“This is my fault,” Cordelia whispered, an angry bubble of shame ballooning in her stomach.
“I’ll survive,” Justin said, and offered her a brave smile. “Where’s the horse?”
The heavy rain and dark sky were making it more difficult than ever to see their surroundings.
“Buttercup!” Cordelia called. The two of them stood, rather shakily, and swiveled their heads. “Brutus!” she attempted again, but the truth was perfectly clear.
“Damn!” Cordelia swore, fisting her hands into the skirts of her muddied dress.
Despite the paleness of his cheeks, Justin appeared to be thoroughly amused. “Let’s find a tree to wait out the storm,” he suggested, already making his way to a copse of tall yews.
“Wait,” Cordelia said, limping after him. “The vicar’s cottage is a short walk this way. I know some of the farmers use it when herding sheep.”
Without waiting for his reply she took off in that direction, doing her best not to slip in the wet grass. Her ankle was smarting and she had to shamble, putting as little weight on it as possible. There was a bright flash of light and not seconds later, thunder boomed once more. The storm was getting worse. “C’mon,” Justin said, catching up to her and placing his hand on her back.
She did not have time to ask what he was doing. He swung her into his arms as easily as a sack of grain. Cradling her against his chest, he brought them to the door of the tiny vicarage.
Chapter Twenty
The vicar’s housewas more like a spacious shack, with two connected rooms and no door. Cordelia found three metal buckets to catch dripping rainwater as the storm raged outside. The shepherds who used the shelter had stacked it with fresh firewood, blankets, and a few cans of peaches. Mercifully, Justin also found a small flask that contained rum.
The first thing they did was staunch the bleeding gash, ripping up an old blanket. It was, luckily, fairly shallow, but would scar.
“Hopefully it’s healed over by the time of the ball,” Cordelia mentioned. “Too bad you’ll be wearing a stiff coat. One look at this and it would send the dandies running.”
Justin appreciated the comment. After their explosive meeting this past morning, he was hoping they would be able to find common ground somehow. Losing Cordelia’s goodwill would be a mistake, he reasoned. In the meantime, he busied himself with building a fire as he heard the sound of wet garments hitting the floor. Gritting his teeth, Justin realized that the two tiny rooms were perhaps too close.
Hearing Cordelia change out of wet garments was torture enough; knowing she would be peeling them off her body one by one made him want to pour a pitcher of ice water over his head. The rainwater had also diffused the perfume she wore. He could smell her everywhere in the cramped little cottage.
Justin watched the fire blaze to life in a pleasant crackle. The heat was wonderful. Taking off his shirt, he hung it close to the mantel to dry. He’d have to leave his sopping trousers on; he didn’t want to further scandalize Cordelia. Finding a sheepskin rug, he wrapped it around his shoulders and settled into a wooden chair.
Blushing becomingly in the firelight, Cordelia stepped up to the mantel, leaving tiny wet footprints on the cold flagstones. She’d also wrapped herself in a woolen blanket. Without her dress, it gave the effect of her being completely nude beneath it. Unfortunately, he could see a white flash of a shift peeking out beneath the wool.
“That’s divine,” she murmured, holding her hands out. The movement caused the blanket to slip over one of her shoulders, the skin rosy and flushed. Justin looked away.
“I would hang my stockings here,” she told him, “but I wouldn’t want to impose my feminine unmentionables on you.”
Justin raised his eyebrows. “Should young ladies mention feminine underthings to unattached men?”
He half expected Cordelia to make a pithy retort, but instead she chuckled. “As far as your kind are concerned, there isnothingunder our dresses that should interest you.”
That was saucy, Justin thought. He wondered what had put her in such a jovial mood and then he saw her glance at the small box beside her, the polished wood glinting in the fire light. She looked at him as a smile spread across her face. Justin realized it was the first time he’d seen Cordelia grin at him, unabashedly.
It made his stomach cartwheel.
“Shall we open it?” she asked, reaching for the box.
“Why keep us in suspense?” Justin said. He reached for the fireplace poker and handed it to Cordelia. “You found it,” he added, “you should do the honors.”
Cordelia’s face suddenly became solemn, her jaw clenched. She gripped the fireplace poker in both hands and dropped it hard on the rusted lock. It came apart with a weak twang. Sucking in a deep breath, she flipped open the lid of the box. And stared. And continued to stare.
Justin’s fingers itched. “Cordelia?” he asked, softly.
Reaching into the box she pulled out what appeared to be a stack of carefully folded papers. “Are those… letters?” Justin questioned, leaning forward in his chair.
“Y-yes,” she replied, examining them from all sides. “They appear to be addressed to my father… from your adoptive father.”
Justin felt his mouth go dry. The rain tapped on the glass of the shack rhythmically. Another bolt of lightning clapped overhead and filled the gloomy rooms with muted light. He had no idea what time it was. Afternoon perhaps? He had the sudden urge to stand up and open the door and walk into the storm and then continue walking until he reached London and everything that was familiar.
