Page 32 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

“I should go walking in the woods before dawn more often if this is what I can expect to find,” she said, crossing her arms and smirking at him.

“Good God, woman. What are you doing here?” Derrek demanded, reaching for the bit of toweling he’d brought out with him.

Miss Jones laughed. “I’ve come to fetch your man,” she said. “If you’re willing to part with him for the morning.”

A different sort of awkwardness washed through Derrek. “He is not my man,” he said by rote, remembering the times he’d had to say the same when people remarked on his closeness with Joseph. “We are merely friends.”

“And I am the Queen of Sheba,” Miss Jones said.

Derrek let out a breath and dropped his shoulders once he’d wrapped the toweling around his waist. “Accusations such as that can lead to a great deal of trouble,” he said.

Miss Jones nodded. “Perhaps in London or in the village, but not out here in the woods, with only God watching.”

“And do you not think that the Almighty, too, judges the sinners?” Derrek asked.

Again, Miss Jones laughed. “Our Lord broke bread with sinners. There are those that argue his love of John was more than brotherly. I do not think a loving God judges half as harshly as a preacher in a pulpit who wishes to shame the coins right out of the pockets of his parishioners.”

Derrek’s eyebrows shot up. “Forget Jeremy and I, you’re the one that would be led to the pillory if anyone were to hear you speak like that.”

Miss Jones shrugged. “I cannot help what I believe,” she said, walking closer to the house. “I’ve seen too much of man’s duplicity for anyone to convince me that laws and sermons are anything more than whips and chains to keep good people under the thumb of the self-righteous and powerful.”

Derrek gaped at the woman’s back as she marched up to the cottage’s open door and peered inside. It was a rare soul who believed so deeply against the grain of society and an even rarer one who expressed those sentiments aloud, and so clearly. Miss Jones was precisely the person Derrek felt confident entrusting his beloved to when he could not be near.

“Hello? Jeremy? Are you ready to set out?” Miss Jones called into the house.

“Just about,” Jeremy said, appearing in the doorway fully dressed and groomed. “I should eat something before we venture into the meadows and prepare something for Derrek as well,” he said, glancing Derrek’s way.

He did a double-take when he saw Derrek standing there in the increasing light of dawn with nothing but a bit of toweling wrapped around his waist. His expression warmed and his eyes shone for a moment before he shook himself and looked at Miss Jones again.

Miss Jones was fooled by nothing and no one. “Your man can fend for himself for one morning,” she said. “And there will be more food in the village today than you could eat in three lifetimes. Come along.” She reached for Jeremy’s hand and pulled him all the way out into the garden.

“Enjoy your flower picking,” Derrek charged them as the two of them walked past.

“You are certain you do not mind?” Jeremy asked as Miss Jones grinned.

“Not at all. It is not as though we are chained to each other,” Derrek said. “I will see you again at the festivities.”

“Hopefully you will attend dressed as you are,” Miss Jones said, sending Derrek one final lusty look before laughing and pulling Jeremy with her into the trees.

Derrek watched until he could not see them anymore, then huffed a breath and shook his head. Since whisking Jeremy off into the country, his life had become so unfamiliar to him that he no longer knew where he was or what he should be doing. It was a blissful sort of confusion, since he had Jeremy to share it with, but he knew full well it could not continue.

He headed back into the house to dress for the day, then saw to the fires before leaving the cottage locked up tight and heading into the village. Dawn was well past by the time he arrived at the edge of the village, but already it seemed as if half the people in Kent had arrived to help prepare for the festivities that would take place. Already, carts and tables had been set up outside various shops and a busy trade in buns, sausages, and coffee was underway.

Derrek paused at the edge of the activity, observing it all with a smile and a sense of nostalgic familiarity. The feeling in the air was akin to what he’d experienced as a lad in Wiltshire. Every country faire and festival likely felt the same way, but the reminder of the young and relatively innocent lad that he’d once been settled over him like an embrace from his mother.

“This probably looks a fright to you,” Martin from the Three Bells said, striding up to stand by his side, watching the preparations. “Being a London man and all.”

“Actually, I was just thinking that it all reminded me of my childhood,” Derrek replied, far more open with the pub owner than he would have been at the beginning of Jeremy’s period of hiding. Martin had become his friend, after all.

“Is that so?” Martin asked with a look of mild surprise.

“I was raised in Wiltshire,” Derrek said.

Martin broke into a broad smile. “You are a country boy after all,” he said, thumping Derrek on the shoulder. “But I bet you know nothing about Morris dancing.”

Derrek laughed. “I was a champion Morris dancer in my youth,” he bragged.

“Is that so?” Martin’s expression lit with even more delight. “Care to prove it?”

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