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U nease spread through Tabitha, a feeling she couldn’t quite shake.

Why did this man create such confusion in her mind?

He seemed pleasant enough, and her aunt’s guests clearly adored him.

They laughed at his jokes, hung on his words, and treated him like a cherished friend.

But despite all that, something about him felt…

off. There was a certain falseness to him, a sense that he was hiding something beneath the surface.

She shouldn’t judge him so harshly when she barely knew him. Perhaps she was being unfair. Yet it was his wink—so casual, so confident—that truly unsettled her.

A shiver ran down her spine at the memory, though she couldn’t tell whether it was from discomfort or something else entirely. Disgust? Or was it, strangely enough, a flicker of delight?

Either way, she brushed the thought aside. It wouldn’t do to dwell on it. Whatever strange feeling he stirred in her, she had no choice but to treat Mr. Woodland kindly and with respect. After all, everyone else seemed to approve of him, and for now, that was enough.

“You flatter me too much, Mr. Woodland. I’ve never had singing lessons. Well, not professionally, that is. My mother is the one who taught me how to sing.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Indeed? Well, then you truly have a talent beyond compare.”

Heat consumed her face. She really hated it when people made her blush. “Thank you, again. I do recall that my mother had the perfect singing voice.”

The clergyman placed another sweetmeat on his plate. “I would enjoy hearing about your mother, Miss Tabitha. She sounds like a true angel.”

Tabitha smiled. “She was indeed. She died when I was in my sixteenth year.” She released a heavy sigh. “I miss her so much.”

“Forgive me if I brought back bad memories for you. That was not my intention.”

“I know.” She shook her head. “I don’t have any bad memories of my mother, only pleasant ones. I just wish she hadn’t died so young.”

“I do understand what you’re feeling. Death is not something anybody wishes on people, yet it’s a part of life. Unfortunately, we all must experience the pain of losing someone sooner or later.”

“Yes, we must. How else would we know happiness if we have never felt sorrow?”

Suddenly, the color of his eyes softened—if that were at all possible—and he stroked his hand over his hairy chin. Another chill swept through her, and she wanted to scream with frustration. Why did she act this way?

“Such a profound thing to say, Miss Tabitha, but you are correct.” He cocked his head. “Perhaps you would like to give a sermon one of these Sundays about that topic?”

She laughed loudly then quickly slapped a hand over her mouth. Shaking her head, she lowered her hand. “Oh, Mr. Woodland. You are very humorous. There’s no way I’m qualified to give sermons. I’ll leave that in your capable hands.” She held up her palm. “As you can see, these hands are not saintly.”

When he grasped her hand gently, her heart nearly stopped. Why had he touched her so personally? Yet his eyes lightened with a familiarity that she didn’t understand, and when he brushed his thumb across her palm, her heartbeat quickened. The feeling was quite disturbing.

“Forgive me for saying, Miss Tabitha, but they look perfect to me.”

Oh heavens! Why did he say that? And for goodness’ sake, why did her heart continue to speed up? This was not good.

“Uh, thank you, Mr. Woodland.” Slowly, she slid her hand away from his touch. “But I still don’t think your parish would agree to having someone like me teach them about God.”

“And why not? Are we not all God’s children?”

She suppressed a growl of frustration. Quickly, she reasoned that he was just making small talk and that was the reason he kept pressing the issue. She gave him her best smile, even if it was forced. “Indeed we are, but some of us are more qualified for giving sermons than others.”

His chest shook with a light chuckle and his eyes sparkled. As before, the feeling of familiarity came over her. Did she know him? She must. Yet she didn’t have any opportunities in her life to mingle with ministers.

“Mr. Woodland, it has been very nice talking with you, but I should go see how my aunt is doing.”

“Of course you should. Perhaps I shall see you again on Sunday?”

Tabitha hesitated, unsure how to respond.

She didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t set foot in a church since shortly after her mother passed away.

The grief had been too raw, the idea of sitting through a service unbearable.

And besides, she feared that confessing this to Mr. Woodland might invite an impromptu sermon, one she wasn’t prepared to hear.

Although she wanted to avoid the topic, she was certain that Aunt Clara and Mrs. Stiles would likely insist she accompany them to church soon enough.

She could already imagine their gentle prodding and well-meaning insistence.

It was only a matter of time before she found herself sitting in a pew, whether she liked it or not.

“I’m sure I’ll be there.”

“Marvelous. Then I bid you goodbye until Sunday. I’m already looking forward to hearing you sing.” He winked.

He did it again! Why did he keep winking? And why did she feel as if she knew him?

Without another word, Tabitha turned and made her way toward Sally, who stood quietly in the corner of the room, watching the guests with the practiced attention of a servant ready to assist. As she walked, Tabitha’s mind wandered, puzzling over the strange encounter with Mr. Woodland.

She couldn’t recall any other man ever winking at her—not in such a way, at least.

Well, except for the man she wished she could remove from her mind—Lord Hawthorne.

The mere thought of his name sent a wave of anger coursing through her.

That insufferable man! He had treated her like she was special, a princess, even—only to turn around and accuse her of something so vile, so unforgivable.

Murder.

The memory still burned, a festering wound that had never quite healed. She had no idea what had become of him, but part of her hoped he was rotting in hell for what he had done to her.

She clenched her fists as she neared Sally, determined to shake the memory of Lord Hawthorne from her mind. He was a part of her past—one she would never forgive—but she refused to let him poison her present.

Suddenly, unbidden images of Dominic’s face filled her mind—his mischievous smile, his rich laugh, and, most vividly, that flirtatious wink that had always made her insides tremble.

She had never been able to forget the way his eyes sparkled, a constant twinkle that had always betrayed his playful nature.

That twinkle was unmistakable, as was the way he carried himself, with a confidence and charm that could hardly be hidden.

So much like…

Her heart pounded in confusion as she spun around, searching for the clergyman. There he was, standing with a small group of men near the far wall, listening intently to their conversation. Just then, his smile broadened, and he threw his head back in laughter, the sound rich and familiar.

Shivers raced up her spine, her skin tingling as though it were on fire. There was no mistaking it now. Her confusion melted away, replaced by a startling realization that shook her to her core. Lord Hawthorne in the flesh!

But why on earth was he here, dressed as a man of God? What was Dominic Lawrence, Marquess of Hawthorne, doing in this small town, hiding behind a false identity?

*

Tabitha paced the length of her bedroom, her mind swirling with uncertainty.

She clenched and unclenched her hands, trying to calm the storm of emotions brewing inside her.

Aunt Clara had called last night’s party a success, but to Tabitha, it had been anything but.

What was supposed to be a pleasant evening had turned into a confusing puzzle she couldn’t shake.

Was Mr. Woodland really Dominic Lawrence, the Marquess of Hawthorne?

Or was her mind playing tricks on her? She replayed in her mind every interaction with the man.

She had watched him closely throughout the evening, looking for the telltale signs—the familiar expressions, the subtle mannerisms. But within an hour, he’d made his polite excuses and left, leaving her no closer to confirmation.

She hadn’t dared mention her suspicions to Sally.

Her maid had been through enough, and Tabitha knew the mere idea of Lord Hawthorne being nearby would send Sally into a spiral of fear.

Their shared history was too dark, too painful.

After what had happened with Lord Elliot, the mere thought of another powerful man in their lives felt like a shadow creeping back in.

Sally, always on edge, would not react well if she believed Dominic was the clergyman.

Tabitha’s own past weighed heavily on her, memories of Lord Elliot seeping in like poison she couldn’t expel.

Both she and Sally had suffered under his cruelty when they worked for him, enduring the worst kind of abuse.

Tabitha had lost count of the times she had wished for his death, her hands shaking with the urge to end him herself.

When the news of his demise had finally reached her, she had felt no sorrow—only a grim satisfaction that the world was rid of one more monster.

She hadn’t killed Lord Elliot with her own hands, but in her heart, she had wished it every day.

Now, standing in the silence of her room, the past felt like a dark cloud over her.

And if Dominic Lawrence—Lord Hawthorne—truly was here disguised as Mr. Woodland, then she had to ask herself why.

What was his purpose? And most importantly, could she trust him—or would he prove to be another dangerous man she would have to guard herself against?

Did that make her a sinner? If so, then she would certainly go straight to hell.