Page 11 of Ravished

"What happened next?" Felicity asked in a stunned little voice.

"Miss Deirdre went into the study, took her father's pistol down from the wall, and shot herself. 'Twas the Reverend Rushton, poor man, who found her."

"That poor, ill-fated child," Aunt Effie whispered. "If only she had been more cautious. If only she had had a care for her reputation and not put her trust in a gentleman. You will remember this story when you get to London, won't you, Felicity, dear?"

"Yes, Aunt Effie. I'm not likely to forget it." Felicity appeared genuinely impressed by the harrowing tale.

"My God," Harriet murmured. "It is all so unbelievable." She glanced into the fossil-littered study and swallowed hard as she remembered the way St. Justin had leaned over her desk and put his powerful hand under her chin. "Mrs. Stone, are you absolutely certain of your facts?"

"Absolutely. If yer papa was still alive, he would tell ye 'tis all true. He knew what had happened to the Reverend Rushton's daughter, right enough. But he kept his silence about it because he did not think it a proper sort of subject to be discussed in front of you two young ladies. When he told me I could continue in my post, he warned me I wasn't to speak of it. I've kept my silence, I have. But I cannot keep it any longer."

Aunt Effie nodded in agreement. "No, of course you could not, Mrs. Stone. Now that St. Justin has returned to the neighborhood, all decent young ladies must be on their guard."

"Ravished and abandoned." Felicity shook her head, awed. "Just imagine."

"Dreadful," Aunt Effie said. "Absolutely dreadful. Young ladies must be so very, very careful. Felicity, you are not to go out alone while the viscount is in the neighborhood. Do you understand?"

"Oh, rubbish." Felicity appealed to Harriet. "You are not going to keep me a prisoner in my own home just because St. Justin happens to be visiting in the district, are you?"

Harriet frowned. "No, of course not."

Aunt Effie grew stern. "Harriet, Felicity must be careful. Surely you see that."

Harriet looked up. "Felicity is a very level-headed female, Aunt Effie. She will not do anything foolish. Will you, Felicity?"

Felicity grinned. "And lose my chance for a Season in Town? You may be certain I am not such an idiot as that, Harriet."

Mrs. Stone's mouth tightened. "St. Justin has a taste for beautiful young innocents, the great, ravening beast. And now that your papa is no longer around to protect you, Miss Felicity, you must be careful."

"Quite right," Aunt Effie agreed.

Harriet arched a brow. "I take it neither of you is as concerned for my reputation as you are for Felicity's?"

Aunt Effie was immediately contrite. "Now, dear, you know it is not that. But you are nearly five-and-twenty, after all. And the sort of lecherous rake Mrs. Stone is describing does tend to go for young innocents."

"As opposed to old innocents such as myself," Harriet murmured. She ignored Felicity's teasing grin. "Ah, well, I suppose you are correct, Aunt Effie. I am hardly in danger of being ravished by St. Justin." She paused. "I seem to recall telling him as much earlier."

"What on earth?" Aunt Effie stared at her.

"Never mind, Aunt Effie." Harriet started toward the open door of the study. "I am certain Felicity will keep her head and anything else that is of any importance to her should she happen to find herself in the company of Viscount St. Justin. She is no fool. Now if you will excuse me, I must finish some work."

Harriet made herself walk sedately into her small refuge and calmly close the door. Then, with a heartfelt groan, she sank into her chair, propped her elbows on the desk, and dropped her head into her hands. A deep shudder wracked her body.

It was not Felicity who was the fool, she decided grimly. It was she, Harriet, who had been the foolish one. She had summoned the Beast of Blackthorne Hall back to Upper Biddleton.

Chapter Three

The thick gray fog that had rolled in from the sea during the night still clung tenaciously to the shore at ten o'clock the next morning. Harriet could not see more than a few feet in front of her as she made her way down the cliff path to the beach. She wondered if Gideon would keep the appointment she had set up for them to view the thieves' cavern.

Harriet also wondered uneasily if she truly wanted him to keep the appointment. She had lain awake most of the night worrying that she had made a dreadful mistake in sending the fateful letter to the notorious viscount.

Her sturdy leather half boots skidded on some pebbles as she hurried down the steep path. Harriet took a firmer grip on her small bag of tools and reached out with her free hand to balance herself against a boulder.

The path down the cliffs was safe enough if one was familiar with it, but there were some tricky patches. Harriet wished she could wear breeches when she went out to hunt fossils, but she knew Aunt Effie would collapse in shock if the notion was even casually put forth. Harriet tried to humor her aunt insofar as it was possible.

She knew Aunt Effie was opposed to the whole matter of fossil hunting in the first place. Effie considered it an unseemly occupation for a young woman and could not comprehend why Harriet was so passionately devoted to her interest. Harriet did not want to alarm the older woman any further by pursuing her fossils in a pair of breeches.

Heavy tendrils of mist coiled around Harriet as she reached the bottom of the path and paused to adjust the weight of the bag she carried. She could hear the waves lapping at the shore, but she could not see them in the dense fog. The damp chill seeped through the heavy wool of her shabby dark brown pelisse.

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