Last night had changed everything.
But even if she was given the chance to turn back the clock, she would not,could notdo so. When she told Anthony she would remember what happened between them until the day she died, she was saying nothing more than the truth. Though now it now felt almost dreamlike, she could still feel that wonderful sense of belonging. Of being cherished. That, even more than the astonishing pleasure he’d given her would be the piece she held to her heart.
Even though he would never love her as she loved him.
Scrubbing her hand through her tangled hair, she pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed.
She and Anthony had returned to the bedchamber around four in the morning, just as the eastern horizon was beginning to lighten. It had still been raining, but it had eased enough for them to cross the yard without another thorough soaking. Fortunately, they managed to reach the bedchamber without being seen.
Pushing open the door, they’d discovered Nelson still curled up in exactly the same position she’d left him in. ‘Lazy arse,’ she’d muttered, climbing into bed next to the dog. Her clothes were still damp, but that was nothing new. She’d stared over at Anthony, still hesitating by the door.
‘We’re both fully dressed,’ she murmured drily. ‘I swear I’ll not try and box yer Jesuit.’ Then she turned her back and scooted to the edge of the bed. Seconds later, she felt the mattress dip as he slid into bed. The longing to turn over and throw herself into his arms was so strong, she had to grip the edge of the mattress until finally, she heard his soft snores.
And there she’d remained, unmoving, watching as the sun came up over the horizon, until eventually falling into an uneasy doze.
Harnessing Horatio, Anthony felt like the biggest bastard who’d ever lived. It would be easy to blame what happened with George on his drunkenness, but in truth, it was the desperate desire to touch her that had led to his inebriation.
He had no idea how to proceed - all he knew was that he couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her again. He wasn’t sure they could go back to the way things were before – indeed he wasn’t certain he even wanted to.
George had made it clear that she had feelings for him. But what did she know of love? No one had ever shown her even the slightest affection. It would be understandable if she latched on to the first person who’d ever offered her any.
And would you really excuse what you did by calling it a show of affection?
Anthony stopped what he was doing and covered his eyes. No he couldn’t. He had no excuse. He’d taken advantage of a helpless girl. One who was in his care.
His only recourse was to offer marriage.
As the thought entered his head, he instantly felt a strange sense of calm. Of course it could have been because he knew that offering to wed her was the right thing to do. But in truth, it felt like coming home.
God only knew what his mother was going to say…
Chapter Sixteen
‘Right then, Percy, let me do the talking. My lord Bishop’s a deuced prickly fellow at the best of times, and since we want to get in and out as quickly as possible, there’s no sense in you setting up his bristles. So best if you stubble it.’
They were standing outside the Bishop’s Palace, looking up at the imposing façade. ‘Oh, and while we’re at it, stick Flossy inside your cassock.’
‘Why do I have to put her under my cassock, Sir?’ Percy protested. ‘She’s your dog.’
The Reverend gave a pained sigh. ‘Well, much as it troubles me to say it, Percy lad, I’ve gained a few pounds in recent months, and in truth me robe is sitting a trifle snuggly.’ He looked over at his skinny curate, adding, ‘Whereas your cassock could fit you and the whole of the front pew inside it. So the Bishop’s unlikely to notice you’ve got a small furry animal in your drawers.’
Knowing of old the futility of arguing with his superior, Percy sighed and bent down to pick up Flossy, feeding her through his sleeves until she was tucked under his robe and sitting comfortably atop the leather belt cincturing his cassock. ‘I look ridiculous,’ he complained, looking down at the lump critically.
The Reverend eyed him unsympathetically before giving a small chuckle. ‘Stay behind me Percy, and I’m certain no one’ll notice.’
Ten minutes later, they were placed in a large office outside the Bishop’s receiving room. The silence was only broken by the scratching quill of the Bishop’s assistant as he worked on a ledger.
Abruptly, the sound of raised voices came from through the closed door. While the assistant didn’t look up, the Reverend glanced apprehensively at Percy. The voices came again, and Flossy emitted a low growl. Unfortunately, this time the clerk did look up with a frown. ‘Wind,’ Reverend Shackleford explained hastily. Percy gave a helpless shrug and gave the lump an awkward pat. The assistant coughed and went back to his writing, lips pursed in distaste.
The voices came again, causing Flossy to utter another, louder growl. The clerk put down his pen and looked up again, his face thunderous – just in time to see the bulge above the curate’s belt begin undulating. With a strangled sound, the official climbed hurriedly to his feet, just as the receiving room door flew open.
‘You may be assured I will not forget this, my lord Bishop,’ announced a gentleman, striding swiftly through the doorway. His voice was cold and clipped, and the Reverend was certain he’d heard it before.
Without casting them so much as a glance, the man continued across the room and out into the passageway, slamming the door behind him.
The Reverend stared after him in stunned bewilderment. It was the gentry cove he’d last seen in the Red Lion. The reason they were in Exeter in the first place.
The man looking for George.
