Free Fallen Angel by Elizabeth Thornton

You can give me your message outside!" His harsh tone brooked no argument, and the boy slunk away. Deveryn waited till the door had closed behind him.
    He spoke over his shoulder. "This won't take long. The blacksmith is repairing the wheel of my carriage. If you're a good girl, I'll take you home in style."
    "Deveryn? Is that your name?"
    He turned to face her. She was standing in deep shadow in the centre of the; aisle.
    "No. It's my title. Jason Verney, the Viscount Deveryn, at your service," and he inclined his head slightly, then pivoted on his heel and made to follow the boy out of the church.
    "No! It can't be! You cannot be Deveryn!"
    Again he turned. "Oh, oh! Has my reputation preceded me?" His voice gentled. "Don't let it trouble you. I swear, from this moment on, I'll be a reformed character."
    "Wait!" She was almost pleading. "It cannot be so uncommon a name, surely?"
    "Sweetheart, we shall talk of this later. But you must know that peers of the realm, with few exceptions, rarely share the same title. I shan't be more than a minute or two."
    He found the blacksmith's lad shivering on the doorstep. The youngster brought the intelligence that his lordship's coach was fit for the road. Deveryn, slightly shamed by his former rough tone, pressed a shilling into the astonished boy's palm and told him to convey his thanks to his master.
    It took only a moment to retrace his steps to where he had left the girl. She was gone. On the stone floor, beside the pew where he had left her, was her leather riding crop. He made the connection immediately. He sprinted out of the building and down the stone flagged path. As he pushed through the iron gate, he heard a shrill whistle from one end of the street and her mount's answering whinny from the opposite direction. As the horse brushed past him, he made a grab for the bridle, but missed it by inches.
    To give chase was undignified and pointless. She had the foresight to put as much distance as possible between them. As her mount reached her, she scrambled on its back and checked its pace with a firm hand on the reins. He watched, motionless, as she brought the restive beast round to face him, the wind whipping about the folds of her cloak, the snood shielding her from his gaze. He had the urge to call out, to say something that would compel her to return, but he knew that it would be useless. She had set her mind against him. As she wheeled her horse, and shot forward into the shadows, the thought consoled him that it would be no great labour to discover her identity. Nevertheless, that she had not committed herself to him without reservation was a bitter pill to swallow. For a moment there, he had been so sure of her. He did not believe, however, that once he found her, she would hold out long against him. Her guardians, he thought without conceit, would be falling over him to secure the match. He was the Viscount Deveryn, independently wealthy, and heir to a great fortune and title of some note. There were no obstacles that he could foresee to obtaining his heart's desire.

Chapter Four
     
    Maddie could never afterwards remember that wild ride home between Inverforth and Drumoak. Fortunately, her mount needed little direction, for Banshee was used to carrying her mistress on this favourite haunt along the southern shore of the Forth estuary. Maddie was scarcely conscious of the muffled drum of Banshee's swift hoofbeats on the wet sand, nor the ferocious spray from the breakers which saturated her heavy mantle, drenching her to the skin. As Drumoak's welcoming lights came into view, she automatically urged her mount over the sand dunes to the path which traversed the east pasture, her mind still burning with the name of the man whom she had encountered outside the church. Deveryn! Her thoughts chased themselves in wanton confusion as impressions of his conversation, his confident assumptions and his persuasive lovemaking pressed in upon her. Deveryn—the name she hated above