Her heart jumped into her throat. She shrank back, falling onto the bed at the same time Joseph leapt up and shoved Sir Leonard hard in the chest with the heels of both of his hands.
Sir Leonard stumbled back.
“Leave her alone!” Joseph hollered. “You don’t point guns at ladies! And we’re down here because we have Christmas decorations, you witless worm! That’s right—you caught us celebrating Christmas,” he sneered. “What are you going to do about it? Are you going to turn us in, Sir Justice of the Peace? Or are you going to shoot us? Is this what your life has come to, harassing neighbors for celebrating holidays?”
“Damn right I’m going to turn you in! Right after I find Creath!” Following one last look around that failed to reveal her, Sir Leonard turned on a heel and stormed back up the steep staircase, his torch in one hand and the pistol still in the other.
Joseph rushed up the stairs after him. “Wait! The third step!”
Sir Leonard half-turned, but it was too late.
One leg crashed through the ruined step. Terror flashed in his eyes. His pistol went off. As the bullet hit the wall behind her, Chrystabel screamed and saw the rest of him plunge through the staircase.
With a great thump, he landed on his back, followed by a hideous crack as his head hit the rock-hard ground. He lay there half behind the staircase, his neck at an odd angle, his arms spread out to the sides. The torch guttered against the stone floor, plunging the room back into darkness except for a sliver of dim light that filtered in from the opening above.
It took a few seconds for Chrystabel to find her voice.
“Oh, my God, Joseph! Oh, my God! I think he’s dead!”
“What? Did you say something?” Still halfway up the stairs, Joseph shook his head. “I can’t hear you. Did you say something?”
“I yelled something!” She was yelling now as she rushed toward him. “I said Sir Leonard is dead! What’s wrong with you?”
“My ears are ringing. They hurt.” He shook his head again, then clapped his hands over his ears with a grimace. “They feel all clogged up.”
She gasped when his fingers came away coated in blood. “Joseph!”
“The gun went off right by my head, Chrysanthemum, and now I cannot hear you!”
TWENTY-FIVE
A month later
THE CHURCH OF St. Mary the Virgin was immediately adjacent to Tremayne Castle. A high, covered timber bridge linked the two buildings. The duke who built Tremayne had used the bridge to directly reach a church balcony that overlooked the sanctuary, so he could come and go and attend services without deigning to speak to any parishioners.
The duke didn’t sound like a nice man. Chrystabel thought maybe he’d deserved his beheading.
In any case, the bridge was long in disrepair, so the Ashcrofts and Trevors had walked out to the road and over to the church for the wedding on this fine, if cold, day. Since big church weddings were frowned upon by the Commonwealth government, there were only the seven of them attending and no parishioners to talk to, anyway.
As they weren’t really out in public, Chrystabel had decided to wear her new strand of pearls for her church wedding, together with a pre-Cromwell gown: a pale blue confection with silver scrollwork and seed pearls on the stomacher and underskirt. Joseph had gaped appreciatively when he saw she’d changed into it after this morning’s civil ceremony. Although they had already been declared man and wife by a Justice of the Peace, she didn’t feel married yet. She thought she might not feel married until after the wedding breakfast. She’d been planning the menu for weeks.
But this church service was taking so long that she feared half of the delicious meal might spoil before their families got to enjoy it.
The tall, majestic church had been built in stages over the last several centuries. It had a Norman doorway, a Gothic chancel, a Tudor bell tower, a soaring dark wood hammerbeam ceiling, and many beautiful, colorful stained glass windows. Standing before the intricately carved altar while the vicar read the interminable service, Chrystabel felt dwarfed in the enormous old building. But she couldn’t help smiling at the thought that she was getting married in the Church of St. Mary the Virgin when she wasn’t a virgin.
She was very much not a virgin now.
Down in the priest hole, when she’d told Joseph that his mother might be all right with them making love before marriage, she hadn’t really believed that. She’d just been trying to talk him into bedding her. But now she had to wonder, because either Lady Trentingham did question convention to that extent, or else the woman was completely oblivious.
Chrystabel had only had to seduce Joseph once.
After that, he’d taken over the seducing.
In the weeks since their betrothal, Joseph had made love to Chrystabel in his conservatory. He’d made love to Chrystabel in his bedchamber. He’d made love to her in her bedchamber, in the great room, in the library, and once in the kitchen when they’d sneaked down in the wee hours for a midnight snack.
That had ended up being a different kind of snack than the one Chrystabel had originally had in mind. A much better one.
It seemed they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He was constantly surprising her, teaching her new and different ways to enjoy each other. Though at first she’d found herself wondering where he might have learned all the different ways, she was far too busy feeling blissful to bother herself about that—so she’d decided he was just an inventive lover. When she envisioned their future, full of exciting days and even more exciting nights, she felt like the luckiest
