Cates, Kimberly Read Free

attention.
    He'd still keep his blasted oath, check on the woman as soon as possible. But he had more pressing matters to tend to first.
    What difference would it make if he were a few months late?
    Adam closed his eyes, imagining the vicar's daughter— thick brows, prominent nose, her mouth pinched from showering disapproval down on the village sinners. The old dragons of the parish were probably clawing each other to ribbons, fighting over who got the privilege of tending Juliet Grafton-Moore in her grief.
    Better she get her wailing done before Adam made his appearance, anyway. He scowled, irritated as the vicar's voice echoed in his memory, desperate, imploring.
    Make certain she is safe...
    Juliet Grafton-Moore would still be there when he returned to England. What trouble could a vicar's daughter possibly get into anyway?

Chapter 1
    Someone had shattered the window again. Juliet Grafton-Moore's hands trembled as she stared at the jagged shards of glass scattered across her desk, the plane of wood gouged by the chunk of brick in its center.
    She sucked in a steadying breath, trying to still the erratic thud of her heart. But it plunged to her toes as she glimpsed the grimy bit of paper tied to the missile. Another warning. There had been so many, they blurred in her mind.
    Wary, she reached out and tore the note from its mooring. She opened it with fingers that trembled.
    This time the window, a crude hand scrawled. Next time your face.
    She dropped the missive as if it were a snake, rocked to the core by the violence in the threat. God in heaven, who would write such a hateful thing? But the instant she conjured the question, she crushed it. How could she even begin to count the legions of enemies she'd made? Half of London would cheer at any attack on one of the most notorious and hated women in the vast city.
    "You should be used to such nonsense by now, Juliet," she chided herself sternly. "Last week they shattered all the windows on this side of the house."
    But never, in the year since she'd left the village of Northwillow, had she been able to become inured to such loathing. Never had she stopped being afraid.
    "Papa always said it was all right to be afraid as long as you still did what was right," she murmured. And she was trying. Trying desperately hard.
    But she was failing. Miserably. And her gentle father could not help her anymore. A blade of grief imbedded in her heart, twisted, pain rippling out afresh.
    He was dead, his compassionate eyes closed forever, his gentle hands stilled, the glow of faith and hope and love he'd worn like a mantle snuffed out.
    And she could never return to the rose-draped vicarage in sleepy little Northwillow. Never run to him with her troubles, kneel down at the foot of his chair, and be told everything would be all right.
    "Papa, I'm sorry," she whispered through the raw void that was her throat. "I'm so sorry."
    Sorry for so many things she could never make right.
    That they'd parted in anger. And that the gentle man who had guided so many souls to the gates of heaven had died forsaken by the side of an Irish road, with only a stranger at his side.
    Juliet sank down on the" worn chair and opened a tiny door in the desk's center. Pooled upon the golden lilies of her mother's necklace lay a note from a man she had never met. She drew it out, her talisman, to shore up her father's belief that most men were good, that dignity of spirited triumphed, and that guardian angels watched over all.

    It was unfortunate there was no one to hand but a gruff old soldier like myself to help, but I did the best I could by him. Your father asked me to send you this necklace. I did my utmost not to break the thing. I gave your father my word of honor that I would come to you. I will do so as soon as I am able. Yr. most obedient servant...
    Adam Slade

    Adam Slade. She'd pictured him so clearly in the months that followed. Grizzled and gallant, with dozens of scars upon his jowly face and