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Authors: Annette Blair
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thought of her . . . till she mentioned the church. He’d shut his mouth then to consider his options, and there’d been Gorham, Lacey’s veritable knight in shoddy armor, charging her attacker with a bejeweled lance. It appeared that even fake jewels glistened with a light on them.
That namby-pamby popinjay of a pauper had more teeth than brains; couldn’t Lacey see that? Yes, Gorham had certainly shone bright agains t hi s poor performance in defending Lace, Gabe thought morosely. The truth was, he’d feared venting feelings that would open a Pandora’s box. To his mind, admitting passion was a great deal worse than Prout’s ire.
First Gorham to contend with, and, botheration, now Nick was coming home. Gabriel had never been more frustrated in his life. Well, yes, he had been—more broken, at any rate.
Just the name Daventry brought it all back. Lord, he detested the man.
Gabriel remembered how frightened he’d been after he and Lacey had made love for the first time. Frightened and elated at one and the same time and eager, as well, to love her again despite the possible ramifications of their fall from grace.
But no worry had marred the perfection of their love in Lacey’s bright, happy eyes, or so he’d thought. Lace had glowed. She’d smiled. She was happy, at least for a time.
Then he heard the gossip, whispered throughout the parish. The Lady Lacey Ashton was with child. Disgraced. Her mother was enraged. He’d heard the woman had ranted and demanded for days that Lacey name the father, swearing to break the man responsible for her daughter’s fall.
Despite those threats, Gabe had gone to the Towers, hat in hand, to face the furious and powerful harridan, knowing he stood to lose his living, his very heritage—his grandfather’s and his father’s parish—Lacey’s mother was that mad.
Six months ordained, and he’d become a worse shepherd and manager than his forebears, and that was some grand failure.
Oddly enough, Gabe hadn’t cared. All he’d ever wanted was Lacey. Just the thought of the child they’d created with their love and, Lord, he’d been as mindlessly happy as he was mindlessly frightened.
He scoffed now remembering what a fool he was.
Lacey had met him that morning in the blue salon, just before her mother came down.
If he lived to be a hundred and ten, he would never forget Lacey’s words to him on that crisp fall day. “It’s not yours, Gabriel. My baby’s not yours. Nick Daventry is my child’s father.”
The words hurt even now. In that first horrific moment, they might have been an axe blade between his shoulders for the pain he’d felt.
From that day to this, as far as Gabriel was concerned, Nicholas bloody Daventry could go straight to hell.
Later, around six, he returned to the Rectory still troubled and noticed that the best parlor looked as if squirrels had taken up residence.
In the doorway, he stepped on something that cracked and picked up the arm of an ugly French figurine that had once belonged to his grandmother.
MacKenzie, mumbling and sweeping up its remains by the hearth, hadn’t yet noticed his presence. Neither had anyone else.
For the first time that day, Gabe felt himself relax.
Lacey had her head tucked beneath the front of the camel-backed settee, her crinolines bobbing into the air, affording him a lovely and shocking view of her sweet bottom, clad in what he believed were calle d pantalette s .
Never before, Gabe realized, had lust and tenderness and the urge to chuckle or wring someone’s neck, come upon him all at the same time.
“Can you see it?” Lacey called, obviously searching for something. But whom did she address?
“I can, almost, but it’s wiggling a lot,” Cricket said, either from behind or beneath said piece of furniture, judging by her muffled response.
“You have it, then?”
“Ouch. Not anymore.”
“Where did it go?”
“Up. Inside.”
Lacey’s quivering petticoats gave Gabe the impression she
That namby-pamby popinjay of a pauper had more teeth than brains; couldn’t Lacey see that? Yes, Gorham had certainly shone bright agains t hi s poor performance in defending Lace, Gabe thought morosely. The truth was, he’d feared venting feelings that would open a Pandora’s box. To his mind, admitting passion was a great deal worse than Prout’s ire.
First Gorham to contend with, and, botheration, now Nick was coming home. Gabriel had never been more frustrated in his life. Well, yes, he had been—more broken, at any rate.
Just the name Daventry brought it all back. Lord, he detested the man.
Gabriel remembered how frightened he’d been after he and Lacey had made love for the first time. Frightened and elated at one and the same time and eager, as well, to love her again despite the possible ramifications of their fall from grace.
But no worry had marred the perfection of their love in Lacey’s bright, happy eyes, or so he’d thought. Lace had glowed. She’d smiled. She was happy, at least for a time.
Then he heard the gossip, whispered throughout the parish. The Lady Lacey Ashton was with child. Disgraced. Her mother was enraged. He’d heard the woman had ranted and demanded for days that Lacey name the father, swearing to break the man responsible for her daughter’s fall.
Despite those threats, Gabe had gone to the Towers, hat in hand, to face the furious and powerful harridan, knowing he stood to lose his living, his very heritage—his grandfather’s and his father’s parish—Lacey’s mother was that mad.
Six months ordained, and he’d become a worse shepherd and manager than his forebears, and that was some grand failure.
Oddly enough, Gabe hadn’t cared. All he’d ever wanted was Lacey. Just the thought of the child they’d created with their love and, Lord, he’d been as mindlessly happy as he was mindlessly frightened.
He scoffed now remembering what a fool he was.
Lacey had met him that morning in the blue salon, just before her mother came down.
If he lived to be a hundred and ten, he would never forget Lacey’s words to him on that crisp fall day. “It’s not yours, Gabriel. My baby’s not yours. Nick Daventry is my child’s father.”
The words hurt even now. In that first horrific moment, they might have been an axe blade between his shoulders for the pain he’d felt.
From that day to this, as far as Gabriel was concerned, Nicholas bloody Daventry could go straight to hell.
Later, around six, he returned to the Rectory still troubled and noticed that the best parlor looked as if squirrels had taken up residence.
In the doorway, he stepped on something that cracked and picked up the arm of an ugly French figurine that had once belonged to his grandmother.
MacKenzie, mumbling and sweeping up its remains by the hearth, hadn’t yet noticed his presence. Neither had anyone else.
For the first time that day, Gabe felt himself relax.
Lacey had her head tucked beneath the front of the camel-backed settee, her crinolines bobbing into the air, affording him a lovely and shocking view of her sweet bottom, clad in what he believed were calle d pantalette s .
Never before, Gabe realized, had lust and tenderness and the urge to chuckle or wring someone’s neck, come upon him all at the same time.
“Can you see it?” Lacey called, obviously searching for something. But whom did she address?
“I can, almost, but it’s wiggling a lot,” Cricket said, either from behind or beneath said piece of furniture, judging by her muffled response.
“You have it, then?”
“Ouch. Not anymore.”
“Where did it go?”
“Up. Inside.”
Lacey’s quivering petticoats gave Gabe the impression she
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