Lord Sin. Catherine Archer

else, for that matter. Nothing could get past the swelling ache of emptiness in her heart.

      The two weeks that had passed since her father’s funeral had done little to ease her sorrow. In this, the last year of her father’s illness, she had known the end would come, had even realized it would be a release for him. Knowing this truth had not lessened the devastation of losing him. From the time of her mother’s death when she was five, Mary had taken over the care of her absentminded but brilliant parent.

      Not that Robert Fulton had completely neglected his only child. The vicar had given unstintingly of himself and his time as far as her education was concerned. The simple truth was that he had had little thought for the ordinary things such as meals and clean clothing, of offering a hug when she fell down. It had been left to Mary to direct the series of housekeepers in their duties and help them with whatever needed doing, to dust off her own scraped knees.

      Robert Fulton had spent his time in the pursuit of learning and knowledge. The bond between father and daughter had been forged on that path. Reverend Fulton had been proud of his Mary’s quick mind, gladly teaching his daughter about any subject she seemed to take an interest in. He was a learned, broad-thinking and patient man, which stood him in good stead as a teacher.

      Her father’s abilities as a teacher had led Mary to meet Victoria Thorn, whose kind offer of a home had now brought her to her present state of indecision. Her uncertainty had sent her out onto the moor, for it had always had a soothing effect on her. But she found no comfort here.

      Victoria was her dearest friend. Not long after the reverend had taken up the position of minister to the local church, Victoria’s father, the Duke of Carlisle, had asked him to see to his daughter’s education. He’d said he was impressed with Mary’s knowledge. The moment Victoria had taken her place next to Mary in the book-filled study at the vicarage, Victoria’s gray eyes had met Mary’s golden brown ones. Victoria’s gaze had been direct and curiously assessing without any of the condescension the minister’s daughter had expected from the offspring of a duke. Mary had found herself smiling, and neither of the girls had ever wavered from the friendship begun on that day.

      Unconsciously, Mary sighed, lifting her eyes to the grayness of the sky overhead. Somehow, something held her back from saying yes to Victoria’s invitation. She was infinitely aware of her friend’s own situation, the troubles she had so recently overcome.

      In spite of her vast wealth and social position, life had been difficult for Victoria. Her father and mother had died several years ago and, along with their wealth, all their responsibilities had passed to their young daughter. Mary had done what she could to help Victoria through that horrible time. And now Victoria and her husband, Jedidiah, were trying to do what they could to help Mary.

      They had invited her to come and live with them at Briarwood, their enormous mansion. Though Mary knew the offer was made from the kindest of intentions, she was not sure she could say yes—in fact, did not see how she could do so.

      Victoria and Jedidiah had been married only nine short months and were even now expecting their first child. Mary did not want to intrude on this special time between them. When the two of them had come to the vicarage yesterday afternoon to tell Mary of their invitation to live with them, she had seen the way they touched one another on the least excuse, the way their eyes met and held every few moments, the depth of passion neither could hide.

      She did not wish to intrude on that. And a further truth was that their shared intimacy served only to make her own loneliness all the more obvious and painful.

      Yet what was she to do? The new vicar and his family of six had lived in a rented house in the village since their arrival in Carlisle over a year ago. The family had a right to move into the comfortable two-story house next to the church. It was a measure of his kindness that Reverend Diller had insisted Robert Fulton stay in his own home through his illness.

      Mary knew she absolutely must vacate the rectory as soon as she could. For the hundredth time she asked herself where else she could go if she did not say yes to Victoria. She raised a trembling hand to wipe it across her forehead, unable to think of any answer to her dilemma when her heart was so heavy.

      She walked on, putting one foot in front of the other, forcing herself forward over the uneven ground, forcing herself not to look back. Yet she gained no insight, lost none of her sense of confusion.

      Lifting her eyes heavenward, she whispered, “Please, God, send me a sign? Help me to know what I should do.”

      As if through a haze, the sound of galloping hooves penetrated her reverie. She looked up, her gaze scanning the moor. She saw a black stallion approaching at breakneck speed, its mane and tale flowing wildly in the wind. On its back was a man in dark clothing, bent low over the muscular neck, his lean thighs pressed tightly to his mount’s sides.

      Mary stopped still, in unconscious appreciation of the untamed beauty of man and beast. Yet as she watched, her appreciation changed to uncertainty, then apprehension. Her eyes grew round and her heart rose in her throat as the horse and rider continued to bear down upon her.

      She felt frozen, incapable of moving. Something, perhaps the excesses of emotion she had experienced in the past weeks, kept her immobile, and she could only stare in growing fear. Only at the last minute did the man pull the horse up short, causing it to rear high in the air just scant feet from her. Released from her fixed state, Mary took a step backward with an involuntary gasp.

      The horse spun around in what certainly must have been a dizzying arch. To her surprise she heard what sounded like a husky and decidedly irreverent laugh escape the rider.

      Drawing herself up to her full five feet four inches, Mary put her hands on her hips. What sort of lunatic laughed at nearly running down a defenseless woman? She was just getting set to unleash her tongue on this madman when he brought the stallion around and turned to face her.

      All the things she had been going to say flew from her mind, like leaves in a breeze. A pair of dark, dark eyes surrounded by a thick fringe of black lashes focused on her in open appreciation. Her heart stopped, then started again with a lurch as he smiled, his white teeth even and strong in his lean-jawed, tanned face. He lifted a hand to rake a tousled dark brown forelock from his eyes as he said, “A good day to you, Miss…?” There was a flirtatious charm in his voice that she could not help but hear.

      Mary continued to stare up at him, wondering where this amazingly devastating man had come from, and if indeed he was some figment of her mind. For even in her distressed state Mary knew that physically this overconfident male was exactly what her fertile imagination would conjure in a man if it could do so.

      “Miss…?” he prodded.

      Suddenly Mary realized she was standing there staring like a fool. Giving herself a mental shake, she pulled the ragged ends of her dignity together. She raised her chin as she told herself that handsome features did not make a man, even while her rapidly beating pulse refused to quiet. Because of her lack of command over her own reactions, Mary spoke with more heat than she had meant to. “And why, may I ask, should I tell you who I am, sir? You have clearly displayed the fact that you are of questionable character by the way you nearly ran me down.”

      A look of complete dismay crossed his handsome face. “I? Dear lady, let me assure you that I would not have you think such a thing of me.” He ran a caressing hand over the stallion’s neck. “Balthazar is the most surefooted of mounts. He responds perfectly to the merest touch on the reins. He would never have touched you.” He arched a contrite brow, seeming suddenly more schoolboy than man, as he said, “But I must beg your forgiveness if I caused you even a moment’s concern for your safety. Please, do say you will forgive me?” The brilliant white smile he added was shocking in its power to catch her breath.

      Mary recovered herself quickly and looked at him closely, not quite sure why. but having the definite feeling that he was somehow making sport of her. Yet she could see no proof of this in either his expression or tone. She pushed the thought away, having been taught that she must believe the best of people unless they showed her otherwise. “Very well, sir. I accept your apology. I only hope you have more care in the