Sweet Bea. Sarah Hegger

for finding mischief. She didn’t have to try. Every time there was mischief about, it landed at her feet.

      Blessedly, Nurse found no more snarls and brushed Beatrice’s hair in long, soothing strokes.

      Garrett loved her hair. He thought her beautiful and passionate and clever.

      He was leaving.

      Beatrice’s heart sank.

      “What is that face?”

      Beatrice smoothed her expression, but not fast enough to stop the interrogation.

      “You are having a mope again, are you not?”

      “I am not moping.” Beatrice ducked her chin to hide her face. “I do not like to be constantly reminded I am not Faye.”

      It worked like a magic potion. Nurse’s expression softened. “There, there, pet.” Nurse grasped her chin. “You will find your own way.” She gave Beatrice’s cheek a pat as she released her. “You will find what makes you special.”

      She already had, Beatrice wanted to yell. Garrett made her special. She shrugged and let Nurse draw whatever conclusions she wanted. Anything was better than letting Nurse get a hint of the true reason for her sudden glum mood. “How is Mother today?”

      “Too old to be having another babe.” Nurse’s gaze flew to Beatrice’s and away again. “She will be fine. She has brought five healthy babes into this world and only two stillborn. She is a strong woman, your mother, and she will bear this one fine.”

      Nurse sounded too hearty. The old besom was hiding something. “Will she meet Sir Godfrey?”

      “Nay. Lady Mary is not having a good day, and I have tucked her up in bed. Henry will have to do what is needed.”

      “Shall I go and see her?”

      “Nay.” Nurse squeezed her hand. “She is resting. It is the best medicine for her.”

      “She has been resting a lot of late,” Beatrice said.

      “Aye.” Nurse turned her back and smoothed the bed linens. There was naught wrong with the bed linens.

      Beatrice stepped closer to see Nurse’s face better. “Mother will be all right, will she not?”

      “Aye, aye.” Nurse moved to smoothing the furs. She chewed on her bottom lip like she did when something troubled her. Nurse caught her looking and stopped. “Wipe your face.” Nurse swiped the cloth over her cheeks.

      “Nurse.” She grabbed the cloth and pulled it away from her face. “Tell me true. Mother will be all right, will she not?”

      Nurse opened her mouth and shut it again.

      “Tell me.”

      Nurse sighed. “I do not know.”

      She snatched back the cloth and tucked it into her pocket.

      Beatrice’s belly dropped. How could Nurse not know? Her mother was a constant in her life, always there and always capable and beautiful. She searched Nurse’s face for comfort.

      “Nurse, you are not scared mother will…” That horrible word lodged in her throat.

      “I am not saying anything, pet.” Nurse cradled her face between her palms. “I am a foolish old woman, and why would you mind me now, when you never have before.”

      Suddenly, Beatrice wanted to run to Garrett. To have him hold her and tell her all would be well. Nay. She was a selfish, wicked girl to be thinking of a man of whom her mother would, surely, not approve. She should’ve been by her mother’s side today. She would do better, be a better daughter in every way.

      “There is no sense fretting,” Nurse said. “God’s will shall prevail.”

      God wouldn’t take Lady Mary from this earth. Would he? Lady Mary was good and kind and beautiful.

      Nurse adjusted Beatrice’s girdle, then stood back and surveyed her handiwork. “There, now you are ready.”

      Chapter 3

      She was almost his. The sweet-faced Lady Beatrice of Anglesea with her blue-green eyes and sinful mouth. A tasty armful of sumptuous curves he liked to stroke. Garrett strode down the path toward the village. A few more hints about him leaving and she would present like a bitch in heat. The subsiding stiffness in his braies returned with a rush of blood. Soon now, he would rest between Lady Beatrice’s ladylike, white thighs.

      He shook off his guilt. It didn’t belong in the ugly business of vengeance. He touched the small pouch he always kept about his neck. This was what it was all about. A connection with his mother, a reminder he must stay strong and not give in to sentiment.

      The village was quiet this time of day. Most of the women were working the fields, their men eking a living from the sea. Not that he’d made many friends in the village. He stuck to himself for the most part. It was an attractive village. A tidy group of cottages overlooking the sea with their gray stone walls and mellow brown thatch. Not too large, but prosperous and thriving. The sort of place he might have settled, if he were of that mind.

      The strike of steel on anvil rang from the forge. Lyman was within, plying his trade. This was Garrett’s half day and Lyman expected him later. He would spend the remainder of his day pounding out farm implements. He reversed his path and slipped behind a series of cottages so he wouldn’t pass the open smithy door. Lyman liked company and if he caught sight of him, the smith would want to visit. Garrett needed to gather himself.

      Carefully he skirted a bustling cluster of hens. He’d found work with the local blacksmith. The forge was hotter than hell and the work hard, but it fed him and put a roof over his head while he drew Lady Beatrice into his trap. His timing was perfect. Sir Arthur was away from Anglesea. No keen eyes to watch his youngest daughter or question the new smith’s apprentice.

      As soon as Lady Beatrice gave him the ripe prize of her virginity, he’d be off again, stopping only long enough to ensure Sir Arthur knew what Garrett had taken from his youngest daughter. Sodding Sir Arthur of Anglesea would pay dearly for what he’d done to Garrett’s mother. Behind the forge, large wooden shutters were open to allow heat to escape. Garrett ducked beneath the sill and crept toward the small hut Lyman had given him.

      Lady Beatrice had been hot for him today. His rod throbbed in agreement. It was a good thing he lusted for Beatrice, or it might’ve made his plan a bit more difficult. Truth was, he wanted her and it fit neatly with his aim. Had she been any other girl, he might have pursued the same goal regardless.

      It wasn’t her doing her father was Sir Arthur of Anglesea. She disarmed him at times, but he chose not to dwell on that. He wouldn’t be drawn from his quest for vengeance. It was unfortunate the innocent must suffer alongside the guilty.

      The inside of the hut was dim after the bright sunlight. Lilly stirred on his small pallet. Garrett bit back a curse. He had only a few minutes and he wanted to spend them savoring his victory. Planning his next step. Lilly and her visits were an annoyance. She no longer demanded payment, but Lilly had her own mouths to feed. He gave her what he could spare.

      Her gaze dropped to the front of his braies. “It looks as if you were expecting me.”

      “What are you doing here, Lilly?” As if he didn’t know. The ache in his rod was persistent enough to stop him from sending her about her business immediately. As Lilly was here and keen, she could take care of it for him.

      She rose and padded on the packed earth floor toward him. Lilly was pretty, buxom, and rosy-cheeked. Her hand slipped past his belt and curled around him. She murmured appreciatively as she stroked.

      Garrett closed his eyes. Beatrice, flaxen hair streaming over his arm, her mouth full and soft, her lush body pressed to his. He groaned.

      “You are a big lad, Garrett.” Lilly giggled against his ear.

      The giggling irked him.