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Pierce’s brows rose at the vicar’s unexpected assessment. “That shouldn’t surprise you. Not after our chat last week.”
“It doesn’t. But perhaps you need to reinforce that acceptance, not for my sake, but for your own,”
“Why?”
“Because love has many facets, some naturally and easily explored, others quite difficult. The beauty of the more resistant facets is that, once you’ve probed their depths, you have a lifetime to enjoy the brilliance you’ve unearthed.”
“To which resistant facets are you referring?”
Chambers cleared his throat. “When two people care for each other it’s only natural to want to share, not only your hearts and bodies, but your minds as well. Secrets, well meant or not, can do naught but drive a wedge between you. Remember Pierce, never confuse protection with exclusion. One nurtures, the other destroys.”
“You’ve been talking to Daphne.”
“She’s worried about you.”
“I know.” Wearily, Pierce rubbed the back of his neck. “And she needn’t be. I merely have an aspect of my past yet to resolve. Somehow I must do it, and soon.”
“But must you do it alone? Daphne loves you deeply, and she is far stronger than you might imagine. Let her share your unrest, Pierce.”
With a troubled sigh, Pierce replied, “I appreciate your advice, Vicar. I, better than anyone, know just how strong Daphne is. But this is not a matter of strength, ’tis a matter of safety. And Daphne’s safety supersedes all else, even the trust that has grown between us.” Pierce swallowed, his voice growing rough with emotion. “You see, Vicar, I’ve come to realize that my wife means more to me than anything: my past, my turmoil, even my own life.”
“I understand.” The clergyman nodded solemnly. “I also perceive that your current dilemma is not a minor one. Therefore, let me add one additional thought. Despite the short duration of our acquaintanceship, I hold you in the highest regard. I admire you and I respect you. In short, I consider you a friend. If ever you need a ready ear, I’d be pleased to provide one.”
“That means a great deal.” With a quick glance at Daphne and the children, Pierce added, “Unfortunately, this is one impasse I must conquer on my own.”
“Then may God help you do so.”
Soberly, Pierce rejoined his wife, wishing yet again that he could do as the vicar suggested: share his dilemma with Daphne and tell her of the decision he faced. He’d evaded the issue for weeks, buried his conflicting emotions in the sweet haven of Daphne’s body. But he could avoid the matter no longer. A determination needed to be made.
Would there be a future for the Tin Cup Bandit?
His fists balling at his sides, Pierce was besieged by the usual clashing sentiments, and the nearly irresistible urge to share his anguish with his wife. Silently, he berated himself, reasserting his original vow not to involve Daphne in the reality of his dual identity. Were he ever unmasked, he would be tried, and possibly hanged, for his crimes. And if Daphne had any knowledge of his actions, she would be implicated as well. No. It was simply too dangerous.
His mind was made up. The intricate crossroads he now confronted were his and his alone to traverse.
“Daphne, do ye think the Tin Cup Bandit can find yer new ’ouse as easily as ’e did yer old one?” Inadvertently, Timmy exploded into the very territory Pierce sought to escape. “Because if ’e can’t, ye won’t ever see him again.”
“ ’e’s not gonna rob ’er again, stupid,” William replied in an exasperated tone. “ ’e never robs the same person twice. Besides, why would ’e rob ’er now? She’s married to Pierce. And Pierce uses ’is money on us, not jewels and silver.”
Daphne cast a sidelong glance at her husband. “I don’t think it matters where the bandit strikes,” she concluded hastily. “So long as he continues to benefit those who need it.”
“Amen,” the vicar agreed.
Pierce felt his guts twist, the enormity of his quandary resurging full force.
What was he going to do?
Evading Daphne’s speculative gaze, Pierce stared out the window, reflecting back on the bandit’s inception and the motives that had incited it.
First and most impelling had been his thirst for vengeance, his need to rectify all the injustice suffered by the poor and effected by the rich. That obsession had melded with the restlessness in his soul, a desperate need to make a difference, to give his wretched life some meaning, his hollow heart some purpose.
From that restless outrage, the Tin Cup Bandit had been born.
Then he’d thrived, fed by the wild exhilaration of his perilous, crusades, the growing certainty that he could challenge the odds and win. Again and again, he’d revel in the incredible thrill of conquest, especially in light of the fact that his opponents were the abhorred nobility.
That had been then.
This was now.
