opposite end of the communion rail, his face shielded by the very topiarylike hat of Mrs. Beacham.
A stranger then with the few faithful who came to early services. Charlotte peeked around the corner of her own bonnet again, but was rewarded with only the sight of Mrs. Beacham’s truly extraordinary hat. Receiving her wafer and sipping from the chalice, she returned to her seat. Curious now, she observed the broad shoulders clad in dark brown superfine, the unscuffed boot soles. Whoever the gentleman was, he had money.
She watched as he tipped his head forward. There was something about the close crop of hair-
Bay! Charlotte dropped her Book of Common Prayer. It fell with a clunk that reverberated through the near- empty church. Hastily, she bent to retrieve it, staying low as he walked back down the transept. Her blood rushed to the surface of her skin. She needed to leave at once.
Mrs. Kemble was more than capable. She could deal with the children for the Bible lesson in the rectory when they came. Half of them were hers anyway. Perhaps the rain would keep the others away. Charlotte inched down the pew, heart beating rapidly.
Mr. Kemble stepped down from the altar and made his way down the aisle. “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost be with us all ever more. Amen.”
Charlotte shot up as the bells began to ring, her heart racing. Bay was waiting in the vestibule, a tall beaver hat rolling in his hands. He was deep in discussion with Mr. Kemble. His face lit with mischief when he saw her. Charlotte clutched at her umbrella and prayerbook, wondering which would do more damage wiping the smirk off his face.
“Ah! Mrs. Fallon! The flowers are as ever lovely,” Mr. Kemble boomed. “This gentleman was just remarking on them. I told him you have one of the loveliest gardens in the village. Puts Mrs. Kemble’s to shame, it does.”
“Th-thank you, Mr. Kemble,” Charlotte stuttered.
“I would so love to see it. Gardens are a particular interest of mine,” Bay said smoothly. “One might say they tie me in knots.”
“B-but it’s raining!” Charlotte glared at him. Let Mr. Kemble think of it what he would.
“A little rain never harmed me. I’m used to much worse, I assure you. Kidnap. Torture. I was an army man. Mr. Kemble, perhaps you would do me the honor of introducing me to this young lady.”
It was on the tip of Charlotte’s tongue to give him a rousing set-down. Young lady! She had more gray hairs after her time with Bay than ever. He was not going to charm her ever again.
“Certainly, sir. Sir Michael, isn’t it? Haven’t a head for names, I’m afraid, a failing in my line of work, but I do know Mrs. Fallon’s. Pillar of the church. She made the altar cloth too. Mrs. Fallon, may I present Sir Michael-” The vicar looked helplessly at Bay.
“Sir Michael Xavier Bayard. It is a pleasure to meet you,
Charlotte flushed and fidgeted. “How do you do?” she asked her feet.
“Very well. Do say you can give me a tour of your garden before I am obligated to leave your charming village. Perhaps you have time now? Good morning to you, Mr. Kemble. Excellent service.” Bay put his gloved hand on her elbow and practically shoved her out the open door. In one fluid motion he took her umbrella and popped it open over them. Charlotte had no opportunity to beg off teaching Sunday school. She could only hope Mr. Kemble would make her excuses to Mrs. Kemble since it seemed she was practically being carried away by a forceful man with a heretofore undeclared passion for gardening.
“Why are you here?” Charlotte blurted.
He looped his arm through hers. The comfort and warmth of it was most unsettling. “London was a bit of a bore. I thought I’d go home for a bit, actually. To Bayard Court. It’s right on the coast, you know. June. Summer. Swimming and boating. I was rather hoping to persuade you to join me.”
Charlotte escaped his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous! Our association is over. Completely over.” Charlotte stepped in a puddle and lurched sideways. Bay tugged her close, saving her from going down in the mud.
“I don’t see why.”
“Oh, don’t you? I’ll have you know I was telling the truth when I said I was a respectable woman! This is my home, and I’ll not give the gossips any reason to talk. How dare you come to church?”
“I dare because I worry about my immortal soul. And yours. I often go to church.”
Charlotte snorted.
“I do, no matter your rude noises. My grandmama insisted upon it. You still think me a fiend, don’t you?”
Charlotte decided it was best to remain silent. She didn’t trust herself to speak coherently. They continued on the path. It seemed Bay knew exactly where he was going, which made her even more nervous.
Bay peered through the sheets of rain. “Little Muckup is a quintessential English village, isn’t it? It must be lovely on a sunny day. Thatched cottages. Climbing roses. And you, on the altar guild, arranging flowers and tatting lace. How homely. There are cats too, as I recall?”
She couldn’t resist elbowing him in the ribs.
“Don’t mock me! I’m very happy here! And you will ruin everything!” They turned into her lane. She would not let him into her home, she
“I have been completely discreet. I put up at the Pig and Whistle last evening and didn’t overindulge, although the local ale is very good, I must say. Even when the landlord-Mr. Braddock, is it?-tried to pry my life story out of me, I resisted all his efforts. I even asked your vicar to introduce us this morning. No one will have an inkling of our earlier association.”
“Association!” Charlotte stamped her foot, splashing more mud on her skirts. “You blackmailed me into becoming your mistress! I trust you got the necklace back?”
They were at her gate now. One of the cats darted under a bush. Unfortunately Charlotte could detect the very distinct aroma of cat arousal. Bay seemed oblivious. He passed her the umbrella, put a hand in his pocket, and pulled out the most magnificent rope of rubies and diamonds she had ever seen. The umbrella tipped. Charlotte shut her mouth before the raindrops fell in and she drowned.
“You can see why I was anxious to have it back, I trust. Mr. Mulgrew returned it to me the other day.”
“Uh.” How absurd she was being! As if jewels meant anything to her at all. She was not Deborah. No indeed. Her head would not be turned by sparkling cold stones-
Unbidden, Bay’s written words snaked into her head.
She edited out the “dearest Deborah” part, feeling gooseflesh wash over her body. It was just the chill from the ever-present rain, she assured herself, nothing more. She had read those foolish letters one too many times if she could quote them so readily. Why had she packed them into her bag and not left them at Jane Street, shut tight in a dark drawer? She would burn them in the stove today. Yes, she would.
Bay wiped a raindrop from the tip of her nose and righted the umbrella. “We’re getting soaked through, Charlie. Do you think I could beg a cup of tea from you? Perhaps a bit of bread? It’s hard to believe that summer is right around the corner.”
He was talking about the weather, impudent man. As though they had some sort of normal relationship. A relationship not predicated on bullying and sinful sex and sheer terror.
Charlotte’s lips thinned. “You must leave. I understand the Braddocks put on an excellent spread at the inn.”
Bay tsked. “Here I’ve come, all this way to see you, and you want to cast me off. I confess, Charlie, I’m wounded.”
“Good! You have been nothing but a pebble in my shoe, Sir Michael, since the instant you-you-”
“Brought you to heaven beneath all those cherubs? I do remember, Charlie. There was no talk of shoes and pebbles, but rather a lot of charming undulating and heavy breathing. And love bites.” He looked so very self- satisfied she wanted to shriek.
“I propose,” he continued, “that we start again. As if that week we shared never happened. Why, I met you in church just this morning and inquired after your garden. A hobby of mine.”
