Read Online Scandal's Reward by Jean R. Ewing - Free Book Online

stopped, not even for the normal break times. Even the children toiled the same long, hot hours in the baking sun.
    Devil Dagonet was right: the people were worked too hard. Why were extra hands not hired to help?
    Clouds of dust rose from the field and the lanes were powdered with fine dirt. In spite of her parasol and bonnet, Catherine felt as if she were being slowly roasted, but she couldn’t bear to go back into the house. Instead she walked thoughtfully up past the lake and followed Rye Water into the cool shade of the woods.
    She soon arrived at the little grotto, carved out between low cliffs. Part of the stream had been diverted so that it ran over the blunted curves of a stone nymph and flowed unendingly into a pool from her upturned urn. Between the base of the cliff and the edge of the water, the patch of short turf was intermingled with moss, yet a briar rose had managed to take root on the face of the rocks and still held a few late flowers.
    The pool shimmered invitingly in the dappled light.
    Catherine took off her bonnet and dabbled her fingers in the water. It felt delicious.
    The temptation was overwhelming. She knew the routine of every member of the household. Lady Montagu and her offspring would be gone all day. No one would come here.
    She hesitated only another moment, before stripping off her half boots and stockings. Why not?
    * * * *
    Water splashed, like a musical accompaniment. Someone was in the grotto, singing an old folk ballad in a soft soprano.
    “We lingered where the water flows, sweet promises her eyes did make; I gave her but a single rose, but she my heart and soul did take.”
    Dagonet walked out of the trees and up onto the rocks above the grotto.
    He looked down at the pool. Desire, pure, forbidden, pierced him like a lance.
    Miss Catherine Hunter had flung aside bonnet, shawl, and parasol, and left her boots and stockings on the grass. Her green-striped muslin dress fell straight from the high waistline just below her breasts. Puff sleeves bared her arms. She was paddling thigh-deep in the pool, her skirts gathered up in one hand, while she splashed water over her neck and shoulders with the other. In the sun-dappled light she seemed ethereal.
    Yet her naked legs gleamed. His attention riveted on the smooth white of her thighs, her calves and ankles, the tender step of her feet. Cold water ran in rivulets, tracing the curves of her neck and breasts. The wet fabric of her dress was almost translucent.
    Damnation, damnation, damnation! Reverend Hunter’s innocent, lovely daughter—impossible! Never, never for him!
    She was totally oblivious to his presence. He should leave.
    Instead, he climbed silently down the cliff face, leaned back against the rock where it met the short turf, and softly took up the song.
    “I am a knight without a grail, I am a tower without a dove; I am a ship without a sail, and lost am I without my love.”
    * * * *
    Catherine spun about and felt color rush to her cheeks. Devil Dagonet!
    He looked perfectly relaxed, as if he came across young women losing all sense of propriety every day. His jacket was flung over one shoulder. Broken sunlight mottled white shirt and tan riding breeches, and struck dull lights in his dusty boots. His dark hair fell over his forehead, disordered, as if he had just run his fingers through it, but a wicked smile lurked at the corners of his lips.
    “What?” she asked. “Only an old folk song? No pertinent quote from the poets, sir?”
    He dropped his jacket on the grass and crossed his arms over his chest. Carefully banked desire shone in his gaze, yet with a touch of yearning—as if for something deeper . . . the right to even be there?
    “I’m struck dumb, Miss Hunter. Pray, don’t let me disturb you! You present such a charming picture, I shall be desolate if you don’t go on singing.”
    “Then be desolate! How dare you stand there and watch me? Any true gentleman would have left without making his presence known,