A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(104)

The enormity of her words swamped his mind for a moment. He groped for some cord of reason or logic in the vast, nonsensical sea.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Destroying that book doesn’t change who you are. You’re still Lady Katherine Gramercy.”

“Oh, I know who I am. And the Gramercys know it, too. But this mishap”—she held up the mangled register—“makes my identity more difficult to prove. Evan says we’ll need more witnesses before we even can approach the courts. It could take us years to have it all sorted out—until well after Lark’s season, I expect, and after Evan has a chance to arrange the finances and prepare me to inherit.”

“So you’re saying . . .”

“I’m saying I’m free, for now, to do as I please.” She approached him slowly. “I’m saying that someday I’ll take the Gramercy name, legally and publicly. But in the meantime . . . I’m hoping to share yours.” Her voice went husky with emotion. “I told you I’d give up everything, Samuel. I can’t fathom any life without you in it.”

Thorne stared at her a moment. Then he went to the door of the cell. “Bram!” He rattled the bars. “Bram, open this gate. Now.”

Bram shook his head. “Not a chance. I gave my word.”

“To hell with your word.”

“Curse me all you like. Rattle your cage as you please. You asked for this. You told me to keep you in gaol until Miss Taylor is married.”

“Well, she can’t get married while she’s locked in here.”

“On the contrary,” she said. “I believe I can.”

He turned to find her gazing at him from beneath lowered lashes. A shy smile played about her lips.

“No. Don’t think it. It’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“For God’s sake, I’m not going to marry you in a gaol.”

“Would you rather we do it in the church?”

“No.” He growled with frustration.

She tilted her head and regarded the sunlight streaming through the lattice of iron overhead. With her fingertips, she brushed a bit of ivy curling through the wall. “As prisons go, it’s rather a romantic one. This is consecrated ground, so there’s no difficulty on that score. We did have the banns read over the past few weeks. I’m all dressed for the occasion, and you’re still wearing that devastating suit. There’s no impediment whatsoever.”

No, no, no. This was not going to happen.

“Lord Rycliff, would you kindly send for the vicar?” she asked.

“Don’t,” Thorne ordered. “Don’t. I won’t go through with it.”

“I thought you might say that.” Katie dropped onto the room’s only bench—a simple wood plank. “Very well. I can wait.”

“Don’t sit on that,” he exhorted. “Not in your wedding frock.”

“Shall I stand and call for the vicar, then?” When he didn’t answer, she stretched her legs out in front of her and crossed them at the ankles. “I’ll just wait until you change your mind.”

Thorne snorted. So that’s how she meant to play this. A war of wills.

Well, she’d made the first fatal mistake in battle—underestimating her opponent.

He leaned against the wall—as far away from her as he could possibly put himself, in the small round cell.

“You can’t wear me down,” he told her. “You cannot outlast me.”

“We’ll just see, won’t we?” She looked up at the shards of blue sky. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Kate stayed true to her word. She didn’t go anywhere.

Neither did he.

Of course, that didn’t stop all Spindle Cove from coming to them. Over the course of the day it seemed every man, woman, and child in the village had a turn at peeking through the barred door and sharing words of encouragement or wisdom.

The vicar came to offer counsel. The Gramercys came to call. Evan gave them his blessing, in case Samuel was waiting on it. Samuel made it clear he wasn’t. Aunt Marmoset passed Kate spice drops through the bars.

Mrs. Highwood dropped by to suggest, in rather obvious fashion, that if Lord Drewe were still interested in getting married today, her Diana would be available.

At suppertime the Fosburys brought over some food. Kate offered Thorne a morsel of cake with her fingertips, but he warned her off with a stern glare.

She popped it in her own mouth instead, making a show of licking her fingers clean.

Don’t think you’re hiding that flash in your eye.

He was so stubborn. After the fight last night, he’d thrown everything he had into building up one last fortified wall. But she would break it down. She’d be damned if she’d let him live in that cold, unfeeling prison he’d constructed. Not now, when she knew how much love and goodness he had to give.

And as Kate saw it, she was simply repaying a favor. All those years ago, he hadn’t left her behind. His conscience hadn’t let him leave the Hothouse without her. She would not leave this gaol without him.

By evening the whole village had gathered on the green. Kate and Samuel’s standoff had turned into an impromptu festival. Ale was flowing freely, thanks to the Bull and Blossom. The militiamen organized a betting pool, placing wagers on how long the couple’s imprisonment would last.