For the length of a dozen heartbeats they faced each other in silence. Her anger had ebbed now to be replaced with uncertainty and sadness. He saw it in her face. Knowing himself to be the cause, he felt only remorse. He could not blame her, only hope she might forgive him—in time. Meanwhile he had to make her see sense.
‘I beg you to reconsider, Claire. Please don’t go.’
The tone was humble, almost pleading, unlike any she had heard him use before.
‘I don’t know, Marcus. I can’t think properly.’
‘Take all the time you need. Just promise me you’ll think it over. That you won’t do anything rash.’
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. ‘All right.’
He let out the breath he had been holding. ‘Thank you.’
She left him then, too rapt in thought to be aware of the gaze that followed her until she was out of sight.
Chapter Thirteen
A sleepless night brought Claire no further help, and she arose next day feeling unrefreshed and heavy-eyed. Being in need of some fresh air, she took Lucy out for a walk later that morning. It also gave her leisure to reflect.
More than anything else she wanted to stay at Netherclough, to be where Marcus was. How much she wanted to believe him when he spoke to her of love, but did the word mean the same thing to both of them? Was his interpretation about passion only? Was it merely a passing fancy that would vanish as soon as it was gratified? Marriage had never been mentioned. She believed now that it never would be. Men of his rank married women of their own class. Anything else was dalliance, mere amusement. That was not the kind of love she sought, although she knew it existed. Instinctively her hand went to the locket round her neck, feeling its reassuring presence.
‘Are you all right, Miss Davenport?’
Claire looked down with a start and saw the child’s face with its quizzical expression.
‘Oh, yes, quite.’
‘You looked as if you were far away.’
She smiled. ‘Yes, I was for a moment. I’m sorry.’
‘Shall we walk down to the river?’
‘What a good idea.’
Lucy smiled and tucked her hand into Claire’s and together they followed the path through the water meadow. Forcing everything else to the back of her mind, Claire gave the child her full attention. Whatever else, Lucy was not to blame for what had happened.
*
After an hour in the fresh air they retraced their steps to the house, both of them feeling invigorated and ready for some tea by the nursery fire.
‘Will you tell me a story when we get back, Miss Davenport?’
‘All right.’
‘The one about Cinderella?’
‘If you like.’
And so when they returned Claire told her the story again, acting it out and putting on different voices for the different parts, holding her young charge enthralled to the end.
‘That’s my favourite story.’
‘Why that one?’
‘I like the bit at the end with the shoe, where the prince realises it’s her.’ Lucy replied. ‘Although I still think he should have known it was her in the first place.’
‘Yes, he should,’ Claire agreed. ‘But perhaps she looked very different. After all, she was wearing a ball gown before.’
‘But I can still tell it’s you when you’re not wearing a ball gown. I think the prince must have been quite stupid.’
‘Yes, or else his eyesight wasn’t very good.’
Lucy giggled. Then, a movement in the doorway caught her attention.
‘Uncle Marcus.’
He came to join them and, smiling at Lucy, received a shy smile in return. Over the child’s head Claire met his gaze, but his expression gave nothing away.
‘Might I have a word, Miss Davenport?’
They walked aside a few paces.
‘There are matters I should like to discuss with you,’ he said. ‘I would be grateful if you’d meet me in the study this afternoon. Shall we say at three?’
Once again she was conscious of feeling torn, of wanting to be alone with him and at the same time dreading it. Every time she saw him it became harder to try and pretend that her emotions were under control. How easy it would be to surrender, to throw caution to the winds and let her heart rule her head. She had wondered before how women could allow love to overrule common sense. Now she knew.
‘As you wish, sir.’
‘Until three then,’ he said.
*
As the morning wore on her anxiety increased. Would he press her for an answer? He had told her she might take time to reflect. Perhaps his definition of time meant something different. Knowing the nettle must be grasped, she duly presented herself at the appointed hour. However, on entering the study she checked in surprise. Marcus was dressed to ride. A pair of pistols lay in an open case on the desk. Beside them the light gleamed softly on the hilt of a sheathed cavalry sabre. As the implications dawned she looked from them to him in sudden alarm, all other thoughts driven from her mind.
‘You are going after the wreckers tonight.’
‘Sooner. I mean to take advantage of the last hour of daylight to ride for the rendezvous with Barstow.’
‘I see.’
‘If the plan works this district will be rid of the wreckers for good.’
‘Yes.’
He heard the determined neutrality in her tone and threw her a shrewd glance. ‘It has to be done, Claire.’
‘I know, but cannot the authorities deal with the matter?’
‘The authorities are dealing with it,’ he replied. ‘Sir Alan Weatherby is fully apprised of the situation, as are John Harlston and Major Barstow.’
‘That is not what I meant and you know it. Surely there can be no necessity for you to go.’
‘It is most necessary.’
‘I understand why you think so, but there are other considerations now.’ She paused. ‘What about Lucy? If you are shot and killed, what happens to her? Have you considered that?’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘I don’t intend to get shot.’
‘You didn’t intend to last time.’
‘On this occasion it is we who are setting the ambush. If the wreckers take the bait and attack the wagon, they won’t find a loom beneath the tarpaulin, but a dozen riflemen instead.’
‘Will they take the bait?’
‘I’ve arranged for news to leak out that Harlston is bringing in a replacement loom. I’m gambling that the wreckers won’t want to let that happen.’
She knew with sick certainty that they would not. The simplicity of the plan could not be faulted, or its potential deadliness doubted.
‘More men will die, Marcus. Perhaps you among them.’
He surveyed her with studied nonchalance. ‘Would it matter if I were?’
‘You know it would.’
For a moment neither of them moved and the only sound in the room was from the crackling logs in the hearth. Then, somehow, his arms were round her and he was clasping her to his heart.
‘You don’t know what it means to me to hear you say that.’
He bent his head and kissed her gently on the mouth. Claire closed her eyes, letting her body relax against him. The kiss grew deeper and more passionate, a long, lingering embrace that set her pulse racing and turning her blood to fire. Then he drew back a little.
‘I love you, Claire.’
‘Then don’t go tonight.’
‘I must, you know that.’
‘Think, Marcus, I beg you. Let the militia deal with this.’
‘It is an affair of honour, Claire.’
‘What use will honour be if you are killed?’
Forcing his eyes away from hers, he gestured to the mantelpiece and for the first time she saw the letter there.
‘I have no intention of getting killed,’ he said, ‘but I’ve been in enough battles to know that there is always a chance. You asked me if I had considered the consequences. Th
e answer is yes. For that reason I have left instructions. Should the worst happen, I would be grateful if you would see that they are carried out.’
Claire paled and her throat felt suddenly dry. ‘Marcus, I…’
‘Will you do it? There is no one I’d trust more.’
At first she wasn’t quite sure she had heard him correctly, but there could be no mistaking the look in his eyes. ‘I…yes, if you wish.’
‘Thank you.’ He drew closer and she felt his hands on her shoulders. ‘Now kiss me, Claire.’ Again the wry smile appeared. ‘After all, it may be the last time.’
She shook her head. ‘A keepsake for you to take into battle, Marcus? I won’t do it.’
For answer he pulled her hard against him. ‘Kiss me, you contrary little witch!’
A second later he matched the deed to the words, his arms tightening about her as the kiss grew deeper and more passionate. It seemed to go on for a long time. Then he drew back, looking down into her face.
‘If I’m to die, I’ll do it as a happy man.’
Anger replaced fear and she pulled free of him. ‘Damn you, Marcus Edenbridge! Damn you to hell! This business with the wreckers means more to you than anything else, doesn’t it? More than me or Lucy or Netherclough?’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It is true. You’re so caught up in the past you’re willing to sacrifice all our futures to it.’ She threw him a fulminating look. ‘I only hope that if someone tries to shoot you tonight, they aim for your head. It’s the only place a shot wouldn’t do any damage!’
With that she turned on heel and marched to the door. Marcus bit back an exclamation. He wanted to run after her, to talk to her and try to make her understand, but a glance at the clock revealed that it was half past the hour. It was time to go if he was to make the rendezvous by dark. He didn’t want to leave things like this with Claire, but there was no choice now. Reaching for the sword belt, he buckled it on and then shoved the loaded pistols into his belt.
A discreet cough at the door caused him to look up quickly and for a moment his heart leapt, hoping it might be her. Instead a servant entered to say that his horse was saddled and ready at the door.
‘Very well, I’ll be there directly.’
The man withdrew and Marcus sighed. Taking a last look around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, he threw a cloak around his shoulders, donned a hat and strode out into the hall. Minutes later he was mounted and heading the horse up the drive.
*
When she left him Claire had no clear idea of where she was going, following the corridor blindly, but presently found herself by the exit that led to the rear garden terrace. Opening the door, she slipped out, needing to escape the confines of the house for a while. Marcus’s words were still ringing in her ears. Why would he not listen? Why were her powers of persuasion so ineffective? She crossed the terrace and descended the steps, heading off down the gravel path beyond. For a while she walked on, regardless of the chill or the direction until her anger began to abate.
Gradually, it was borne upon her that she and Marcus might never meet again. The men he sought were dangerous. They had almost killed him once before. What if, in the darkness and confusion, a stray shot should find him? I only hope that if someone tries to shoot you tonight, they aim for your head. Claire bit her lip. Dear God, what had she said? It was in that second, as the possible ramifications became clear, that pride and anger evaporated and were replaced with anguish. If anything happened to him, it would be like losing a part of herself. Beside that, their argument paled into insignificance. She could not let him go without telling him the truth.
For the first time she looked around, taking stock of her surroundings. Her steps had taken her some distance from the house and brought her to the edge of the herb garden. She could see two figures there at work, an older man and a boy. They straightened on seeing her and touched their caps respectfully. She acknowledged their presence with an inclination of the head, her gaze lingering on the lad. He looked familiar. For a moment she couldn’t place him, then memory returned and she smiled.
‘You are one of Mrs Dobson’s boys, are you not? Is it Peter?’
‘Luke, miss. Peter’s my older brother. He works in t’stables.’
‘I see. And you are learning to become a gardener.’
‘Aye.’ He gestured to the area he had been working on. ‘Clearing t’herb beds today, miss.’
‘And do you like the work?’
‘I like it well enough, miss.’
‘Well, then, I’d better leave you to it.’
He nodded and touched his cap again, before returning to his task. Claire walked away down the path, aware now of the low sun and the chill air. It had been foolish to come out without a pelisse or gloves. Foolish, too, to let Marcus go without a word of support from her. He would do what he thought he must. What mattered now was to wish him well in the endeavour. She could only pray it was not too late.
Her thoughts were rudely interrupted when a man stepped out from behind a hedge and blocked her path. She drew in a sharp breath and looked up quickly. Her heart lurched as she found herself face to face with Jed Stone. Suddenly the sense of cold intensified and she shivered inwardly.
‘What are you doing here?’
He gave her an insolent smile. ‘I came to look for you, Miss Davenport. In fact, I’ve been hanging around for a couple of days in t’hope of meeting you.’
‘Why?’
‘Someone else is looking for you, too.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Your uncle?’
Her heart began to beat faster. ‘What have you to do with my uncle?’
‘Word went out in Helmshaw that he were looking for you.’
‘What of it?’
‘Seems he’s very concerned about you.’
‘Is he?’
‘Oh, aye. You know you really shouldn’t have run away from home. Bein’ a minor an’ all.’
‘My actions are no business of yours.’
‘The world’s a dangerous place for a young lady alone. It’s my duty as a good citizen to see that you’re returned to your guardian.’
Claire felt the first prickling of fear, but forced herself to face him down. ‘You wouldn’t know duty if it leapt up and slapped you in the face.’
His smile never wavered, though it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘What would the authorities say, if they knew t’Viscount were harbouring a minor without her guardian’s knowledge or consent?’
‘I neither know nor care. Nor is it any business of yours.’
‘It is when there’s a handsome reward for t’information.’
His words gave her a real jolt. The possibility that her uncle might offer money for information should have occurred to her. It was a measure of his determination to find her. It was also the greatest misfortune that the matter had been brought to Stone’s attention. A chance of easy gain would be irresistible to this man. With far more calm than she felt, Claire met his eye.
‘So go and claim it, then.’
She made to pass him, but he sidestepped, blocking the way. For the first time she realised they were out of sight of the house and the light was fading.
‘I intend to do better than that,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s a reward for information, but an even bigger one for returning you to your guardian.’
Her heart began to thump. He took a step closer. Seeing his intent, she turned and ran, but he had hold of her in three strides. Claire shrieked. Then a hand closed over her mouth. There followed a brief, unequal struggle before she was gagged and bound, after which her captor swung her up into his arms and carried her away.
She was taken down the path leading to the perimeter hedge and thence out into the lane beyond before being dumped unceremoniously into a waiting cart. Stone climbed in beside her and, favouring her with a nasty smile, threw an old blanket over her, concealing her from
public view. His companion whipped up the horse and the vehicle rumbled away. Sick with fury and fright, she struggled to free her hands but the knots held good. Above the rumbling wheels she heard Stone laugh.
From the shadow of the hedge Luke Dobson watched the departing vehicle, wide-eyed. Claire’s scream had reached the two workers in the herb garden and his older mentor had sent him to investigate. Knowing he must do something, but not being quite sure what, the boy hesitated. Should he go back and tell his companion what had happened or should he follow the cart? Instinct told him to keep sight of the cart. It held Miss Davenport. His ma would take it much amiss if anything were to happen to the lady she considered to be the family benefactress. Remembering her words on the subject, Luke set off in pursuit of the vehicle.
*
Marcus rode at a steady pace to the rendezvous on the moor, taking care not to push his horse too hard. The animal was fresh and champing at the bit, but he would not indulge it yet; he might need its strength and speed later. In his mind’s eye he went over every detail of the plan and was satisfied that nothing had been overlooked. The only unknown factor was whether the rebels would take the bait. On the other hand, would they let Harlston bring in a replacement for the loom they had smashed before? As he had told Claire, he was gambling that they wouldn’t.
This day would see the end of the Luddite threat in this part of Yorkshire. He sighed, wishing he could say as much for his own problems. Claire’s face swam into his mind. Almost he could feel the crackling tension of that last encounter. At the same time he could still feel the warmth of her in his arms, the taste of her mouth on his. Just the thought of her excited passions he once thought he would never know again. He wanted her with every particle of his being, needed her, loved her. Somehow he must make her understand that, make her believe him.
*
These thoughts were uppermost in his mind until he reached the meeting place half an hour later. It was dark now, but by the flaring light of half a dozen torches he could see Major Barstow and a dozen mounted men. Seeing the new arrival, Barstow smiled.
‘Good evening, my lord.’
Marcus returned the greeting. ‘Are you ready to go hunting, Major?’
‘Indeed we are.’
The Wayward Governess Page 20
