Scandal's Reward Read Free

Amelia’s dimpled chin was resting on her folded arms, supported by her knees beneath the quilted cover of her bed.
    “I wish I could have met him,” she said to her sister.
    “Who?” Catherine was not thinking about the conversation they had exchanged downstairs, but about her father. Six daughters were a dreadful burden for a country vicar. She had definitely made the right decision. Indeed, she should have acted before, instead of waiting at home in the vain hope that a Prince Charming would turn up for her, as he had for Amelia.
    “Devil Dagonet, of course.”
    “Amy! He sounds like a complete renegade. He was said to be quite ruthless.”
    “But don’t you think it’s really the most romantic thing? That our own neighbor should grow up to be so profligate and be disinherited? Suppose he should come back to fight Sir George Montagu for Lion Court!”
    Catherine laughed aloud. “Amy, we are living in the nineteenth century and this is England. I should not imagine that Devil Dagonet will ever come back to Exmoor. Anyway, it’s not in the least romantic. He must have been dreadful to earn such a name.”
    “No, just the opposite, according to Polly.” Amelia’s blush wasn’t that different from her little sister Annie’s. “I asked her before I came up to bed. The country people and the servants all liked him. It was only because of his reputation with the ladies that they called him Devil Dagonet.”
    “Well, it can hardly matter now what kind of a libertine he turned out to be.” Catherine slipped between her covers and blew out the candles. Her next remark was made to the sweet summer darkness that filled the air like a fluid. “I think we can be certain that none of us will ever have the misfortune to meet him.”
    * * * *
    Some days later, Catherine tied the strings of her chip bonnet firmly under her chin and, climbing up out of Fernbridge, headed for the moor. The morning sky shone bright and clear, and the heather-scented heights beckoned. It was the last day of August and her final day of freedom before she began what she firmly expected to be an extremely uneventful time at Lion Court. Within a couple of hours, she had reached the slopes of Stag Hill overlooking the entire Rye Water valley and the Lion Court estates.
    There was one better vantage point on Eagle Beacon itself, but it was a steep scramble from where she was standing, through the swamps at the head of Rye Water. The track that led there was extremely hazardous unless you knew it well, which was why Catherine was so surprised to see that a horseman was cantering that way with careless abandon. He wore a serviceable dark coat over plain buckskin breeches; leather saddle bags and a sword case were strapped behind him. Since she had never seen such a magnificent gray Thoroughbred before, she knew that it must be a stranger. Unless he slowed his pace, he was putting both himself and his mount in considerable danger.
    Casting caution to the wind, she called out and began to run down the rock-strewn slope toward him. “Sir! Sir! Pray stop! You will be in the bog!”
    She tore off her bonnet and waved it wildly in one hand as she ran. He must notice her! With an extra burst of effort, she managed to reach the track just as the gray spun around a bend toward her. There was a little slope of short grass just above the muddy path, and as the heel of her boot struck it, her feet went from under her, so that she sprawled onto the track at the very feet of the horse. The Thoroughbred reared, giving her an uncomfortable view of his iron-shod hooves, but the rider expertly spun him away and pulled him to a halt just three feet from her shoulder.
    “Good God, you little idiot! Whatever do you think you’re doing?”
    Catherine sat up and tried to regain some sense of dignity. She was displaying an unconscionable length of white petticoat and silk stocking, now splattered with mud. She had never felt herself to be at such an awkward