Chapter One
Meriden, England
December 1811
* * *
Lord Cain Wyndham, Viscount Markel, was on the hunt for salvation—particularly for his libertine soul. While most of his fellow peers in London were proud to be rakish ne’er-do-wells, a life of debauchery and sin was starting to catch up to his conscience, so he decided it was time to make a change. He couldn’t count how many times he’d woken up in the bed of a barmaid he could not remember swiving, with a pounding headache that felt as though the local blacksmith had taken a hammer to his skull. But when the pints of ale continued to flow like the River Jordan, it was no wonder he generally had no recollection of the previous night’s events.
Not until he was on his way back from Birmingham where he’d attended the funeral of his old school friend who had perished from his salacious lifestyle, suffering the horrid fate of syphilis, had Cain realized he needed to adjust his current path. Granted, his mother had long noticed the signs of danger and had likely been praying for his soul the past several years, ever since the death of his father. After he’d inherited the title, she’d been harping continuously about doing his duty and settling down, which was why he seldom spent his time in London anymore, because it was a den of conniving mothers eager to gain a wealthy viscount for a son-in-law.
Forever eschewing the dreaded matrimonial state, Cain had paused when he had received news of James’ death. Suddenly, everything was… different. The earl had been a member of Cain’s inner circle, and they had shared every confidence during their school years and beyond. They would have given the Hellfire Club some steep competition had their licentious ceremonies still been in practice. The affairs Cain and James had conducted had been the stuff of legend, but a few months ago, the earl had retired to his country estate after complaining of an “ailment.” He had kept the secret of his diagnosis quiet, but Cain had eventually discovered the truth. It wasn’t until he’d made plans to visit James, that he’d received word of his demise. He’d been too late.
The visit to the estate for the funeral had been strained and awkward, for James’ parents had never cared for their son’s friendship with Cain, but they had greeted him nevertheless and thanked him for attending. Not until Cain had ridden away from the lonely gravesite, which was already being covered with the cold, winter earth, did he realize that could have, just as easily, been him being laid to rest that morning.
It was enough to make him veer off course on his journey to London, where he fully intended to lay himself at his mother’s feet and beg for mercy and find a wife posthaste. First, however, his intentions were to seek forgiveness with the closest vicar—and his heavenly employer.
Riding along the “Old Road,” he found himself deposited at the village of Meriden. He hadn’t really chosen this particular place to plead on behalf of his wicked soul, as Coventry would have likely been a better choice since it was rumored to be the birthplace of St. George, a dragon slayer and patron saint of England. For someone so selfless, surely Cain could find his path to redemption there—as long as he didn’t come across any versions of Lady Godiva, who had ridden naked through the streets to protest the injustice of oppressive taxations.
While the Holy Trinity Church might have been preferable for redemption, as it was a tribute to the Gothic Medieval structures of the time, the moment Cain spied St. Laurence Church, the rectangular, brick Tudor style structure sitting calmly at the base of a hill in the midst of the picturesque village, he couldn’t help but grin.
It was perfect.
He tied his mount outside and walked toward the main entrance. He wasn’t sure if anyone would be around at this time of day, considering it was a brisk, Tuesday morning, but he supposed there was no harm in trying.
He refrained from whistling as he walked up the steps, eager as he was to save his eternal soul, but when he reached the wooden doors, he hesitated. He hadn’t been to a church service since he’d been out of short pants, so he wasn’t sure if he should knock or just walk inside, but the decision was made for him when it abruptly opened for him.
A slight, feminine gasp greeted him from the interior of the chapel, but it was the lady herself that quite took Cain’s breath away. With a few golden curls peeking out from beneath her plain, straw bonnet, the rest pinned into a neat little knot at the nape of her neck, her blue eyes wide with surprise, and her delicate, feminine figure attired in a dark green pelisse, she was quite literally the embodiment of everything that he’d ever made it a point to steer clear from.
And yet…
An innocent, virginial lady couldn’t be more of a perfect quest to test his new resolve.
His grin widened. “Good day, madam. I should hate to trouble you, but is the vicar in? I should like to save my mortal soul.”
Miss Dove Meriwether frowned lightly at the gentleman standing on the church steps, because while she had always greeted anyone who came to her father’s parish with a welcoming smile, she wasn’t sure that this man was a good fit for their congregation. Granted, he was attired smartly in his greatcoat with dark brown trousers and a matching jacket, a gold waistcoat, and white shirt and cravat which proclaimed him to be a man of substance, but it was his direct gaze, a mix of green and gold flecks that quite unsettled her.
And the fact he seemed oddly… delighted about salvation. In her experience, most people had to be led to the altar, but apparently, not this one.
She cleared her throat and said evenly, “I’m sorry, but my father is away at the moment. Perhaps you might leave your card? Or even try the neighboring village of Coventry, which is but a short ride—”
He shook his head and kept that dazzling smile on his face, and she realized it wasn’t the sunny and mild December day that had abruptly taken her breath. “I’m quite content to wait inside.”
Very odd, indeed. “I do apologize,” Dove returned demurely, noticing that his eyebrows were the exact same shade as the thick, mahogany hair on his head. She glanced away. “But I have somewhere I need to be.”
He stood a bit straighter. “In that case, perhaps I could accompany you until your father returns?”
Dove’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s not necessary, truly. There’s no need to trouble yourself.” She held out a hand and started to move past him as she spoke, but he would not be dissuaded so easily and fell into step beside her.
“Nonsense. It is no hardship, I assure you.” He held out his arm to her. “Since it appears you don’t have an escort at the ready, and I need to remain here until I am assured of redemption, it shall be no hardship at all to act as your protector.”
Dove slid him a sideways glance, wondering if he wasn’t a bit touched in the head. Never before had she had such a… strange conversation. “I have known most of the people here all of my life. I’m not afraid to walk down the street on my own.”
“That may be so.” He rubbed the back of his neck as if he was actually embarrassed to admit it, and yet she had the feeling that little shocked him. “But perhaps you will grant mercy on a wayward soul hoping to mend his wicked ways?”
She refrained from rolling her eyes but slipped her arm through his. She tried not to react to the strength beneath her gloved fingertips. Focus! She cleared her throat. “The first step toward deliverance is that you are willing to make a change, so that is certainly in your favor.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “Very good point, Miss…?” He lifted his brow as he waited for her to supply her name.
