dried herself as he watched. He was flabbergasted by her audacity, aroused by her nudity, and perplexed in the extreme.

What had happened to her?

The last time they’d spoken, she’d been a quivering, apologetic rabbit who was frightened of her own shadow. Now she was . . . was . . .

He didn’t know what she was, but the trip to Belgium had changed her. This Josephine Merrick was bold and blunt and shameless, and he was too stunned to comment for he had no idea what to say.

“Is Annie asleep?” she asked.

“Yes, finally.”

“That girl can talk! After the excitement over our arrival, I doubted she’d ever be able to rest.”

“I didn’t think she would either.”

“She’ll calm down once she’s been at Stafford awhile, once she accepts that she won’t have to ever leave. She was so nervous about seeing you again.”

“She needn’t have been.”

“I told her that, but she’s a child. Telling her and having you prove it are two different animals.”

She expounded as if she was an expert on parenting, as if she was a nanny or governess or had birthed a dozen babies herself. She was a mystery beyond his comprehension.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“In your room do you mean?”

“Yes—here in my bedchamber. Why are you?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

Galvanizing his attention, she ran the towel round and round her breasts, then tossed it away. She marched over to a hook on the wall, pulled down his robe, and put it on. The sleeves were too long, so she rolled them up, but she didn’t cinch the belt, so the center of her lush torso was on display.

She sauntered toward him, the hem of the garment wafting behind her. He had a perfect view of bosom, belly, mons, and thighs, and he shouldn’t have stared, but he couldn’t help it. When desire sizzled so fiercely between them, it was impossible not to want her.

She snuggled herself to him. On the way over, she’d grabbed a glass off the dresser—whiskey from the smell of it—and she downed the contents in a single swallow.

“You’re drinking . . . liquor?” he stammered.

“I’ve discovered that I enjoy it. It relaxes me.”

“Who are you?” he teased. “Have we met?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“I could swear you’re Josephine Merrick, the vicar’s widowed sister.”

“Didn’t you hear? Vicar Blair killed Josephine. Someone came back in her place and is hiding in her body.”

“Who came back?”

“A new sort of woman, one who will engage in any wild behavior, one who is madly, passionately in love with you.”

“What?” He shook his head. “I don’t understand you at all.”

“What’s to understand? I suddenly find myself eager to wed a sexy, hardened soldier.”

“That would be me?”

“Yes, that would be you.”

“What about your brother?”

“I don’t care about Oscar. Lord Stafford can do whatever he wants to him.”

“And Annie?”

“I love her, and I will be her mother. You’re not marrying anyone else. You’re not letting anyone else raise her.”

“But people might gossip. People might complain about her being here, that she’s my natural daughter.”

“Then they’ll have to deal with me.”

He studied her ferocious gaze, her firm expression. Josephine Merrick had gone to Belgium, and yes, someone else had definitely returned.

“You want to marry me?” he said.

“Yes, and you haven’t proposed. I suggest you get on with it—before I change my mind.” She kissed him slowly, seductively, her tongue in his mouth, her hands on his ass. “There are two things you should probably know first.”

“Uh-oh. What are they?”

“For my wedding gift, I need you to give me some money.”

“What for?”

“I stole the collection money from Oscar—to fund my trip to Belgium.”

“You stole it?”

“Yes.”

He laughed and laughed. “Your brother was almost hanged over it. We thought he was lying, besmirching your deceased memory.”

“No, it was me, but I can’t start our life together on such a wicked note. I promised the Lord I’d pay it back. So . . . will you help me?”

“Of course I will. What is the second thing?”

“You and I, Lt. Price, are going to have a baby.”

His breath hitched in his lungs. “We’re . . . what?”

“We’re having a baby.” She shrugged out of his robe, and it slid to the floor. “It seems I’m not barren after all. Now let’s go to bed. I’m exhausted.”

She clasped his wrist and led him over to it. He followed like a puppet on a string.

“No peeking.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m serious. Don’t look until we tell you.”

“I won’t, I won’t!”

Emeline kept her eyes tightly closed. Nan and Nell were guiding her. Annie Price, their best friend in the entire world, tagged along behind. Emeline had to trust that, between the three of them, they wouldn’t let her trip over a stump or fall in a hole.

They had coaxed her into the village, claiming Lt. Price had given them pennies to buy ribbons for their hair. Yet once they’d arrived, another plan had presented itself.

They were escorting her somewhere, and Emeline was glad to have their secret revealed. For some time, it had been obvious they had a scheme brewing. There’d been giggles and whispers and conversations that halted when she entered a room.

Whatever mischief they’d hatched, she hoped it wasn’t awful, that she could smile through the unveiling.

“Are your eyes still closed?” Nan inquired.

“Yes.”

“No peeking!” she warned again.

“I’m not.”

They were next to a building, and inside, Emeline could hear people frantically murmuring, “She’s here! She’s here! Ssh!”

It wasn’t her birthday, so what could it be?

A door creaked, and Emeline was pulled across the threshold. Nell and Nan cried, “Open up. Look!”

Emeline obeyed and was stunned to find herself in a schoolhouse. It was newly constructed, with desks, slates, books, and maps on the walls. If she had sat down and drawn a picture of the ideal spot for teaching, this was the exact scene she would have imagined.

At the front, a crowd was gathered around the teacher’s desk: Stephen and Jo Price, hastily wed and with a babe on the way. The vicar, Ted Smith. Mr. Templeton, Mrs. Brookhurst, and other neighbors who had been friends of her parents, who had watched her grow up in Stafford.

Off to the

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