For Your Arms Only by Caroline Linden

Author:Caroline Linden [Linden, Caroline]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-11-24T17:48:01+00:00

Chapter 16

That Sunday Alec agreed to accompany the family to church for the first time since his return home. His mother beamed at him in delight. Miss Turner gave him a thoughtful look that became a small smile when he tipped his hat to her. Just that hint of warmth was enough to lift his spirits even as he steeled himself.

Aside from a few trips into town, he had avoided most of Marston. Today would be the first time many of the townspeople had actually seen him, and their reaction was everything he had expected. A flurry of whispers swept the church as they walked to the family pew. From the corner of his eye Alec saw Miss Turner sit stiffly between her sister and Julia. He helped his mother, then sat beside her to face the curate, who was smiling nervously at everyone but Alec as he waited to begin the service.

There was a rumble behind them, even as the whispers died down. Shuffling steps came up the aisle. Beside him, Mother glanced up at the late arrival and went still just as the footsteps stopped abruptly right behind him.

“You,” gasped a voice, all too familiar. Alec’s stomach knotted but he kept his face expressionless. He had been prepared for this. The entire church was as silent as a grave now. Slowly he turned and faced his father’s dearest friend, and his dearest friend’s father.

Angus Lacey had grown stooped and lame since Alec last saw him. His narrow face was more wrinkled and gray, but his pale blue eyes were as alert as ever, and they were fixed on Alec with unmistakable shock and hatred. “You,” he croaked again.

Alec met that horrified gaze evenly. “Sir.”

Lacey’s chin quivered. The hand clutching his cane shook, and he wobbled on his feet. The large servant behind him reached forward to steady him, but Lacey shook off his hands. “You dare to show your face,” he said with quiet venom.

“Mr. Lacey,” Alec’s mother said sternly, “we are in church.”

Lacey didn’t even look at her. “Traitor,” he spat, then turned and shuffled right back out of the church, his servant lumbering after him.

Mr. Edwards the curate leaped forward as the excited hiss of whispers filled the church again. “Let us pray,” he said somewhat desperately. With a thunderous clang, the door of the church swung shut.

When the service was over, an eternity later, Alec helped his mother back into the carriage. He swung onto his horse, avoiding everyone’s eye but John’s, to whom he gave a curt nod before heading south, out of town and away from Penford. The moment they cleared the town, Alec urged the horse into a canter and didn’t look back.

He rode for a long time. At first the desire to keep heading south, back to London, was almost impossible to fight. Not to hide, but to break into the War Office and search for those damned incriminating letters. What had patience and caution gained him—a five-year delay in being

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