A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)

“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.

As the sun was setting, Badger came by. After depositing the gift of a limp church mouse just outside the door, he settled down in the grass and propped his head on his paws. Waiting. For hours. Until moonlight poured through the gaps overhead, like streams of quicksilver.

“Think of the dog,” she crooned. “Look at him. You know he won’t leave. He’s going to sit there all night long. Out, exposed in the elements. Poor little pup, shivering in the cold.”

Thorne made a dismissive noise. “This is all his doing.”

Well, if concern for the dog wouldn’t move him . . .

“I’m cold.” She trembled for effect. “Won’t you come sit beside me, or are you just going to let me shiver, too?”

At last she’d found the argument to move him. With obvious reluctance, he came and sat beside her on the small, unyielding bench.

She caught his wrists by the iron manacles, still chained together, and ducked her head to slip into the circle of his arms. He didn’t fight her as she leaned against his chest, snuggling into his warmth. Pressing her ear to his shirt front, she found his heartbeat, strong and steady.

“You should go,” he murmured. “Go back to the Queen’s Ruby and sleep in a warm bed.”

“A warm bed sounds lovely indeed. But only if you’re in it. I’ll wait to go home with you.”

His hands flattened against her back, pulling her close. With his thumb, he stroked light caresses up and down her spine.