Hell and damnation. He was losing his mind.

Alice opened her eyes. They were soft and unfocused, deep harebell blue. And then she smiled at him and the emotion thumped him in the gut and he felt as though he was falling.

“Miles.”

She raised a hand to his cheek and the same wallop of emotion took him again. He was beginning to recognize it now. He was even beginning to like it, and that was even more frightening. He opened his mouth to speak, but there came a heavy knocking at the door of the spa. Miles made to get up but Alice grabbed his lapels and held him close.

“Leave it.” The curve of her smile made him want to kiss her. He hesitated, but the knocking was becoming more insistent and then there was Dexter’s voice.

“Miles? For God’s sake, open up, man!”

Cursing under his breath, feeling a most unfamiliar sense of responsibility that he simply had to shield Alice from whatever happened next, Miles helped her to her feet. He looked at her. Her clothing was all still in place since he had not removed any of it to make love to her. On one level she looked quite respectable, though the muslin gown clung to her luscious curves, and her damp hair was starting to riot in tiny curls about her face, and she was flushed and pink. Theoretically one could not tell that she had just been tumbled on the floor by the worst rake in Fortune’s Folly. Except…except that in her eyes was a mixture of slumberous satisfaction and new discovery that Miles found utterly sensual and he knew everyone else would recognize it for what it was, too.

“Miles!” Dexter’s voice rose in urgency and Miles turned the key and opened the door.

“What the hell-” he began, then stopped.

What seemed to be the entire population of Fortune’s Folly was gathered on the other side of the door. As it swung wide, the deep silence was broken by a whisper of voices that grew to a torrent. He saw the expression on Alice’s face shift to appalled shock at this intrusion of reality and he stepped in front of her to shield her from the prying eyes. He felt murderously angry.

“I’m so sorry, Miles,” Dexter was saying quickly. “I did what I could, but the magistrate is here. Someone has laid evidence against Miss Lister.”

Mr. Pullen, the magistrate, pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “My lord,” he said. “There has been an accusation of the utmost gravity against Miss Lister. The suggestion that she robbed Madame Claudine’s gown shop of a wedding dress-”

“Outrageous!” Mrs. Lister interrupted, her feathered headdress wagging. “Madness!”

“And,” Pullen continued doggedly, clearly extremely uncomfortable, “that you were a witness to the event, my lord.” He drew a deep breath. “Can it possibly be true? Did you see Miss Lister outside the gown shop on the night of February seven, my lord?”

Miles turned and looked at Alice. Her gaze, wide with horror, clung to his. He felt a terrible stab of regret at what he was going to do and a helpless tide of tenderness for Alice even as he knew that he was going to betray her.

“Miles,” she said. “Don’t…”

Don’t tell the truth…

But he had to. Alice had wanted him to reform, and slowly, painfully, against his will, he was becoming an honest man. He could not go back now. He could not lie when it suited him and still claim to be worthy of her. Alice deserved the best, not some scoundrel who had barely found his principles before he decided to compromise them.

“Yes, Mr. Pullen,” Miles said, “I can confirm it.” He turned to the magistrate, who was looking at him, his mouth open in shock.

“My lord?” Pullen stuttered.

“It is quite correct,” Miles repeated. “I saw Miss Lister outside the gown shop on the night of February seven. I cannot tell a lie.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ALICE SAT ON THE hard little bench in her cell and stared blindly at the damp wall opposite. The jail in Fortune’s Folly was tiny-two cells only-and they usually held drunken villagers who had taken too much ale on a night out at the Morris Clown Inn. Tonight there was one such miscreant in the first cell and she was in the other. Mr. Pullen, apologizing profusely, had professed that he had no alternative other than to have her locked up due to the seriousness of the allegation against her.

The name of the person who had laid the complaint was still unknown to her, as was any information on what might happen to her next. Lowell had grabbed her hand as she was being taken away and had promised to come to get her out, but Alice had known he was as ignorant of the law as she was and had no idea what needed to be done. She could only hope that Mr. Gaines and Mr. Churchward between them would be able to help.

Even whilst Mr. Pullen was formally reading the charge against her, the crowd was shifting and talking scandal about her as though she was not there, the malicious faces of the Duchess of Cole and Mrs. Minchin and their cronies swimming before Alice’s eyes like some horrible nightmare. The scent of Miles’s skin was still on her, she knew she looked tumbled and taken, and she knew that everyone in Fortune’s Folly knew Miles had had her like some cheap whore he had bedded at the Morris Clown Inn. She had felt utterly humiliated and did not know where to turn.

Then Lizzie had provided some much-needed distraction by emptying a bucket of spa water over Miss Caton’s immaculately coiffed head and Miss Caton had screamed and sworn like a fishwife. Lowell had tried to hit Miles and had had to be restrained by Dexter Anstruther. Mrs. Lister had succumbed to hysterics and Lady Vickery had tended to her with smelling salts. Nat Waterhouse had finally managed to force the crowd to disperse. Mr. Pullen had taken Alice away and she had seen no point in making any resistance.

And through it all Miles had stood there, his expression carved from granite, as though he had not held her in his arms five minutes before and had not made love to her with such tender, driving passion and had never cared for her for a single moment. Alice had felt incredulous and confused, betrayed and bereft. She had seen Nat arguing with Miles in a furious undertone and Miles shake his head, and although she knew he was an officer of the law himself she had felt bitterly angry that he had not broken that law by lying to protect her. He had said himself that the terms of Lady Membury’s will were wrecked so there was no longer any compulsion upon him to tell the truth. So why the hell had he not lied to save her?

Now, sitting alone in the little cell and listening to the drip of the water off the mossy walls, she felt little better. In fact, she felt worse. She knew she was guilty. She and Lizzie had broken into the gown shop to find Mary’s dress. She had forgotten all about it, but clearly someone else had not; they had seen her and had waited and had used the information they had to bring her to this.

None of it seemed to matter much compared with Miles’s betrayal of her. Everything had happened too fast, with too little time to adjust. She shifted on the bench as the slight soreness in her body, the faint bruises on her skin, reminded her of Miles’s lovemaking. She had been dazzled by the sensations he had aroused in her, feelings and emotions that were new and untried and yet somehow as old as time. She had barely started to come to terms with what had happened between them when Dexter had been hammering on the door and reality had torn apart her blissful dreams. And now she felt used and cheap and instead of bliss she felt humiliation. She could not wash Miles’s scent off her skin nor seem to erase the feeling that he had imprinted himself on her body. The sense that she could never be free of him made her feel the most abject shame of all.

The slamming of the jail door made Alice jump and dragged her from her misery for a moment. She could hear her mother’s voice. Evidently, Mrs. Lister had recovered from her hysterics.

“It’s a scandal and an outrage. He deserves to be horsewhipped!” Alice had wondered what it would take for her mother to change her mind about Miles Vickery. Now she knew. Degrading her daughter in front of the whole village and having her locked up in jail had finally helped Mrs. Lister realize that he was nothing more than a scoundrel.

“Release my daughter at once, you poltroon!” By the muffled thumps coming from outside, Alice thought it probable that her mother was attacking the guard with her reticule. Perhaps they would be sharing a cell shortly.

“Mama…” This was Lowell’s more-measured tone. “Pray calm down. This is not helping Alice.”

“I don’t care!” More thumps. “Knaves and ruffians, all of them! You should be ashamed of yourself, locking up a young lady like this!”

There was the sound of a scuffle, which Alice presumed was Lowell forcibly removing Mrs. Lister from the jail before she became its next inmate. Then the door crashed again and Lizzie Scarlet’s imperious voice rang out.

“Officer, I am here to confess to the theft of a wedding gown from Madame Claudine’s dress shop!”

Alice pressed her ear closer to the door. Despite herself she was actually beginning to enjoy this.

“Can’t take any confessions here, m’lady,” the guard said calmly. “I’m not qualified for it. You need to speak to the magistrate.”

“I have done,” Lizzie said indignantly, “and he will not heed me. I want to explain that I am the one who stole the dress, not Alice!”

“Lizzie, be quiet.” Alice could hear Nat Waterhouse now and he sounded exasperated. So Lizzie had turned to Nat in her time of need and Nat had responded. That, Alice thought, was interesting.

“You will do no good with such wild confessions,” Nat continued. “I agreed to come with you to help get Miss Lister out, not to assist you in joining her. Officer-” his voice faded slightly as he had obviously turned to appeal to the guard “-there has clearly been some mistake. I am sure Miss Lister is entirely innocent of any crime.”