Page 29 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Jeremy had no doubt about that. He sent her a mock look of wariness before fixing his hat on his head, making his goodbyes, and heading out into the village.

It was ridiculous for him to feel so alone and intimidated as he walked the path that he’d walked every day for a fortnight. He was a man approaching thirty and perfectly capable of strolling through the teeming streets of London without a care in the world.

The countryside and forest of Kent were not London streets, however. As magnificent as the view across the hills and fields was, it felt too open to Jeremy, too exposed. Worst of all, from the moment he left the edge of the village and started across emptier space, he had the uncanny feeling that someone was following him or watching him.

That sensation of being observed only increased when Jeremy reached the edge of the woods. It did not matter how many times he twisted or took a few backwards steps to scan the vista behind him for anyone who should not have been there, the feeling of being watched, of being a target, followed him. Once he was surrounded by trees and the path narrowed, he felt those eyes everywhere.

“Hello?” he called into the darkening forest. “Derrek? Is that you?”

The deeper he walked into the forest the darker things became. He wished that he’d thought to bring a lantern, or even a candle, from Clary’s shop. The trees were not yet in full leaf so early in the season, but with the sunlight almost completely gone, the budded branches made Jeremy feel as though a shroud had been pulled over him.

“Derrek?” His voice grew weaker with every step he took.

It wasn’t just the darkness of the woods that unnerved him. The forest was filled with the sounds of unfamiliar birdcalls and the rustling of unseen creatures in the undergrowth. At one point he heard the hair-raising cry of a fox and picked up his speed to a near run.

Where was Derrek at any rate? Why had his champion not come to the shop for him that evening? Had something happened? Had Conroy caught up with him at last and dispatched Derrek so that he could pounce on Jeremy when he least expected it?

The thought had a pitiful sound of fear escaping from Jeremy’s throat. He hated himself for being so timid. He was a man, a businessman with a thriving reputation in London. He should not have turned into a whimpering child simply because he’d had to walk himself home in the dark. But a great many things about what made a man brave or stole that bravery changed when he knew that someone had a mind to kill him.

By the time Jeremy reached the cottage, his nerves were as frayed as the muslin he’d hemmed earlier that day. He ran the last few yards through the garden and up to the cottage door. Another burst of panic hit him when he discovered the door was locked and when he saw no lanterns lit inside. Derrek was not there.

He retrieved the key from above the doorframe, where Derrek had taken to putting it when they left. His hands shook as he fit it into the lock and pushed the door open. Even though the cottage was still warm from that morning and the embers in the fireplace glowed orange in welcome, Jeremy felt as though the place was hollow and missing something.

For a moment, he stood lamely in the middle of the front room, fighting the panic that had welled up within him. He had no reason to fear. He was home, and soon Derrek would be, too. His champion had probably gone into Aylesford to send a message to London, or perhaps to Maidstone on some other errand. The chance of foul play being involved was small. Derrek would be home soon.

Clinging to that tentative thought, Jeremy finally shrugged out of his coat and went about lighting the lanterns, refreshing the fires, and preparing supper for when Derrek did come home to him.

“This is all a simple misunderstanding,” he spoke to himself as he walked out to fetch water from the pump for tea, sloshing some over his breeches in his frightened clumsiness. “You’ve no need to fear. Everything is as it should be. All is well.”

He’d come close to believing himself after returning to the relative warmth and safety of the house when the sound of something large rustling outside nearly scared him out of his wits. He’d been turning sausages in the pan over the stove and dropped the fork with a loud clatter. He nearly cried out when a shadow passed close to the window, heading for the cottage’s front door. Had someone been following him after all? Was it Conroy and his accomplice?

The door handle turned a moment later, and the door opened to reveal a weary but smiling Derrek.

“Hello, dove,” he said, taking off his hat and undoing the buttons of his coat. “I see you made it home safely.”

“Where have you been?” Jeremy shouted, relief and anger blending into something that came out as loud and frantic. He abandoned his cooking and flew across the room as if he would box Derrek’s ears. “Why did you not come to the shop to fetch me?”

Derrek’s eyes went wide and he nearly dropped his coat as he moved to hang it on the hook by the door. “Easy there, dove,” he said, hanging his coat and hat before turning to Jeremy. “I was delayed at the manor house earlier.”

“The manor house?” Jeremy shouted, his fear causing his emotions to fly off in several directions at once. “You went to the house to have tea and cakes with the lord of the manor while I was forced to walk home in the dark alone, terrified of my own shadow?”

Derrek’s expression flashed from frustrated to compassionate and back to annoyance so fast that Jeremy could hardly follow his emotions. “We have established that Lord Linton is not there,” he said, his voice cautious and calm. “I received word from one of my informants in London that his son, Lord Albert, has been spotted after all, and so I decided to walk around the house to investigate.”

Jeremy was too far gone with upset to rein himself in. “Lord Albert Howard has returned to England?” he asked, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. Was that who he’d felt watching him from the shadows on his way home?

Dear God, he was going to die. Conroy and his accomplice, who must be Lord Albert, were going to find him and kill him.

“How could you leave me alone at a time like this?” he asked, ashamed of the way his voice came out in a squeak. “I rely on you, Derrek. I depend on you. I am terrified without you. You are my…you are mine.”

He gulped for breath as the last of his words came out, still too upset to wrap his mind around what those words implied.

Derrek stared at him strangely, as if Jeremy were a runaway horse that he was uncertain how to catch. “I am sorry,” he said, his voice tight. “I did not realize you relied on me so much.”

“Of course I rely on you!” Jeremy shouted, the scent of burning sausages from behind him fueling his roiling emotions even more. “You are everything to me at the moment, Derrek. You are my savior and my saint. I cannot imagine this existence without you anymore. I?—”

Before he could barrel on with more sentiments he hadn’t thought his way through, Derrek took one, large step toward him, grasping him by his upper arms, and brought his mouth crashing over Jeremy’s.

At first, the kiss stopped every thought and emotion Jeremy had in its tracks. He’d been kissed before, but never like that. Never with such overwhelming strength and passion. Derrek’s lips crushed his, and it seemed as though the only thing he could do about it was to part his lips to give Derrek more.

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