Jess grimaced. “His proclivity seems to be me. However he can have me. He’s like a bloodhound that has the scent of a fox and won’t give up the hunt. Or one of those tenacious Bow Street Runners.”
“If he wants you that badly, he’ll cater to your desires. Make it very clear from the onset you’re not letting his jolly roger anywhere near your quim unless it’s suited up.”
Vin’s crudity made her want to laugh, even as she flushed with embarrassment. “You could use the scientific names, you know.”
Her sister lifted one shoulder in a very continental expression of indifference. “I could, but why would I? Making you squirm is so much fun. I can see why Morgan enjoys teasing you.”
“Fine. I won’t let his jolly roger anywhere near my quim unless he’s suited up.”
Vin’s smile turned into a chuckle, and then a boisterous laugh, until she was bent in half, wheezing and clutching her stomach.
“I used your dreadful words, what are you laughing at?”
“Your face…” Vin wheezed. “It looked like you’d just swallowed an unripe slice of persimmon. If you’re going to allow him to seduce you, you might want to practice wiping that expression from your face. You’ll make him feel like nothing more than a naughty schoolboy.”
Jess quirked a brow. “Aren't most men nothing more than naughty schoolboys?”
“Yes, but they don’t like to be reminded of their immaturity.”
“I’ll try and eschew showing my judgment.”
“He’s probably already aware you don’t condone his behavior. From what I hear, he prefers vivacious widows. You’re a novelty, so maybe he’ll enjoy being scolded.”
Jess sincerely doubted Cadoc Morgan let anyone scold him. It would be a blow to his ego, she thought as she emptied her tea.
By the time Sunday morning arrived, both Jess and Vin were in need of fresh air and space. The snow was still piled in drifts along the lane, but the air didn’t snap with the same frigid bite that had kept them indoors for four days. As Jess buttoned her claret walking dress, she wondered if the Morgan clan would show up for the service.
The children and Cadoc’s sister Caris were always seated in the front pew, but he’d only made a single appearance. The first Sunday after their arrival, he’d sat beside his family. She remembered the tousle of dark hair revealed when he tossed his hat onto the seat beside him, and the way his hands had smoothed the unruly mess behind his ears. He hadn’t set foot in the village church since that initial foray.
She pinched her cheeks in the wavy reflection of the mirror, and told herself it was because she looked wan. He wasn’t likely to be in attendance anyway.
“Are you ready?” Vin called up from the foot of the stairs.
“Be right down,” Jess called back.
When she descended the stairs five minutes later to pull on her cloak and bonnet, Vin was waiting at the door. She narrowed her eyes. “Is that a new dress?”
“It’s one Cece finished for me before she left.”
“It suits you. I would have thought you’d save it for the pageant, but maybe you’re hoping to see a certain elusive rogue,” she slyly pointed out.
Jess was glad her back was turned, because she could feel the prickle of heat that danced over her cheeks. Vin couldn’t see her blush. “I wanted to make certain the drape and the fit were as they should be.”
Vin snorted. “As you say, Jess.”
The squat stone of the village church stood impervious to the snow. The trees that cast shade over the cemetery in the summer were ethereal with ice, but the steps and path had been swept meticulously clean.
The hubbub surrounded them as soon as they crossed the threshold. Their pew was near the middle, too far from the lit braziers to feel the heat, so they slid into their seats still bundled beneath their cloaks.
Jess’s glance went unerringly to the front of the aisle. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized he wasn’t in attendance. Caris, Davy and Ella were already seated, their heads bent over their hymnals. She pulled off her mittens and was untying her bonnet to set it on the bench beside her when the heavy oak door of the chapel swung open and shut. A chilly breeze stole in, and Jess was tempted to sit on her now bare hands.
And then she heard him. Just as she had in her schoolroom. This time he was muttering apologies for his late arrival to those he passed. His apologies were ridiculous. He wasn’t late - the vicar was still conferring with the organist, Mrs. Blevins, and had yet to make his way to the pulpit.
She looked steadfastly ahead and ignored the urge to glance sideways when she felt his eyes on her as he passed. His sudden devotion to tradition was likely a ploy to redeem his notoriety - he was a mere dilettante and had probably never cracked open a bible.
She watched as he unwound the dark blue scarf from around his neck, and remembered with acute clarity the sheen of sweat that had caressed his jawline when he’d answered the door.
Chapter Eight
