for it, he will!"
Slowly some sense seeped through Heather's trauma. She became aware of what her aunt was saying, of Henry's name spoken. Shivering and addled, she forced herself to some semblance of awareness. Whatever she did, she could not let Henry take the blame. She could not hurt him like that and have him despise her more. Trembling, she picked up her gown from the floor and pulled it to her naked body.
"It wasn't Henry," she said softly.
Her aunt swung round. "Eh? What you say, girl?"
Heather sat unmoving, staring into the fire. "It wasn't Henry," she repeated.
"And who was it if it weren't the cobbler?" the woman questioned fiercely,
"It was a sea captain from the colonies," Heather sighed listlessly, dropping her cheek against the tall, crude back of the chair she sat in. The flames from the fire illuminated her small face. "His men found me and took me to him and he forced himself upon me. God's truth."
What did it matter now if she told of the defilement she had suffered in the hands of that man? Everyone would know in a few months of her pregnancy unless her aunt decided to keep her at the cottage and not allow her to go into the village. Even then, how would they explain the baby's presence after the child was born?
Her aunt's brow knitted in confusion. "What are you saying? Found you when? Where was this?"
Heather could not bring herself to tell the woman of William's death. "I was lost from your brother and the Yankee seamen found me," she murmured, still staring into the crackling fire. "They gave me to their captain for his pleasure, and he wouldn't let me go. It was only through my threat to shoot his man that I gained my freedom. I came here straightaway."
"How did you get lost from William?"
Heather closed her eyes. "We went—to a fair—and somehow we became separated. I didn't tell you before because I couldn't see the need. It's the Yankee's child I carry, not Henry's. But the man won't marry me. He's one who takes and does what he pleases and he won't be pleased to marry me."
The frown was wiped away from Aunt Fanny's face, and a slow menacing smile replaced it. "We'll see about that. Now, tell me, didn't your pa have a friend who be magistrate judge in London? Lord Hampton was his name, weren't it? And didn't he control the investigation of all the ships suspected of smuggling?"
Again confusion swept over Heather. Her thoughts were too muddled to grant her any explanation for her aunt's questioning. She answered hesitantly.
"Yes, Lord Hampton did and still does as far as I know. But why—"
The smile deepened. "Ne'er you mind with the reasons. I want to know more of Lord Hampton. Did he know you and was he very good friends with your pa?"
A frown touched Heather's smooth brow. "Lord Hampton was one of my father's closest friends. He used to come to our home often. He's known me since I was a baby."
"Well, all you need know right now, missy, is that he is going to help you get wed," Aunt Fanny said, a cold, calculating expression on her face. "Now get your bath and go to bed. We're going to London tomorrow, and we'll be having to rise early so we won't be missin' the coach going through the village. It won't do to go in a cart when we'll be callin' on Lord Hampton. Now hurry with you."
Heather got to her feet with an effort, completely baffled by her aunt. Why the woman wanted to know about Lord Hampton she didn't know, but Aunt Fanny was a master schemer of devious plans, and it wouldn't do to question her. Obediently Heather slid into the wooden tub, feeling a heaviness in her lower abdomen as though she were just now with child, and all the time before, unscathed.
There was no doubt whatsoever in her mind that she was breeding. She should have expected just such as this from the Yankee bull. Strong, potent, full-blooded, he had done a man's due with an ease she found maddening. How was it when a great
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