An Unmistakable Rogue by Annette Blair

Barrington heritage, as warned in William’s anonymous note. “You are no more Barrington’s heir than I am.”
    That snapped him back from cocky. “I have been told that I am.”
    Panic ran neck or nothing with anger inside Chastity, but ire was gaining ground. “Do not toy with me, if you please. Are you, or are you not, Barrington’s heir?”
    “I have been told that I can find proof here, though it seems, I have a paltry three months in which to do so.” Reed rubbed the back of his neck and gazed at the horizon.
    He had not convinced himself, either, Chastity thought as she resisted an odd notion to comfort him.
    “Thirty years of not knowing,” Reed said. “And now I must race a clock ticking so loud, I can scarce hear myself think for the noise.” He shook his head, as if shaking off hopelessness. “I have three months and every bit as much right to be here as you, and whatever I accomplish in helping you will be to the good, since the place belongs to me.”
    William too had received a note saying he was the Barrington heir. Had there been two notes? More? Would a score of hopefuls descend upon them? Would Reed become discouraged and leave them in peace, if she told him about William’s note? Or, would he become angry and go to Sennett? She would have to explain William, if she mentioned his note and Reed would know she was no longer a nun.
    Now that they had kissed, she feared dropping her last defense, and she could not name William as anyone but her husband. She had already done enough dissembling to trip herself up. Given the situation, for the children’s sakes, some prevaricating had been necessary, but outright lying was simply wrong. If she thought William’s claim could negate Reed’s, she might throw her last defense to the wind, but she did not, so she had best bide her time.
    Chastity caught Reed’s bemused look. How long had she been woolgathering? Could he see the lies tinting her cheeks? “If you find proof, the children will have no home,” she said, sitting again.
    Reed sat beside her. “They have parents, Chastity.”
    “That is not the point. If not these children, then others who need shelter and love will not have my children’s home to come to. Besides, what guarantee do I have that you will not fabricate proof?”
    Reed stood, insulted. “What guarantee do I have that you will not destroy what proof you find? Nuns are supposed to be honest, I know, but you did steal those children.”
    “Must you keep reminding me?”
    “What a bright color your face has turned. Do you need reminding? Do you ever forget?”
    As if she could. As appalled as she was by what she had done, Chastity experienced something akin to pride over it as well, though she would never admit as much to him. The man was aggravating in the extreme. From the moment she heard him in the alley outside the workhouse, he had been nothing but trouble. Worse and worse trouble.
    Chastity rose and spread her arms in a gesture of frustration. “You provoke me to my limits, Mr. Gilbride, and now we seem to be at an impasse. Your success is in direct opposition to mine, though a home for children is infinitely more important than a foolish quest for—”
    “Wait a minute. My quest is more than—”
    “I say we search together.”
    That halted him to the point of silence. Even the Woodlarks ceased their song. “What did you say?”
    Chastity captured his amber-eyed gaze, refusing to react to the shiver that raced through her at his piercing regard. “ Com-pro-mise ,” she said, as if to a dull-witted child, stepping back, too much warmed by their proximity. “We will search together at specified times. There can be no crying foul, if we do that.”
    Reed nodded. “We will share the tasks of setting the house to rights, and, blast it, caring for the children.”
    “And plan a time to search, side by side, room by room,” Chastity said. “The children can help.”
    “If my claim is found to be true, you will