Page 66 of The Return of the Rake

Anne huffed, mirroring his stance by folding her arms and looking mutinous. “I never took you for a stick-in-the-mud.”

“You may call me as many names as you like,” he said devoutly. “It won’t change a thing.”

Anne made a sound of sheer exasperation but could find nothing sensible to say.

“Which makes me wonder what your real name is,” he added curiously.

“Miss Anne Harding,” she replied, scowling at him.

“Ah, don’t, Anne,” he said, soothing now as he came and sat back down beside her. “I promise you I’m dying with wanting you. It’s no easy thing to play the gentleman and I’ve little experience with it. Help me out, darling, please.”

Anne glanced at him, seeing such sincerity in his eyes, such a desire to be everything that he ought for her sake that she could not remain cross with him

“Oh, very well. If you are determined to be honourable about it, who am I to deny you?” she said, smiling reluctantly. “I know you are doing what you think is right, as you have always done. I have always admired that about you, so I can hardly complain now, can I?”

She reached out and stroked his cheek. It was dreadfully hard to resist the urge to kiss him, but she did it, for his sake if not her own.

He made a sound low in his throat and then sprang to his feet again. “I think I’d best be going,” he said gruffly. “If you keep looking at me like that, I shall hate myself before morning.”

Despite herself, Anne laughed, flattered by his evident frustration. It might have been funnier still if she had not felt it every bit as much as he did.

“Please can we visit Reverend Honeywell first thing?” she asked as he stalked to the door.

“I think we better had, don’t you?” he said ruefully, and then turned, holding out his hand to ward her off. “No, don’t come any closer, Madame Temptress. I’ll not go to the devil entirely before we are married. Good night, love. I’ll be here at eight a.m. sharp. Be ready.”

“I will!” she exclaimed, blowing him a kiss as he closed the door firmly upon her.

Chapter 14

Secrets and revelations.

Little Valentine, 11th October 1815.

Anne was rather delighted at King’s start of surprise when Mr Peacock, the greengrocer, hailed him from the other side of the street.

“Well done, sir! The town thanks you for stopping a madman from running amok,” he said, beaming genially at King.

King nodded and returned an awkward smile of thanks, only to have similar words called to him on turning the corner, this time from a fellow he didn’t recognise at all.

“Who was that?” he demanded.

“Major Hancock. He’s a lovely old fellow, a great pal of Captain Dearborn’s. He retired here several years ago.”

Glancing down at Anne with a bemused expression, King picked up his pace.

“You’re the town’s hero,” she said in amusement. “Aren’t you glad?”

“No,” he grumbled. “I think I preferred it when they hated me.”

Anne laughed. She knew he very much disliked the attention but suspected he was not as dismayed as he made out… though perhaps that was more for her sake than his own. She had noted the way people’s heads bent together upon seeing them arm-in-arm again. This very public little excursion to the vicarage at such an early hour of the morning would be bound to have everyone in an uproar in no time at all.

“We must put a notice in the Valentine Morning Star. That way we shan’t have to keep answering impertinent questions,” she said, patting his arm.

“The sooner we are married, the better,” he said crossly, fixing a rigid smile to his face and waving his thanks at an elderly lady who simply said ‘huzzah!’ upon seeing him. “This is ridiculous. We must go away on honeymoon. With luck, by the time we get back, all the fuss will have died down, and they’ll have someone else to gossip about.”

“Honeymoon?” Anne echoed, staring at him in delight. “Where shall we go?”

He shrugged. “Wherever you like.”