“How nice,” he lied, tightening his arm around his wife’s slender waist.
“What is it?” Cate asked.
The woman gave her a contemplative look and then launched into an explanation of the fossil, its history, where she had found the curiosity, and how this area was rich in such discoveries. In the distance, John made out another lady hurrying toward them. He wondered if this was the madwoman’s keeper.
“Abigail,” an older woman cried as she slowed down before turning to the three of them. “Hello there. I’m sorry for bothering you both.”
“They asked,” the madwoman Abigail insisted, glancing defensively up from where she stood. Judging from her tone alone, John was certain they were sisters. They both had dark hair and rough-hewn features.
“I’m Mrs. Perrin,” Cate began awkwardly as she glanced between the two women. “We’re here on our honeymoon. This is my husband, Lieutenant Perrin. It is our first day on the beach.”
“Miss Fossey,” replied the older woman, who offered her hand. “Welcome to Lyme. This is my younger sister, Miss Abigail. Perhaps I can invite you to the first of the winter assemblies? It will certainly make you feel festive.”
*
John looked aroundthe assembly room, covered by all of its winter yuletide finery. Miss Fossey had not lied when she’d promised a festive atmosphere. It was close to the beach, and the sound of the sea only added to the party’s charm. A roaring fire at one end was balanced out by a cheerful collection of musicians at the other. From the ceiling hung holly, ivy, mistletoe, and red berries. White cut-out icicles had also been added to the decorations, adding to the wintry atmosphere.
He had the right setting for seduction.
Then again, John had had the right setting for the last few days. They had tried dipping their toes into the sea. They had also eaten roasted chestnuts over the fire when it had been too miserable to leave the hotel. They had talked late into the night about their childhoods. They had slept in each other’s arms, never going further than sharing a kiss. They had bought eachother keepsakes from the bookshop and fossils from the frankly bizarre Miss Abigail. If he hadn’t been in love with Cate before the honeymoon began, he most definitely was now. He adored her sweetness, her innate kindness, and her eager participation in their conversations. The way she dimpled when he called her lass. He doubted any man could resist her for long. The problem was her secret—that of Mr. Hepworth, and whatever had happened between them.
The distant trill of a Scottish reel sounded. John made his way toward his wife, who had been talking to the matrons. “This, I believe, is my dance.” He bowed before Cate and smiled at her.
She looked magnificent as the most luminous woman in the room, with her soft, golden taffeta dress that made her look like an angelic princess. He felt so proud of himself, leading her out to dance and guiding her through the steps as he planned precisely how he would admit his feelings.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he gushed. Cate graced him with a smile before she grew worried.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” She glanced back across at the matrons. “At the hotel, did you make mention of your rank?”
The question perplexed him. Did she want to tell everyone about his position in the navy? It had never bothered her previously. “Aye.”
“I see.” Cate’s rounded bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Suddenly, fear snaked through him. “Do you think your…beau might have tracked you down? Would Mr. Hepworth have discovered our marriage and have sought you out?”
The reel ceased. Cate stared up at him, confusion distorting her face, before she blurted out, “He wasn’t my love. We never did anything more than share a kiss. Excuse me.”
She released John’s hand and slipped away from him, cutting through the milling dancers, townsfolk, and partygoers. Whyhadn’t she told him sooner? If it were merely a kiss, then why had her father forced her hand? If she wasn’t truly ruined, why had she agreed to marry him?
Before he could dwell on the matter further, he strode after her, following Cate outside. When he saw she was ahead without her cape, he hurried after her.
“Why didn’t you—”
“Tell you?”
“Yes. You should have told me the truth.”
“I thought you would judge me. Or worse, you might refuse to wed me.”
John had closed the distance. The cobbled street beneath their feet was slick with a nighttime drizzle. The assembly windows’ candlelight and the stars brightened their surroundings.
“I don’t understand,” John admitted. He reached for Cate’s elbow to soothe her.
“I would have done anything with Mr. Hepworth, even ruined myself, if it meant I could escape my father. I did not want you to judge me for that.”
He was already so close to her. He could see she was trembling, either from the fear of her admittance or the pain of acknowledging the kind of man her father had been. Either way, John wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and wishing more than anything that he could banish any painful memories.
