Never Seduce A Scoundrel by Heather Grothaus Read Free Book Online Page A

dislodged.
    John Grey was not ordained. He could not offer her absolution, Cecily well knew. But perhaps he would have some words of wisdom to impart to her. She wondered if, once she had told him her dilemma, he would think her unworthy for Hallowshire.
    She wondered if, somewhere deep inside her heart, that was her secret hope.
    He did not pressure her into speaking as they made their way into a long, shallow valley, but seemed content to enjoy the sunlight on his upturned face. Cecily glanced at him often. His profile was rugged, craggy almost, in contrast to Oliver Bellecote’s noble, Romanesque features. The vicar’s hair was smooth and straight, the color of rich brass. Oliver’s was dark, like melted carob, and unruly as a squire’s. John Grey sat a horse easily, but she could not imagine him on a merry chase through the countryside at midnight, in pursuit of a woman.
    She could not imagine him following her into an abandoned ruin to make love to her, either.
    “I didn’t attend chapel this morn because I cannot partake of the sacrament,” she blurted.
    He looked over at her easily for a moment, and then straight ahead once more.
    Cecily continued. “I have mortal sin on my heart, Vicar. Sins that I cannot confess to Father Perry.”
    “You cannot confess to Father Perry for fear of his recriminations? Or because you are not sorry for what you have done?”
    His words were so gentle, so matter-of-fact, and so accurate, Cecily was struck dumb for several moments. Was she so transparent?
    “Perhaps both,” she said quietly at last.
    “Father Perry is a good priest,” John Grey offered. “He strikes me as a competent confessor—one who would never broach a subject introduced in the confessional.”
    A pair of birds swooped before the path of the horses and Cecily followed them with her eyes until they were lost in the sunlight. She blinked away the wetness induced by the bright glare. “Indeed.”
    “You fear the loss of his love, then? The love he holds for you above his flock?” He led them toward a cluster of three trees, their thick, naked gray arms raised to the heavens.
    “Yes.” John Grey seemed to be pulling Cecily’s feelings from her heart as a mummer would scarves from inside his vest. Precisely, vividly.
    He drew his horse up to a stand, turned his face toward Cecily. “What would you have me do to aid you? Shall I secure you another confessor? Perhaps at the abbey ... ?”
    “No,” Cecily said. “I want you to hear my confession, Vicar.”
    He stared at her, but his face held no shock. “I cannot absolve you, Lady Cecily. Surely you know that.”
    “I do,” Cecily said with a nod. “But I cannot tell these things to anyone who knows me, and I cannot bear the weight of them any longer. Perhaps after hearing my dilemma, you might be able to advise me, for in truth, what I would tell you is the reason for my hesitation for Hallowshire. The bishop would not have granted you the mission of the abbey were you not a capable director.”
    “Lady Cecily, I—” He broke off and looked up at the sky through the netting of branches above their heads. When he met her eyes again, there was a smile about the corners of his mouth. “I must be honest with you—I am very fond of you already. I’m not certain that—”
    “Stop,” Cecily said. “I’m sorry, Vicar. But if we are to have any sort of true friendship, then it is best that you know this about me now, lest we go on and you be disappointed later. I would not have you think me someone I am not. That seems to be one of my crosses in life.”
    “All right,” he said with a courteous nod of his head. He kicked the stirrup free and lighted from his horse, crossing over to help Cecily dismount. “Shall we sit?”
    Despite the rare warmth of the sun, the mud and dormant grass at the base of the trees were frozen and solid. John Grey went to his saddle and untied the bundled blanket to spread on the ground. Cecily took his hand as she