Page 37

“For crossing lines of command,” Hew said. “I’m a gunner, not a sapper, as you said.”

“Thas why they buried you here with some meaningless task.” Daron shook his head.

“As if the French would dare invade British soil. The Frogs are off preying on the weak, trying to build their little empire. And you’re here, Captain Vaughn, about to have all those honors stripped away.

” Daron glanced at the other young women, inviting them to share his disdain. “Shame.”

“The matter will be decided by the proper authorities,” Hew gritted out. “And if I did wrong, I’ll take my punishment for it.”

Anne wished she could smack her brother across the mouth and stop his cruel taunts.

That Daron, who had never bestirred himself to a useful task in his life, should sneer at a military hero who had taken blows in a battle for a just cause.

And who now, returned home, actively searched for ways to shore up his family’s fortunes and invest in the town he found growing exponentially.

“You forget the French tried to invade Wales just two years ago,” Anne said tartly.

Without thinking she laced her fingers through Hew’s, exactly as if she were promised to him and had the liberty of a public touch.

“I don’t imagine many of us would know the first thing about defending ourselves, but Captain Vaughn is trained to do exactly that.

He’s only been home a few days and already has found ways to improve the area.

Some men interest themselves in more than how to line their own pockets. ”

Daron stared at her, then narrowed his eyes at Hew. The back of Anne’s neck prickled. She’d declared her allegiance, and it was not to her brother. Not anymore.

John Jones, noting that Lady Vaughn was starting to dispose the party toward going into dinner, took Margaret Griffith’s arm. This effectively cut out Mr. Edwards, who was standing right beside the girl.

“Miss Sutton,” Jones drawled, “you show your loyalty to Greenfield already. What an addition you’ll make to the Vaughn family.”

“Perhaps it’s not Calvin she’s after,” Daron said. “P’raps she wants a bigger prize.”

That was all it took. Daron held out his arm to May Powell, who leaned close with a curious whisper. The gossip that Anne was faithless and Hew a seducer of his brother’s intended would blaze through the room before everyone was seated at table.

Anne realized then that her fingers were solidly entwined with Hew’s, his arm anchoring hers to his side.

He was firm and strong and the heat from his body warmed her in ways that were not appropriate for a genteel drawing room.

She couldn’t tell if her stomach were turning flips because the gossip was out—despite Lady Vaughn’s best efforts—or because Hew watched her with consideration, curiosity, a hint of shadow in his eyes.

Guarded, still, and not entirely convinced she was his ally.

She was, though. They were in this together, sink or swim.

Good thing Anne knew how to swim.

“We’ve been betrayed,” she murmured.

“Betrayed how?” He moved his thumb over the back of her hand.

The motion soothed and excited her interest at the same time, a response that did not at all feel as contradictory as it should have.

Everything in her was rushing headlong toward him, without the slightest regard for her safety, and everything in her was convinced he would catch her and break her fall.

“Your mother was trying to contain the scandal. She was telling her friends I was yet promised to Calvin.”

Hew could still be taken away from her. That was the thing. She’d tricked him into seducing her, snared him with his own sense of honor. She couldn’t force him into a ruinous, loveless match with her when he deserved so much more.

Where did that leave them, then, trapped in their own separate vises?

“Which of us do you want to stand by you, Anne?”

She stared at him. “You don’t know?”

“You are not easy to read.”

That seemed manifestly untrue. Surely her emotions were written plain upon her face. Her emotions of this immediate moment, at least.

But she had no business letting sentiment or whim dictate her movements. The world held infinite dangers for a woman alone. She must be wise.

She turned toward the dining parlor, following the other guests as they trailed in, paired or singly. “My mother taught me a lady cannot afford to be transparent. She should not let her inclinations be known until she has secured the gentleman’s interest.”

“Believe me, I have no desire to compel you against your will,” Hew said in a low voice. “But if your brother spreads tales, I can do no less than stand by my offer to you.”

Marriage. Lifelong, irrevocable, unbreakable in the eyes of God.

Anne shied away, keeping her gaze trained on the table as it came into view, a broad mahogany expanse draped in gleaming white linen and laden with cut glass bowls and crystal goblets.

All of Lady Vaughn’s wealth and taste on lavish display.

Outside the windows, the green forested hills rolled out into an opulent vista, further sign of Greenfield’s splendor.

This was the world she’d been born and bred to, and she’d moved through it all her life like a puppet on a stage, following the script set out for her.

That script had failed her, brought her to ruin and nothing.

She’d seen a path forward today, in the kitchen at St. Sefin’s, when she realized she could learn what Dovey and Eilian and Cerys knew, the ways of plants and women’s pathways and healing.

When she’d understood she could step out into the unknown and trust her own wits to catch her.

Marriage to Hew was just another version of the old path that had failed her. Even if his arm were strong beneath her hand, his heat a solid and steady wall. Marriage was a pen that would curtail the futures of both of them, yoking her to a path she no longer wanted to tread.

Besides, she’d sacrificed her right to be ranked among the May Powells and Margaret Griffiths of the world when she threw modesty and chastity and decorum to the wind and tucked herself into Hewitt Vaughn’s bed.

But this was his world, the world he’d gone abroad and fought to protect, the world he’d come home to for peace and shelter and ease.

He deserved a lovely, gentle, pure woman who would adore him, would thrive in this potted life, the flowering lady at his side.

Not some fierce creature eager, nay, desperate to stretch her new wings.

His arm beneath her hand was only there because she had forced it. And their alliance was not one of fascination, or even affection, but because she had left him no other choice.

She couldn’t hold him—either of them—to that.