her, shocked, horrified, perhaps disgusted at the thought of the mistake he'd almost made.
But she couldn't get her hands free—they were trapped between their bodies. He'd managed to restrain her with just one arm, and his hand reached up toward her hidden face.
"You don't want to do this," she said desperately.
"Of course I do. I've wanted to for a long time. Miss Spenser." And he pushed the hood from her head, caught her stubborn chin in one strong hand and kissed her.
Lina heard the sound first. A grating noise^ like some strange bird, she thought. A jackdaw or perhaps a crow. She opened her eyes and realized she'd fallen asleep beside Monty's chaise. She was sitting on the floor, fully dressed, her head cradled in her arms, and Monty slept on, oblivious to the most irritating bird that was...
No, that wasn't a bird. That was someone clearing his throat, and she lifted her head and turned, not bothering to rise, assuming it was simply Dodson with some tea and toast.
It wasn't. It was a man she'd never seen before, soberly dressed in black with white linen. No lace, no jewels, no ornament of any kind, and he was looking down on her with a shadowed expression that doubtless signaled deep disapproval. She felt herself flush. She, who prided herself on being shameless.
She started to rise, and he held out one hand to assist her. She'd planned to ignore it, but her legs were cramped and gave way beneath her, forcing her to reach to him for support. His was a strong hand, and not soft like those of the aristocrats who touched her.
"Has Montague converted to Catholicism without telling me or are you some part of his depraved activities?"
She was still wearing the wimple, though by now it was on crooked. She snatched it from her head, shaking her long black hair loose around her shoulders, and surveyed him for a moment. "I'm a part of his depraved activities," she said in a cool voice meant to deflate pretension. After all, he was only a vicar, not someone who had any right to judge her.
The man was unmoved. He wasn't a young man-perhaps close to forty if she were to guess by the deeply etched lines on his face. A handsome face, with deep brown eyes, a straight nose, high cheekbones and a stubborn mouth that on a less disapproving man might almost be called sensuous.
Not on this man.
"You must be the new vicar."
"You are very perceptive. I’m the Reverend Simon Pagett, here to take up the living." He glanced down at the sleeping Montague. "Is he dead?" he asked in a voice as cool as hers.
"Of course not!" she hissed. "How could you ask such a thing?"
"Simon's never been one to avoid the truth, no matter how ugly it is." Monty's voice came from the chaise, sepulchral and amused. "I'm afraid I'm not ready to stick my fort into the wall, dear boy.
Sorry to disappoint you."
"Good," the man said. "That means there's still time to save your soul." He glanced toward Lina.
"And your strumpet's soul as well."
Lina drew a deep, shocked breath, but Monty chuckled. "You know as well as I do that I haven't changed that much, Simon, even if you have. My strumpets are a different gender. Lina's a dear friend and I'll thank you not to insult her."
"From the local convent, no doubt," Simon said politely.
Montague snorted. "You'd best have a care, Simon. This is Lady Whitmore. I have no doubt there are at least half a dozen of her admirers who would gladly defend her honor from your prudish, judging ways. Of course.. .the term honor..." His smile at Lina took the sting out of his words.
"And where are those half-dozen men, Montague?" Simon said. "When I arrived I saw the carriages, and yet the house seems empty. Where are your licentious playmates?"
'They're at the abbey ruins. I've had it renovated, landscaped. It's really quite delightful, though I doubt you'd appreciate its all-too-human beauty. You'd be shocked."
"You lost the ability to shock me years ago, though you continue to try. How long have you been ill?" he demanded abruptly.
"It takes a number of years for consumption to kill a man. I don't pay any attention to it."
"I know you don't," Simon said severely. "And that's why you're in this current difficulty. You can no longer afford to burn the candle at both ends."
"It's the only way I know how to live. And I didn't invite