The Foundling Bride

by Helen Dickson

  The contact was exquisite.

  Relinquishing her lips after a moment, he slowly reached up to run his finger gently along her full bottom lip, tracing its curving outline. He slipped a hand behind her neck, his touch light and sensual as he drew her against his hard body.

  ‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ he murmured, his mouth hovering close to hers.

  ‘Please don’t stop,’ she whispered.

  Gleaming whiteness flashed briefly as Marcus smiled down at her. He took her hand in his and looked deep into her eyes. His skin was warm to the touch and somehow reassuring. But he seemed too much of a man—too knowing and strong, too able to bend her to his will. She was dizzy with conflicting emotions and the turmoil made her momentarily speechless.

  She desperately wanted him to kiss her again.

  She was not disappointed.

  Tentatively he took her lips once more. They were as soft and gentle as a butterfly’s wings and as sweet as newly extracted honey. If he had previously had any doubts about her innocence they vanished now. She was cool and virginal and unlike any woman he had kissed before—sensual and inexperienced, urgent but unschooled. His lips began to move on hers, his tongue to explore.

  Lowena was experiencing the most wonderful, warm feeling. She pressed into him, answering his passion with the same wild, exquisitely provocative ardour, feeling a burgeoning pleasure and an immense joy that was almost beyond bearing. Half stifled, she found her head reeling. Waves seemed to be running through her body, but there was also another far more disturbing sensation—a deep, primeval passion.

  She gasped, totally innocent of the warmth, the passion he was so skilfully arousing in her, that was pouring through her veins with a shattering explosion of delight. It was a kiss like nothing she could have imagined, a kiss of exquisite restraint, and she was unable to think of anything but the exciting urgency of his mouth and the warmth of his breath.

  Soon she felt herself falling slowly into a dizzying abyss of sensuality. She longed for him to kiss her more deeply. But almost urgently he pushed her back, breaking the spell.

  What in God’s name was he doing? he asked himself. This was all wrong. To take advantage of her like this made him no better than Edward. When she had pressed herself against him, becoming a living spell, a temptress, a triumphant siren in his arms, he had very nearly admitted defeat and had almost been tempted to strip her clothes away and make love to her.

  He was shocked to discover just how close he’d come to losing control.

  He seldom felt ashamed of his actions, but some devil inside him had goaded him to take her in his arms and kiss her. And what a kiss! He had felt her response to his kiss and it had fired his own need. Her mouth had been soft and yielding and moist. He’d savoured the feel of it, the taste of her. He’d felt as though he could have gone on kissing her all night and never got tired of it.

  He drew a breath and looked away so she could not see the expression on his face. What was the matter with him? Why was he feeling this gnawing in his chest which her lips and the feel of her body pressed to his had caused?

  He had always felt protective towards her—but that had been the kind of protection he had felt for her when she had been a child. Now she was grown, and these feelings were new to him.

  He had left the war behind and his present way of life suited him. His family excepted, he had no ties and no emotional involvements.

  Suddenly memories long-buried of eyes as blue as the sky began to stir. When this happened he always pushed them down. There wasn’t enough fire in the world to thaw him out and make him feel the way he had for Isabel in those heady, golden days when he had loved her, and even if there were he was determined not to let it happen again.

  When Isabel had transferred her affections to Edward she had hurt Marcus cruelly. He still found the memory of the hideous affair between them difficult and painful, and it had turned him irrevocably against allowing another woman to get too close.

  He had made love to many desirable and beautiful women since, but none of them had touched his heart. He always kept himself detached, giving nothing of himself—which seemed to attract them to him even more. He tried to fight his overwhelming feelings of bitterness, but even so love wasn’t on his agenda. Until he had come home and found Lowena—all grown up and telling him that she loved him.

  He thought about what had just happened between them, turning it over and over in his mind, and suddenly everything—his life, his future—took on new dimensions. He could no longer deny even to himself that he had feelings for Lowena, and he could not ignore his ever-increasing desire to have her near him—but that did not necessarily signify love.

  She was fresh and alive and unspoiled, and he was extremely fond of her, liked being with her. He had certainly enjoyed kissing her, and he wanted to lose himself in her, to cleanse himself of the past and rid himself of the memories of Isabel. But his instincts told him to hold back until he’d considered this new situation carefully.

  Drawing a long, audible breath, he combed his fingers through his hair. ‘I should not have kissed you. It was a mistake. It should not have happened. I should know better. I’m sorry, Lowena.’

  ‘Why?’ she said, her eyes clouded with bewilderment. ‘It did happen and we can’t take it back. Please don’t say you’re sorry,’ she begged, ‘because that means that you regret it.’

  She saw Marcus’s shoulders stiffen and he took a step back, resisting her, the slight smile that curved his lips a curious blend of withdrawal and self-derision.

  ‘Did you not enjoy kissing me?’

  ‘I did—I admit it. And there is nothing wrong in sharing a kiss,’ he stated. ‘But a mere kiss can be far more tempting than you realise. If you were anyone else I would think we might get to know each other better, so long as we resolved to be discreet. But I don’t think either of us would enjoy the attention we would receive at Tregarrick. Do you know what I am saying, Lowena?’

  Disappointed, and hurt that he did not reciprocate her feelings, she stared at him in disbelief at what he was saying. Her stomach clenched and she felt as if something were shattering inside her, but she could not deny to herself that she had liked the way he kissed her.

  ‘Yes—I do. I had not thought... You are right. That is not the kind of attention I would welcome. I know perfectly well that I could never be anything to you other than your mistress, and I have too much self-respect for that.’

  Their gazes linked and held—hers open and frank, his a blend of seriousness and frustration.

  ‘I should not have said what I did,’ she said quickly as all her anxieties about her feelings for Marcus churned inside her. He was trying to rid himself of her—she could feel it. ‘It was my fault. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have kept my feelings to myself. I can see it isn’t what you want and that it has caused you some embarrassment. You are right to have reservations.’

  Her words were sincere and heartfelt. Reaching out, she placed her hand on his arm. The gesture was spontaneous, but one she immediately regretted, for Marcus drew back, resisting her.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be—and don’t blame yourself,’ he said harshly. ‘The fault was all mine. It was a moment of weakness, Lowena. Nothing more than that. Do you understand?’

  Lowena understood because his expression made it clear—no tears, no recriminations.

  Drowning in humiliation, she knew his casual statement had made her cheeks flame with embarrassment, but her pride came to the fore and she managed to raise her head and meet his gaze squarely. ‘Yes, I do. I was foolish in opening my heart and caring too much for you.’

  Marcus stepped back, making his voice condescendingly amused as he tried not to look too deeply into Lowena’s wounded eyes, eloquent in their hurt and fixed on his face. ‘I never intended you to do that. I thi
nk you are very lovely and very special, but in many ways you are still so young, Lowena—naïve and inexperienced—’

  ‘And not the sort of girl men of your standing would look at twice—unless, like your brother, you have less noble intentions,’ Lowena interrupted sharply, deeply hurt by what he’d said. His callousness was not to be borne. ‘Please don’t insult me by ridiculing my feelings, Marcus, or treat me like a child. It’s cruel.’

  ‘I apologise. I was about to say that at this time I value your friendship very much—but that is no basis for a love affair. Contrary to what you may think of me, unlike my brother I am not in the habit of seducing innocent young ladies.’

  Lowena’s cheeks grew hotter at this. He still saw her as a child—a stupid, pathetic child who had a lot of growing up to do. How could she even begin to compare with some of the beautiful women he must associate with? How could she ever have assumed a man like Marcus Carberry would be interested in her? Never in all her life had she felt so humiliated.

  Her wounded pride forced her chin up. ‘Was I in danger of being seduced?’ she ventured to ask.

  ‘No, but I suggest you go inside before I’m tempted to change my mind.’

  The silence that followed was long and heavy. The moonlight cast shadows over his handsome face, making his expression stern.

  ‘Having no wish to play on your weakness, I will remove myself from your presence,’ she said. ‘There is nothing left to say—or at least nothing that you want to hear.’

  ‘No,’ he said. His face tightened and shut as if a door had been closed.

  Lowena heard the absolute finality of that word and knew it would be futile to say anything else. Fighting desperately to hold on to her shattered pride, she said, ‘Goodnight, Marcus. I think it’s best if I go inside before I make an even bigger fool of myself.’

  Dragging her gaze from his, she turned and walked with as much dignity as she could muster towards the door of the cottage. She could no longer look at him without giving her feelings away.

  Marcus watched Lowena disappear into the house. He had read her every reaction in her expressive eyes and was satisfied that he’d done his utmost to kill any romantic illusions about love she might have. It was too soon. Everything was moving too quickly. But when she had uttered her parting words he had heard the catch in her voice and his conscience had torn at him.

  He had done well, not letting her know how much he had come to care for her, how much she belonged in his heart. But it was hard, no matter how he tried, to still his emotional rebellion against the rational reason of his mind.

  * * *

  In her room, Lowena climbed into bed. By telling Marcus how much she cared for him she had overstepped the bounds of friendship and found herself in unfamiliar territory. She’d made no demands on him—how could she, a woman in her circumstances, without birth or breeding. But she’d made a gift of telling him something she’d never uttered to another human being—that she loved him.

  She’d made a complete fool of herself. Like a child, she had indulged in a daydream and had fallen in love with a man who looked on her as a child. Misery and unhappiness folded around her like a shroud, and she wished with all her heart that she could go away, disappear to a place where nobody knew her.

  Utterly overcome with emotion and shame, she drew the covers over her head and began to weep. For a brief time she had allowed herself to hope, and Marcus’s rejection of her had diminished her in some irreparable way. She had not asked to feel like this—had not chosen to feel so deeply for him.

  She closed her eyes tightly and with a sigh uttered a prayer. Only it wasn’t really a prayer. It was a strengthening of her own will.

  * * *

  Two weeks after that night things took a turn for the worse. Rain had been falling from a leaden sky for four days without any let-up, and a crisis had arisen at the mine. Marcus had been there constantly. With all the rain that had fallen and poured through every crack and crevice, one of the lower levels of Wheal Rozen had become flooded, and the pump was struggling to cope with such a vast amount of water.

  Mrs Seagrove had taken to her bed early that evening, with one of her migraines, and the girl from the village who came in daily to help clean the house had gone home. Lady Alice was also in bed, as was Dorothy, Lady Alice’s maid, who, once asleep, wouldn’t wake if a gun went off beside her head.

  Lowena was about to go to bed herself. The only sound to be heard was the rain beating on the windows and the wind. She checked on the stew Mrs Seagrove had left keeping warm on the range, should Marcus come home from the mine hungry. Suddenly there was a tapping on the door.

  Wondering who it could be at that time, she went to see. A tall man, dripping wet, stood in the shadows. She recognised him as one of the men who worked in the woods on the Tregarrick estate.

  ‘What is it? What do you want?’

  ‘His lordship wants you,’ he said gruffly. ‘There’s a run tonight and no one to watch from the coastal path.’

  ‘Tonight?’ she gasped. ‘But—in this weather?’

  ‘It can’t be changed. Revenue men were seen earlier three miles west along the coast, so we have to be quick and careful. You’re needed.’

  Lowena stared at him, hating what he was asking of her. ‘But—no—no, I can’t. I won’t. I want nothing to do with any of that...’

  The man ignored her protest. ‘You’ve got to. No argument—and you’re to hurry. It’s all arranged. The cargo is coming in to the cove some time around midnight. We’ve got to be ready.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with me any more,’ she hissed vehemently. ‘Nothing. Do you hear me? There must be someone else who can do it.’

  How could Lord Carberry ask this of her and go against his brother’s orders? But Edward would know Marcus was occupied at the mine, and with no one else to watch the coastal path he had thought of her.

  The man shrugged, water running from his hat and down his face. ‘We’re short-handed as it is—most of the men are at the mine, trying to stop the flooding. There’s work to do. I’ve given you the message. Do as you will, but it doesn’t do to anger his lordship. You should know that. He’s the leader of this game and always has been. He’s in a dangerous mood tonight, and it won’t do to cross him. Shall I tell him you’ll come?’

  Lowena was tempted to say no, but remembering what Edward had said to her on the beach, the day after Marcus’s return to Tregarrick, and fearing that Edward would remain true to his threat and would harm his brother in some way, made her hesitate. If she weren’t there, sharply on the look-out, should the dragoons or the Revenue men come along Lord Carberry would be arrested or—should he resist—worse. No matter how deeply she loathed him, if trouble was to come to Tregarrick or Marcus it would not be by her hand.

  Swallowing her fear, she nodded.

  She watched the man hurry away, hearing his boots squelching on the sodden path. Life had suddenly become very complicated as far as her loyalties were concerned, but unless Marcus came home from the mine he would never know what she had done—would he? She sighed resignedly, knowing she could not keep it from him.

  Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, she ran from the house, disregarding the certain knowledge that the last thing she ought to be doing was helping Edward Carberry. Some sure-footed instinct born and bred in her kept her from stumbling on the path made muddy and slippery with rain, but it was a wild night, the wind whipping her skirts about her legs. With the swiftness of a hunted animal she sped towards the cove, her cloak and the skirts beneath soon becoming coated and weighted down with mud.

  Feeling as she did about Marcus—wanting to be near him, to feel him close—the last thing she wanted was to anger him. But he was not here to protect her. He could not really protect her, anyway—not from Lord Carberry. Not for ever.

  She laughed a little
bitterly, hearing the sound go out into the darkness and be carried away on the wind. She felt tears welling into her eyes—tears because she suddenly felt that everything about her life was hopeless. Never had she felt so lost, and she was lonelier than ever before.

  On and on she ran, with shadows all around her, her heart beating in a tempo of fear as the rain penetrated her cloak and soaked her through to the skin. Eventually she reached the coastal path, which wound along the edge of the cliff. She knew it well, but it was dangerous in the dark. She realised she must keep all her wits about her, and tried to prevent herself thinking about anything except the urgency of what she had to do now.

  But, whether she wished it or not, she kept seeing pictures of Marcus’s face when he had walked with her back to the cottage after the party, almost feeling again his closeness and thinking of their conversation—and their kiss.

  ‘Must I think of him now?’ she whispered to herself, and then realised with a sense of relief that she had reached the spot above the cove where the beacon stood—the one she had to light should trouble come in the form of the Revenue men. Fortunately it had been built beneath an overhang on the cliff, which protected it from the rain.

  Her heart almost ceased to beat when a figure emerged from the shadows. Edward Carberry stepped in front of her, his eyes gleaming coldly. All the colour drained out of her face. When he spoke there was no mockery in his voice. He was already organising and planning the night ahead.

  ‘You came.’

  ‘This is the last time I collude with you in your evil business. No more will I do your bidding. You are mad if you think that.’

  He smiled thinly, unconcerned by her argument. The eyes that bored into hers were deadly.

  ‘No, not mad. It takes a very sane person to plan the things I do—to make them perfect,’ he replied with infuriating calm.