“Absolutely not. And I have no plans to marry him.”
“I don’t mean to pry,” Kate said. “Truly, I don’t. It’s just my only chance to know. I mean . . . It won’t ever be me, kissed in the cove by a lord.”
Susanna let pestle drop against mortar. “Why wouldn’t it be you? You’re beautiful, and so talented.”
“I’m an orphan of unknown family. A nobody. What’s more, a nobody with this.” She touched the birthmark at her temple.
Susanna set aside her work entirely and placed both hands on her friend’s shoulders, looking her square in the eye. “Kate, if that little mark is your greatest imperfection, then you are surely the most lovely and lovable woman I know.”
“Men don’t seem to agree.”
“Perhaps you’ve been meeting all the wrong men.”
At the echo of Bram’s words to her, Susanna bit back a rueful smile. No matter what happened, life would always be a bit different now. Because at last, Susanna knew what it was to feel desired, flaws and all. She felt the unexpected warmth of it lighting her from the inside, and she wanted Kate to experience the same.
“Your admirer will come along someday. I’m sure of it. But in the meantime . . .” She tugged one of her friend’s chestnut curls. “This is Spindle Cove, Kate. We base our self-worth on our qualities and accomplishments, not just the opinions of gentlemen.”
“Yes, I know. I know.” A sheepish look stole into Kate’s eyes. “But it’s impossible to stop thinking about them, just the same.”
Yes, Susanna silently agreed. It was. And with their leader indisposed upstairs, she suddenly worried what trouble the rest of the men were finding today.
In the shadow of Rycliff Castle, Colin Sandhurst regarded his troops.
They were his troops for the day, he presumed, since his fool cousin remained unconscious. Colin had warned him not to take that ridiculous dive off the cliff, but did Bram ever listen to him? Oh no. Of course not.
He’d half expected the whole militia business to be over after that show of absurdity. But apparently the lure of eight shillings and the promise of high entertainment had brought the recruits back for another day.
He clapped his hands together. “Right, then. Gather round, fellows. Over here.”
Nothing happened.
Thorne shot him a smug look. “Fall in line!” he barked.
The men fell in line.
“Thank you, Corporal Thorne.” Colin cleared his throat and addressed the men. “As you all know, our stalwart commander is currently flat on his back, nursing a head wound. A wound, I might add, given him by a little nothing of a girl. So today, as your first lieutenant, I am in charge. And we’re going to have a different sort of drill today.”
Keane, the vicar, raised a hand. “Are we going to learn a new formation?”
“No,” Colin told him. “We’re going to stage an invasion. Those little ladies down there in Spindle Cove have occupied what should be your village. Our village. Are we going to roll over and take that?”
The men looked from one to the other.
“No!” Colin supplied, exasperated. “No, we are not going to take that, not one evening more.”
Bram had the right idea, at least. These men definitely needed some help reattaching their bollocks and reasserting their dominance in this village. But his cousin had the wrong tactic, appealing to some vague sense of honor and duty. There was a much better source of motivation—that primal, undeniable impulse that drove every man.
Sex.
“Tonight,” he announced, “is the night we take back that village. And we’re not going to do it by marching in lines or committing acts of brave idiocy. We’re going to do it by being men. Manly men. The kind of men a woman wants to take control.”
Brows wrinkled in confusion.
“But . . .” The blacksmith looked around the group. “We are men. Last I checked, anyhow.”
“It’s not just a matter of having the proper equipment. It’s using the equipment properly.” Leaping up on a crate, Colin spread his arms wide. “Look at me. Now look at yourselves. Now look back at me. I am the man you want to be like.”
Dawes crossed his arms. “Why is that, precisely?”
“Do you know how many women I’ve bedded?” When Rufus and Finn perked, he waved at them. “Have a guess, boys.”
“Seventeen,” offered Finn.
“More.”
“Eighteen.”
“Still more.”
“Er . . . nineteen?”
“Oh, for the love of God,” he muttered. “We’ll be here all day. Let’s just call the number more than you can imagine. Because clearly, that is the case.” Under his breath, he added, “Perhaps higher than you know how to count.” He raised one arm over his head. “Tonight, we’re going to march down to that village, and we’re going to enjoy ourselves in our tavern.”