Free Never Seduce A Scoundrel by Heather Grothaus Page A

man dressed in long robes, making his way toward the dais. It could be no other than Father Perry, and if he was back from the mission across the countryside, Cecily could not be far away. Perhaps she was fatigued and had gone straight to her rooms. No matter, Oliver would simply put off Sybilla until the morrow, after he had a chance to talk to Cecily.
    “Peace be with you, my lady,” the priest said with a broad smile.
    “And also with you, Father,” Sybilla answered. “How fares the village?”
    “Well. We performed the Lord’s work today, most surely. Your generosity was appreciated more than you can know. God will reserve a special place for you.”
    Oliver wasn’t certain, but he thought he heard Sybilla Foxe snort daintily.
    “I pray that is true, Father,” she said. “Where is my sister? I hope not infested with lice again. Cecily always feels she must cuddle all the children.”
    “Not this time,” Father Perry chuckled good-naturedly. “But alas she is not here for you to confirm for yourself.”
    Warning clangs—like crashing cymbals—began sounding in Oliver’s already pounding head.
    “Not here?” Sybilla thankfully gave voice to the questions banging on the back side of Oliver’s teeth. “Where is she?”
    “She’s gone on to Hallowshire, my lady. With the vicar.”
    The crashing cymbals in Oliver’s ears threaded out into a loud buzz, and it felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach.
    Sybilla huffed a little disbelieving laugh and then leaned back in her chair as if she, too, was stumped. “In truth? My, my, Father. Vicar John must be of the persuasive sort.”
    “That he is, my lady,” Perry affirmed with a grin. “I do believe he has taken a special interest in Lady Cecily, and she values his opinion and regard quite highly.”
    “That gladdens my heart,” Sybilla said in a low, intense voice.
    “And mine as well,” Father said with a knowing look, and Oliver could not help but feel that, even though the conversation was taking place directly before him, something was being alluded to that he did not understand.
    “Did she say how long she will stay before coming home?” Sybilla asked, and then leaned forward slightly. “Is she coming home?”
    “She did not say,” Father Perry confirmed. “She very pointedly did not say.”
    “I see,” Sybilla half sung.
    Father Perry nodded sagely.
    “What in bloody hell is going on?” Oliver blurted, the pounding in his skull making his vision dance. Everyone turned surprised eyes to him, but he didn’t care. “Is she coming back or isn’t she?”
    Father Perry gave Oliver an amused smile, and Oliver wanted to blaspheme just to spite the meek little messenger.
    “Only God knows, my son.”
    “Only G—” Oliver broke off and clenched his teeth together. But even he could hear the strangled sounds struggling to form into words and burst free from his mouth. His arm throbbed as if a strong little man stood near his elbow, thrashing it with a club. He stood abruptly, the chair legs squealing on the stones beneath his seat.
    “If you will excuse me.” Oliver turned and gave Sybilla a short bow. “My lady.”
    “Oliver, what on earth has come over you?” Joan demanded with a puzzled laugh. “I do vow that little blow to your head has completely wuzzled your personability. I’m sure your nurse is quite fine, as you will be with or without her. Don’t leave us so soon—we’ve not even had the pudding yet.”
    “I don’t care for any bloody pudding,” Oliver ground out. “Thank you.”
    Sybilla raised her chalice to her lips again, and although Oliver knew the lady was still waiting on his answer of the offer she’d put forth, she didn’t bother to cast her eyes in his direction as she spoke against the rim of her cup.
    “The pudding’s quite good.” She took a sip. “August never missed the pudding.”
    It was the final straw.
    He threw his napkin onto his platter and turned, making his way from the