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“Me neither.” She kept beside him, continuing to study his expressions. “But I really don’t wish to.”

“You don’t?”

“Not now. Several months ago he accused me of something so vile that I cannot forgive him.”

“Never? Oh, Miss Tabitha, you must forgive him. Have you not read the Good Book? God wants us to forgive—”

“Yes, I’ve read the Good Book, and although I might be sinning for refusing to forgive Lord Hawthorne, I just cannot. Not yet.”

“But it’s been six months.”

Her mind came to a halt. Had she told him how long it’d been? No, she specifically remembered telling him several instead of an actual number. Only Nic would know it had been that long ago. She highly doubted the clergyman would know.

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. My heart is not allowing me to forgive him.”

He stopped again and leaned on his walking stick. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, I shall pray for you that your heart may be softened soon.”

She fisted her hands and quickly folded her arms to keep him from seeing. “I thank you for your concern, Mr. Woodland.”

“You know,” he continued, stepping closer, “my cousin really is a good man, and he does have a kind heart.”

“So his only flaws are that he’s judgmental and speaks without thinking first?” She shook her head. “Oh, that can’t be all of his flaws. He is arrogant beyond belief, which is probably his worst imperfection.”

His jaw hardened and she noticed a muscle in his cheek jump.

She tried not to laugh. Obviously, he didn’t like hearing the truth.

Well, if he was playing the clergyman and trying to fool her and the rest of the town, she would make his life difficult.

One way or another, she’d make him confess and come out of hiding.

*

A few awkward seconds passed as Nic boiled inside. He fought a constant battle, both with his mind and his heart. Honestly, he didn’t think Tabitha should hate him this much, yet now he knew her true feelings.

How could he convince her he wasn’t such a bad man? How could he make her see he indeed had a heart and was kind? No matter what Frederick said, Nic knew his cousin’s plan wasn’t going to work. But he didn’t dare confess to her right now. Perhaps another day.

“As I’m sure you are aware,” he said slowly, trying to think of something a minister would say, “we are all imperfect people. Only God is perfect.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” She started walking.

Her expression was hard, and her eyes were sad.

He wished he knew what to do so she would think differently about him.

He’d do anything he could. True, his ego couldn’t stand knowing that a woman didn’t hold him in high regard, but mainly he couldn’t stand knowing that she wouldn’t forgive him.

He’d been human six months ago when he thought she’d killed those two lords for abusing their servants.

What else was Nic supposed to think when he’d overheard her telling Sally one time that she had wished for Lord Elliot’s death—and then another time when he heard Tabitha tell Diana that she had thought about killing Lord Elliot and Lord Hollingsworth with her bare hands? How could he not assume the worst?

A few more minutes passed in silence, and guilt weighed heavily on his chest. Taking a deep breath, he released it slowly. Perhaps he needed to change the subject. Talking about the past was disturbing her greatly. He needed to make her happy again.

“So, Miss Tabitha, when will you allow me to hear your beautiful singing voice again?”

She stumbled and gazed at him with wide eyes. “Are you jesting?”

“Not at all. I have thought of nothing else since hearing you last evening. I would like it very much if you’d grace my congregation on Sunday and sing us a hymn.”

A laugh burst from her mouth, sounding more like a snort. She shook her head, but a smile stretched across her face.

“Mr. Woodland, I think you’re insane for wanting to hear me sing again. The only reason I tried to sing last night was because Aunt Clara requested it.”

“Then perhaps I should have your aunt request you sing a hymn on Sunday?”

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “Not if you don’t want to walk with a permanent limp.”

It was his turn to let out a loud laugh. “Oh, Miss Tabitha, you are truly a spirited woman, and you say the most humorous things. I enjoy that.”

“Then if you wish to keep enjoying my humor, I suggest you not ask me to sing again.”

“If you insist. I would hate for you to hide the talent God has given you.”

She didn’t say anything more to him, turning her head to gaze across the sea. He wanted to say something that would make her happy—that would make him happy to see her smiling once again. But his mind drew a blank. Not very often did that happen.

“Oh look,” she said, pointing down toward the beach, “there is Mr. Jacobs.”

Nic peered toward the beach. Mr. Jacobs looked to be enjoying the late morning with his daughter, Joanna.

The seven-year-old girl dashed away, looking on the sand as if she searched for something.

Her father limped along, leaning heavily on his crutch.

Jacobs called for Joanna to come back, but she got farther away.

He hobbled quickly to try and catch up to his daughter.

Immediately, Nic could see Joanna wasn’t listening and not doing what her father had asked.

As the girl ran closer to the water, Jacob’s voice lifted in panic.

The girl reached the damp sand and stumbled.

Within seconds, she disappeared into what looked to be a hole.

Jacobs tried to run, but because of his gimpy leg, he tripped and fell to his knees.

Nic peered across the water. The tide was coming in, and quickly. If they didn’t get that girl out of the hole, the water would soon cover her—and drown her.