The Many Sins of Cris De Feaux (Lords of Disgrace)

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Authors: Louise Allen
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compare me. Now, stop jumping up and down on my toes, which is doing nothing for the state of my boots, and come and sit on the tree trunk and tell me all about it.’ She opened her mouth to speak. ‘And I am the soul of discretion, you need have no fear this will go any further.’
    ‘If you would allow me to get a word in edgeways, Mr Defoe, I would point out to you that I am unable to get off your toes, or move in any direction, because you still have your hands on my person.’ In fact they seemed to be encircling her waist, which was impossible, she was not that slim.
    ‘I have?’ He did not move, although she could have sworn that the pressure on her waist increased. ‘It must be a reflex. I was anxious that you were going to fall off.’ He still managed to maintain that austere, almost haughty, expression, except for a wicked glint in those blue eyes that should have looked innocent and instead held a wealth of knowledge and deep wells of experience. Thank goodness. He is going to kiss me.
    And then he...didn’t. Cris stepped back, released her and gestured to the tree trunk. ‘Shall we sit down and try this again? I will tie up your horse again, he is becoming confused.’
    ‘He is not the only one,’ Tamsyn muttered. Of course he was not going to kiss her. Whoever got kissed wearing a dreadful old hat like hers? Certainly no one being held by an elegant gentleman whose boots would probably have cost more than her entire wardrobe for the past five years.
    Cris came back to the tree and she noticed his cane was lying forgotten on the grass. ‘What else has happened besides the accident to the sheep yesterday?’ he asked as he sat beside her.
    ‘You will doubtless say we are simply imagining things.’
    ‘Try me. I can be remarkably imaginative myself when I want to be.’
    ‘A hayrick caught fire two weeks ago. Our little dairy herd got through a fence last week and strayed all over the parish before we caught them. All our lobster pots keep coming up empty. And now the sheep.’
    ‘All this in the span of two weeks?’ When she nodded he scrubbed his hand across his chin and frowned at the now-scuffed toes of his boots. ‘Even my imagination is baulking at that as a series of coincidences.’ His frown deepened and Tamsyn fought the urge to apologise for the state of his boots. ‘May I ask how your aunts are supported financially?’
    She saw no harm in telling him, none of it was a secret, after all. ‘Aunt Izzy has the use of Barbary Combe House and its estate for her lifetime, along with all the income to spend as she wishes. She also has the use of everything in the house for her lifetime. Anything she buys with the income is hers to dispose of as she wishes, as are the stock and movable assets of the estate. Aunt Rosie has a very respectable competence inherited from her father and other relatives. She has high expenses, of course, because of her health—she paid for the bathing room, which uses a lot of fuel, and she also consults a number of medical men. Both of them live well within their incomes.’
    ‘And you?’ Cris said it quite without inflection, as though he were her banker or her lawyer gathering the facts before advising on an investment. And there was no reason why she should not tell him. After all, establishing her non-existent pride was simply another fact for his calculations.
    ‘I have a small inheritance from my parents. Aunt Izzy makes me an allowance and in return I act as her land steward.’
    ‘And your husband?’
    The cool, impersonal voice left her no room for manoeuvre. Tamsyn shrugged. ‘Jory left me nothing. Or, rather, he had a fishing smack, a small house, nets, gear, firearms... All used in the commission of criminal offences, all seized by the Excise after his death. To have laid claim to anything would have been to admit I was a partner in his activities.’
    ‘And were you?’
    ‘I knew what he was doing, of course I did, even though he kept all the

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