcery was indomitable.

  Suddenly the rain stopped. One moment the downpour had filled the air with its noise, the next there was absolute silence. The draft from the doorway was unexpectedly cold and fresh, breathing soberingly over them both so that they suddenly drew apart, shocked by what they’d been doing.

  Verity backed away in disbelief. Her eyes were huge with mortification, and she pressed her trembling hands to her lips as she stared at him.

  He was equally as bewildered. “Verity ...” he began, not really knowing whether to use her first name, or to resume their previous formality.

  Covered with confusion such as she’d never felt before, she shook her head and turned swiftly to untether her horse.

  “Please, Verity, you can’t go like this!” he cried, stepping after her.

  But she remounted and urged her horse out of the mill before he could seize hold of her bridle. She had to duck low beneath the door lintel, and the last pins in her hair gave up their grip. Golden curls fell heavily to her shoulders as she galloped away across the drenched grove.

  She felt the Lady’s closeness, as if it were watching her, laughing at her, and she choked back a sob as she made her horse jump the fallen branch and then come up to a reckless gallop along the track, where rivulets still flooded down the ruts.

  Blinded by tears, she galloped out of the track onto the road, right in front of an oncoming carriage. The coachman shouted in alarm, and the team whinnied, their hooves clattering as he tried to apply the brakes. Verity was thrown bodily into the verge, tumbling among the dripping bluebells.

  Her senses began to fade, but in the few seconds before blackness engulfed her, she saw a small ball of orange fire hovering at the entrance to the track. She knew it was a corpse candle, for Martha had told her all about them. They heralded death, and were followed by the churchyard watcher’s ghostly cart, which was heard but seldom seen. Driven by the last person to die in the parish—it would be Admiral Villiers at the moment—it rattled around the countryside waiting for the candle to show the way to the next corpse.

  Someone was going to die here on this corner. Was it her? Was she dying?

  Verity was frightened. Darkness seemed to be closing in, and the scent of bluebells was cloying. She thought she heard a spectral cart coming slowly up the track behind her, but there was nothing there. The darkness pressed in still more, and as she lost consciousness a woman’s anxious voice cried out nearby.

  “Have we killed her, Oliver? Oh, please, don’t let us have killed her!”

  Chapter Nine

  Verity opened her eyes and saw a bed cornice that was richly carved with Montacute phoenixes. The gold-fringed hangings were mulberry velvet, and the room beyond was very grand and Gothic. And could only be part of Wychavon Castle!

  Horrified, she tried to sit up, but a woman spoke immediately. “Please don’t try to move too much, Miss Windsor, for you had a nasty fall.”

  Verity’s glance flew toward the voice, but all she saw was a silhouette against the brilliance of a triple-arched window. The storm had gone, and it was sunset outside. Crimson and gold blazed like fire, as if through the stained glass of a church, and the woman’s face, even the color of her gown, was distorted.

  There was a rustle of taffeta, and the silhouette came into focus as the woman moved to the side of the bed and smiled down at her. She was about five years Verity’s senior, with an hourglass figure that was shown off to great advantage in a fashionably low cut magnolia evening gown that was lavishly embroidered with little pink rosebuds.

  Shining brunette curls framed her heart-shaped face, she had gentle light brown eyes, and her diamond earrings flashed in the light from the window as she took Verity’s hand. “How are you feeling, Miss Windsor?” she asked solicitously.

  “Who are you?” Verity asked.

  “Oh, forgive me for not introducing myself, my dear. I’m Mrs. Oliver Henderson, although no doubt that means nothing to you.”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “My husband is Lord Montacute’s friend. We were on our way here to Wychavon Castle when you fell from your horse right in front of our carriage. There was a terrible storm, and I think your horse must have taken fright and bolted. Don’t you remember?”

  Verity looked away. Yes, she remembered being in the mill with Nicholas, and how she’d ridden away in unutterable dismay at the things that had happened between them. She also recalled seeing the corpse candle...

  “Do you remember the accident, Miss Windsor?” Mrs. Henderson asked again.

  “Er, yes, vaguely,” Verity replied, wishing she were anywhere but at the castle. She could never look Nicholas in the eyes again, let along accept his hospitality!

  “Oliver and I didn’t know who you were or where you lived, so we brought you here. Nicholas—I mean, Lord Montacute—returned from his ride at the same time we arrived, and he recognized you right away. Actually, he’d found your riding hat! Anyway, the doctor—Rogers, I believe his name was—says you haven’t broken any bones. You’re just badly shaken and bruised, and in a day or so you’ll be well enough to go home.”

  A day or so! She couldn’t possibly stay another minute! Verity was appalled at the thought, but as she tried to get out of bed again, the room began to swim unpleasantly, and she had to lie back.

  Mrs. Henderson smoothed the bedclothes. “I told you not to move too much, Miss Windsor, now perhaps you’ll listen,” she chided with a kindly smile.

  “I—I’m sorry ...”

  “We’ve sent word to your uncle, but I understand he’s in Ludlow until tomorrow. However, since he’ll be obliged to drive past the castle gates on his return, the lodgekeeper has been instructed to look out for his chaise.”

  Have Uncle Joshua come to the castle for her? Oh, no! Verity became quite agitated. “It—it really would be better if I went home. Uncle Joshua and Lord Montacute don’t like each other, and—”

  “Don’t fret about it, Miss Windsor,” Mrs. Henderson interrupted swiftly. “I don’t profess to know the cause of the ill feeling, but I do know that if his lordship is in any way curmudgeonly toward your uncle, he’ll have me to deal with.”

  “It’s most kind of you to try to reassure me, but I really would much rather go home.” Oh, you have no idea how much I’d rather be at Windsor House right now than here beneath Nicholas Montacute’s roof....

  “I won’t hear of it. Besides, I already feel bad enough about this, without having any further mishap to you on my conscience.”

  “You feel bad? But why?”

  “Because if I had
n’t insisted we drive with all speed through the storm, the accident might have been avoided. I feel it’s my fault.”

  “Please don’t blame yourself, if anyone’s at fault it’s me. I shouldn’t have been riding so quickly.”

  Mrs. Henderson smiled and sat on the side of the bed. “Perhaps we should share culpability, Miss Windsor.”

  Verity returned the smile. “Yes, I think that’s best.”

  “Now I feel able to beg a favor of you.”

  “Of me?”

  Mrs. Henderson nodded. “If you stay here until you’re better, you’ll be providing me with much needed female company. You see, although I love coming to Wychavon, it’s rather lonely for me. Oliver and Nicholas amuse themselves with a little riding, shooting, etcetera, but apart from strolling in the gardens, reading, and playing the spinet, it can be very dull for me. I know it’s unfair to blackmail you like this, but apart from obliging you to obey the doctor’s instructions, it really would please me. And there is the added incentive that I will be able to tell you all about the Season. You are about to go to London, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts, Miss Windsor. It will be a bargain, will it not? You will be relieving me of unutterable boredom, and I will be repaying your kindness by regaling you with all you need to know about the beau monde.”

  Verity still didn’t want to stay, but found it impossible to hold out against such charming coercion, so—very reluctantly—she gave in. “How can I possibly refuse, Mrs. Henderson?”

  The other smiled. “I’m afraid I have no shame when I want my own way. Oliver tells me I’m quite a bully, and maybe I am, but in spite of that, I rather think we’ll get on famously.”

  Verity had to smile, for her new companion was very likable indeed.

  Mrs. Henderson looked inquiringly at her. “Have you been to London recently?”

  “Not since childhood, when I used to stay with my uncle. He had a house in Mount Street until he tired of the social round,” Verity explained.

  “So you won’t be staying at Mount Street this time?”

  “No. Lady Sichester is allowing us to use her house in Dover Street.”

  “Lady Sichester?”

  “She and my uncle are old friends.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you know her?” Verity asked, thinking her tone as odd as Nicholas’s had been.

  “Er, yes. A little. She’s friendly with your uncle, you say?”

  “Oh, yes,” Verity replied. “They’ve known each other for years, and although he doesn’t go to London now, they still correspond regularly.”

  Mrs. Henderson fell silent and then got up briskly. “I’ll, er, go and tell Oliver and Nicholas that you’ve woken up. I’m sure they’ll be eager to speak to you—”

  “Oh, no! Please! I’d much rather not see anyone right now,” Verity exclaimed quickly.

  Mrs. Henderson paused in surprise, but then smiled understandingly. “Of course, my dear, if that’s what you wish. To be truthful, I suspect that I’d feel the same way in your place. One prefers to be properly prepared to meet gentlemen. I’ll just tell them you’ve woken up, but wish to rest. Will that do?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Verity was relieved. She knew it was a case of putting off the inevitable, but right now she knew she couldn’t possibly find the fortitude to confront Nicholas.

  The magnolia taffeta rustled as Mrs. Henderson went out, and Verity glanced unhappily through the window at the sunset. If only she hadn’t decided to go for a ride today, if only she hadn’t taken refuge at the mill, if only she hadn’t so far forgotten every standard of proper behavior as to indulge in such deplorable misconduct with Nicholas Montacute...

  Her eyes closed in shame. How could she have done it? What on earth was she going to say to him when the time came—as come it soon would, there was no doubt of that.

  * * *

  Nicholas and Oliver were in the solar, by which name the castle drawing room was known. It was a lofty chamber, vaulted like a cathedral, with exquisite tapestries depicting scenes from Le Morte d’Arthur. The arched doorways were flanked by rich green arras curtains, and there were wheel rim chandeliers and floor-standing candelabra, some of which were already lit because the windows faced east.

  Oliver lounged back on a chair, a glass of cognac in his hand. He was dressed for dinner, and smiled as he glanced across at Nicholas. “Well, we’ve commenced our visit in fine style, getting caught in the mother of all storms, and then almost killing a village damsel.”

  Nicholas nodded and leaned his head back. He was also dressed for dinner, and the signet ring on his finger caught the candlelight as he swirled his glass.

  Oliver studied him. “What’s up?” he asked at last.

  “Hmm?”

  “Well, your mind’s hardly been on anything I’ve said.”

  Nicholas shrugged, and sipped his drink.

  Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Who is this Miss Windsor?” he asked suddenly.

  “I’ve already told you, her uncle is a tiresome old codger of a magistrate who gets under my skin with very little effort.”

  “I’m not interested in the uncle, dear boy, just tell me about the young lady. How did you come to have that hat?” Oliver pressed.

  “I just found it. There’s nothing more to tell.”

  “Nothing at all? Nick, your face was a positive picture when you realized who it was we’d nearly run over! You looked as if one of Zeus’ thunderbolts had caught you between the shoulder blades.”

  Nicholas eyed him. “You’re wrong.”

  “No, I’m not. This Miss Windsor means something to you.”

  “She doesn’t. Look, Oliver, will you please leave the subject alone? You’re like a damned dog with a bone!”

  “Because you’re being mysterious. What is she to you, Nick?”

  “Nothing!”

  Oliver pursed his lips. “If that’s true, it’s a great pity, for she’s dashed attractive. In my opinion far more attractive than—”

  “That’s enough, Oliver,” Nicholas interrupted sharply.

  “For heaven’s sake, why are you being so touchy? I was only going to observe that—”

  “I know what you were about to observe, and I’d thank you to keep it to yourself. My private life is just that—mine—and I’d be obliged if you’d refrain from poking around in it.”

  Oliver pulled a face at him. “I loathe you when you’re on your high horse.”

  “You’d be on your high horse if I kept on at you about something you’d rather not discuss.”

  Light footsteps approached, and Oliver’s wife came in. She waved to them both to remain seated, and her skirts rustled as she came to sit on the arm of her husband’s chair. “Miss Windsor is awake and well,” she announced then.

  Oliver slipped an arm around her waist. “What’s she like, Anna?” he asked, with one eye on Nicholas.

  “Quite charming. I vow I shall enjoy her company, although it was a struggle to persuade her to stay.” Anna looked across at Nicholas. “Are you the local ogre, sir?” she inquired.

  “The what?”

  “Local ogre. You must be something of the sort, for she was all of a scramble not to partake of your hospitality.”

  Nicholas colored a little. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he replied with forced patience.

  Anna smiled. “Is there something you’re not telling us, Nicholas?”

  “Not you too! No, there isn’t!” he snapped, getting up to pour himself another cognac.

  She watched him. “You’re a terrible fibber, sir,” she murmured. “By the way, did you know that she and her uncle will be staying at the Sichester house in Dover Street when they go to London?”

  Oliver’s jaw dropped. “Is that so?”

  Nicholas turned. “Yes, apparently it is.”

  Anna’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “What a coincidence, hmm?”

  Nic
holas slammed his glass down by the decanter. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do before we dine ...” he muttered, and strode from the room.

  Anna and Oliver exchanged glances and then she drew a long breath. “All very curious, don’t you think?”

  “I do indeed. So what’s the enigmatic Miss Windsor really like?”

  “Refreshingly untemperamental. I like her immensely.”

  “So, I fancy, does friend Nick,” Oliver murmured, pulling her down onto his lap.

  She linked her arms around his neck. “I wouldn’t have thought she was his type,” she said after a moment. “Let’s face it, he’s always gone for hothouse flowers.”

  “And much good it’s done him. Besides, who’s to decide what types anyone should go for? Look at you and me. I’m a dashing hero of a fellow, whereas you are such a nondescript mouse of a thing that—”

  She pretended to poke him on the nose, “How dare you, sirrah!” She laughed.

  He hugged her. “I adore you, Mrs. Henderson,” he murmured, putting his lips to her throat.

  She closed her eyes with pleasure. “Oh, I am looking forward to tonight, and that huge, huge bed,” she whispered.

  “You’re a forward hussy, madam.”

  “I know. Aren’t you lucky?” she said, kissing him.

  Chapter Ten

  That same Sunday, while Verity was so reluctantly detained at Wychavon Castle, Judith waited in growing perplexity for her to return from the ride.

  The witch had been standing at a manor house window for some time now, her foot tapping impatiently as her temper worsened. Oh, where was the magistrate’s odious niece? The thunderstorm had come and gone, but of the loathed figure in the royal blue riding habit there was no sign at all.

  Judith’s gaze went to Verity’s room. Now that daylight was fading, she could pick out the telltale green glow of the seal on the windowsill. So near, and yet so very far. Retrieving it was of paramount importance, and to that end she had called at Windsor House in the early afternoon, only to be told the old man had gone to Ludlow and Verity was out riding. Now it was dusk, and still the tiresome creature hadn’t returned!