The Vicar's Frozen Heart (19 page)

“It’s none of your damned business what I’ve been doing or what I am now,” he snarled.

Samantha stopped laughing. “It is when I send you letters and receive no response. Did you get them?”

“I received one. I tossed it into the fire unopened.”

Her eyes narrowed, her mouth turned down at the corners. “We are lovers and it is common courtesy to answer my queries.”

Tremain leaned on his cane, his leg and thigh burning with agony enough to match his fury. “I severed the connection before I left for South Africa and you well know it. There is nothing between us, nor am I interested in rekindling what little did exist. I’d rather chalk up the debauched affair to a brief moment of insanity. Your uncouth and unladylike behavior further serves to remind me why I ended my relations with you.”

“How dare you speak to me this way?” she screamed, her voice high-pitched enough to shatter glass. “You are lucky I was willing to give you another go, but now that I see you are a cripple and a dour priest besides, be damned if I will give you the time of day.” She stood and made a movement toward the door, but Tremain caught her wrist to halt her exit.

“You will not repeat what you’ve seen here. Or that you saw me at all.” He squeezed her arm and she winced, but also flashed him a furious look of pure hatred. Hard to believe he’d once shared a bed with this woman.

Samantha stepped closer and glared up at him. “When you get down on your knees to pray, if you are even physically capable of doing so, do you ask forgiveness for your many and varied sins?” She smiled cruelly. “Is it like when you got down on your knees in front of me? Your mouth was occupied with other things besides prayers, if memory serves. Remember all the ways you tied me to the bed and fucked me? Or when I flogged you with a riding crop and you begged for more? Or perhaps the time you made me get on my hands and knees and you…”

He stepped forward, grabbed her by the throat with his left hand and squeezed until she turned purple, sputtering foal oaths between each gasp of breath. With a grunt of disgust, he suddenly pulled his hand away. Keeping it there would only inflame her twisted lust. He understood that much about her.
Maintain control.
Briefly closing his eyes, he forcibly banked his anger. He would not give this woman what she wanted. “I am not the same man who indulged your depraved fantasies. It’s best you leave here as soon as possible.” He glowered, pointing to the door with his still raised hand.

Samantha’s eyes gleamed with malice and desire as she swept her hand under his coat and past his crotch, cupping his unresponsive tackle. “No. You are not the same man at all. A war injury?”

“No. I just don’t want you.”

With a huff, she picked up her parasol and headed for the door. She turned to meet his gaze. “I am on my way to London. The season is in full swing and I will ensure all in the ton are made aware of what I’ve observed here. How pitiable, the son of the Duke of Gransford, the virile Viscount Hawkestone, has lost his wits and is now a crippled, impotent country parson. A pathetic shell of his former self and an embarrassment to his family.”

This was not how he wanted his stint as a clergyman to end. Now he would embarrass his family and subject them to scandalous gossip. Even when he tried to help people they wound up hurt. And Eliza? He’d seen the look in her eye, anger mixed with shock and disappointment. Tonight, after they had made love, he’d planned to tell her everything about his life and family and why he perpetuated his deception. Last night he laid the groundwork when speaking of his war experiences. Damn it all, why didn’t he just tell her everything then and there?

Tremain walked over to the door and opened it. “Then you best be on your way to London.” He had no idea why Samantha was in Hawksgreen, nor did he care. No doubt on her way to catch a train from who knows where.

With her chin raised in the air, Samantha swept from the room, leaving a cloying scent of heavy perfume in her wake. Why did he ever become involved with such a malicious, debauched creature?
Bloody hell.
He sank into the chair to wait for the carriage to return.

* * * *

At first, Tremain wondered if Eliza would even bother to send the carriage back, but close to thirty minutes later it pulled up in front of the pub.

“Home, Vicar?” Terrance asked politely.

Tremain stepped up into the coach. “No. Hawkestone Estate.” He sat back and frowned. If there was one thing he abhorred it was drama, and he’d had his fill today. Perhaps it would be prudent to go to the vicarage instead, but he must see Eliza and try to explain. As pure as his motives were when he began this ruse more than two and a half years ago, he now realized the selfishness behind the subterfuge as well. When one is the second son of a duke and brought up in opulence and wealth, concern for others and their feelings often do not factor in decision-making.

But he truly did want to give something back. In his way he did, he must believe that much at least. Nonetheless, under his piousness and supposed self-sacrifice, he also wished forgiveness for himself and a healing of his battered soul. But at the crux of it all he’d only thought of himself, as he had the entirety of his life. Yes, he was a selfish being. He did not think how his actions would affect others. His family. His friends. A small boy. The woman he loved.

Tremain leapt from the coach before it had come to a full stop and banged on the front door with his walking stick. He pushed through as soon as it opened, but the footman called after him. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Colson, but Mr. Dibley would like to see you in the main parlor.”

Tremain gave a quick nod to Treves and headed down the hall. After entering the room, he slammed the door behind him. “I suppose Eliza informed you what happened in the village? Where is she, I must explain...”

Jon shook his head. “Miss Winston didn’t tell me much, but since she came back alone and in tears, I assumed something happened. She did say a woman called you Hawk.”

Tremain sat in the nearby wing chair, Jon sat opposite. “Lady Trimly.”

Jon winced. “Well, how unfortunate. Never understood what you saw in that harpy. So your secret is out.”

Tremain leaned his cane against the chair and ran his hands through his hair. “Samantha has vowed to spread it all through London.”

Jon crossed his arms. “From what I observed from the looks you and Miss Winston exchanged and the fact the sparks fairly sizzle between you both, I assume your relationship has moved toward the intimate.”

“Yes. In the last two nights.”

“Then why did you not tell her about yourself? I do hate to be the one to say I told you so....”

“Go ahead. I deserve it. Now I have exposed my family to scandal and malevolent gossip in my selfish attempt to repair my broken soul and I may have very well lost the woman I love.”

“Love? Well, that explains the depth of Miss Winston’s despair. I would suggest you leave her be for the moment. Emotions are running high. It would be wise to let things simmer for the rest of the day. However, there is one other person you must tell. Andrew Payne.”

Tremain slumped in his chair.
Of course.
What a muddle he’s made of this. “Have him brought to me, and Jon, I believe now would be the time to engage a young curate or priest to take my place. At the conclusion of Sunday services this week, I will confess all to my parishioners. I have made a complete mess of this, haven’t I?”

“Yes, but with the very best intentions. Though I didn’t initially agree with your stratagem, I understood your reasons and admired you all the more for them. I must admit it did help. You not only assisted others, but you healed in the process, or how else would you have allowed love to enter your heart?”

“I should have listened to you. After all, you warned me it could all end badly. And it has. How arrogant of me.”

Jon stood. “I’ll fetch the lad.”

In a few minutes, Jon returned, motioning to Drew to take the seat opposite Tremain. Jon gave him a reassuring smile and left the room.

“Have you seen Miss Winston?”

Drew nodded. “Aye...I mean...yes. She said she wasn’t feeling well and went to her room.”

Tremain cringed. Jon was right, now would not be the time to confront her. “I have something to tell you, Drew. Before I became a priest I was in the army, a captain in the Twenty-Fourth Regiment of Foot. I was injured during a scuffle with Zulu warriors and also was in the thick of things at the Battle of Rorke’s Drift in South Africa. Ever hear of it?” Drew’s eyes were wide and he shook his head. How to explain all this to a nine-year-old child? “I not only hurt my leg, but also suffered grievous wounds to my heart and soul. When I recovered I left the army and entered the church, which was to be my original career when I was younger. I wanted to help others and, in turn, help myself. But in doing so, I kept my real identity secret and I see now how selfish it was of me.”

Tremain waited to see if Drew absorbed any of this. “Then, who are you?” he asked.

“I am Viscount Hawkestone, second son of the Duke of Gransford.”

Drew gulped. “You’re The Hawk? Really?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I did not tell you sooner.”

Drew’s expressive blue eyes lit up with excitement. “Does that mean you will be coming to live here?”

Damn, he never considered that particular wrinkle. “Yes. I will be leaving my post as priest of this parish immediately.”

Drew leapt from his chair and threw himself in Tremain’s arms, shocking him. “Then we can be the best of friends.”

Tremain’s eyes grew moist and he embraced the boy tightly. “The very best.” Yes, as Jon said, he’d let love into his heart and this lad was a big part of it. When all was said and done, Drew may be the only person happy that he was Hawkestone. A sobering thought.

* * * *

Eliza stayed in her room the rest of the day, forgoing dinner, though Mrs. Hughes did send up a small tray with bread, cheese, and fruit, which she picked at. What she did do was indulge in a good, cleansing cry. Not something she engaged in much, but in this case the emotional outlet was sorely needed.

Forget how mortifying it was to come face-to-face with one of Tremain’s former mistresses. “I can fill the room with my past lovers,” he did tell her, after all. But to find out he was not merely a clergyman, but the son of a duke. Viscount Hawkestone, no less, her employer and benefactor.

She’d thought his smooth, upper-class accent was the result of his time in the army and his education. One did go to university to become a clergyman, didn’t they? Since he told her nothing of his background, she’d filled in the blanks herself by assuming he came from a middle-class environment and had been exposed to the upper class throughout his life. The son of a doctor or barrister, perhaps. Above her station to be sure, but not out of the realm of possibility. After all, she was educated far above her rank. To be blunt, she was an orphan and a servant with notions of grandeur. Well, she’d certainly been brought down a few pegs.

The belief she could be a partner to an educated vicar was bad enough, but to align herself with a viscount? It could not happen. It wasn’t done, nor accepted by anyone from any class of life. What lay between them was over. How could he not tell her? Clenching her fist, she held it to her chest. Her heart broke. She’d fallen in love with a viscount and nothing could ever come of it.

Suddenly, Eliza sat upright. She was to go to him tonight. There was nothing else for it, she must resign her position. What if he moved into the manor house? She would be there as his employee. Nothing else. How awkward would that be?
Best to cut it clean.
Dashing away a few wayward tears from her cheek, she reached for her cloak and slipped it on.

One of the worst things to endure from this horrid mess? She would have to leave Drew, and that would hurt almost as much as leaving Tremain. She adored the lad. After stepping out into the dim hallway, she scurried down the stairs and then out the back entrance.

Lifting her skirts, she ran all the way to the vicarage. Best to do this now, while she possessed the courage. She pounded on the door and it opened. Tremain stood in the doorway dressed in black trousers and a white shirt, open to the waist. Damn the man for being so appealing. “I didn’t think you would come.”

“I am not staying. I have something to say.”

Tremain stepped aside. “Then you best come in and say it.”

He closed the door behind her. She met his gaze. Ah. The cold mask was firmly in place. Then she could do the same. “Tomorrow, I will be writing to the Governesses Benevolent Institution to advertise for a replacement for me, though I will stay in the position until a suitable candidate can be found. I would ask you give me a good reference, your lordship.”

He flinched at her last words. “If you would let me explain...”

“There is nothing to explain. I can even begin to understand the reasons for your lie. However, when things between us grew serious and intimate, why did you not tell me everything before you took me to your bed? Do you think so little of me? Did I not deserve the truth of your proper identity so I could make a reasonable decision?”

“Yes. You did deserve the truth. I am sorry.”

She clasped her hands. “I thank you for the apology. Whatever was between us is now at an end. Surely you see it cannot continue. A penniless, orphan governess and the son of a duke, a viscount in his own right? It simply isn’t done.” She was amazed she managed to keep her voice steady and coated it with a layer of frost for emphasis.

He did not react. “You must do what you think is best.” His tone sounded frostier than hers.

“Ah. The vicar with the frozen heart has returned. Good-bye, your lordship.” She gave him a stiff, formal curtsy and turned to leave.

Eliza clasped the doorknob when he said, “You wish to end it like this? You will not allow me to try and explain?”

“Yes. I wish to end it exactly like this. I thank you for everything you did for me. Goodbye...Trey.” She turned the handle, slipped out the door, and ran toward the estate, tears trailing down her cheeks. He did not come after her. Did not hold her there and force her to listen to his varied reasons for his deception. Instead, he let her go. And that hurt worse than the subterfuge itself.