They were moving fast now, ploughing their way through an increasingly choppy sea.
When she finally went below, Effie was just getting ready for bed. They bade each other an affectionate goodnight.
It was hours before Shona could sleep and then she dozed fitfully before waking again.
After a while she rose and put on a shawl, slipping out into the corridor and heading for the Marquis’s cabin.
It might be shockingly improper, but she had to know that he was all right.
Outside his door she paused, listening for the obsessive footsteps that she had heard last night. But there was no sound.
She was just thinking that she could safely leave when the air was rent by a howl. Her blood froze as the desolate sound howled on and on. An animal caught in a trap might have sounded very similar.
Without thinking any further, Shona pushed open the door and entered, locking it behind her, lest anyone else should come.
The Marquis was in his bed, tossing and turning and crying out.
Shona approached him, half afraid that he would be angry when he saw who it was. But then she realised that he was still asleep, trapped in his nightmare.
Softly she approached him and sat down on the bed, reaching out tentatively to touch him.
At once he seized her hands in a grip so fierce that she almost cried out. But she managed to bite back the sound, unwilling to wake him.
“Where are you?” he whispered hoarsely. “Where are you? I can’t see you?”
“And yet I am here,” she said, speaking cautiously.
“You are always here,” he rasped in the same hoarse voice. “Always here, in my heart, in my thoughts. All these years your spirit has never left me.”
Shona trembled as she realised for whom his words were really meant.
She did not know what came over her to make her answer as she did, but some deep instinct caused her to say softly, “If you know I am here, you do not need to see me.”
The effect of her voice was instantaneous. He ceased his restlessness and grew still. His eyes remained closed, yet she had the strangest impression that he was trying to see her.
“It is you?” he murmured. “Are you really here?”
“Yes, I am here.”
“I sensed you beside me today, in front of the altar where we once stood together.”
A sharp alarm swept through Shona. She must get out of here. If he awoke and found her deceiving him, he would be very angry and rightly so.
But when she tried to withdraw her hands, his grip tightened.
“Don’t go,” he murmured. “Don’t go – Angela.”
“I must,” she said softly. “I came for only a moment because – ” she hesitated, not sure how to go on.
“Because you knew my heart yearned for you.”
“After all these years?” she asked wistfully.
“All these years and to the end of my life.”
“That is a long time,” she said. “You will love again.”
“No,” he said, almost violently. “No one but you – ever. My love – Angela, my love.”
Without warning he released her hands, taking hold of her shoulders and pulling her down beside him.
Suddenly his arms were folding around her, crushing her against him. Shona tried to free herself, but she could not do so. He was deeply asleep, locked in his own private world where his beloved Angela was still very much alive.
And then he was kissing her. His lips were on hers, caressing them fiercely yet with passionate tenderness.
For a moment she was too startled to react. Then alarm and agitation surged through her. She must stop this happening.
But at the same moment she knew that she did not want him to stop.
The feel of his mouth against hers was thrilling. No man had ever kissed her and the sensation was astounding.
The steely clasp of his arms about her, his warm, mobile mouth caressing hers, his spicy, masculine scent, all these things fired her with a feeling she unwillingly recognised as desire.
It was shocking, improper, shameless.
It was thrilling, wonderful.
Scarcely knowing what she was doing, she relaxed in his arms, feeling the heat of his body through her thin nightgown. She was dizzy and exhilarated, craving for his kisses to last for ever even while she knew that she must be strong and call a halt.
“Angela,” he whispered against her lips. “Angela my love – come back to me – come back to me.”
The desperate yearning in his voice pierced the sweet haze enfolding her. She was stealing a kiss that belonged to another woman, even though her deception was entirely innocent.
Conscience stricken, she began to struggle, but at once his arms tightened.
“Don’t go,” the Marquis begged. “Don’t leave me alone again – ”
Mercifully his eyes were still closed, but Shona was terrified that he would wake at any minute. The thought of being found in his arms filled her with shame.
Exerting all her strength, she managed to free herself from him and leapt up from the bed.
“Angela –”
She backed away to the door, her eyes fixed on him.
His arms were outstretched to her in agony. In another moment he would wake and see her.
She fled.
*
After sailing all night they entered the Bay of Biscay and the weather grew rough. As the boat pitched and tossed Shona stayed in her cabin.
“She is feeling very seasick,” Effie confided to the Marquis over breakfast. “She asks you to excuse her today.”
“Of course,” he said at once. “I doubt if I will want to do much work while the weather is like this.”
Secretly he was relieved not to have to face Shona. In fact, he was not sure that he could ever face her again after the shocking illusion that had come to him last night.
He had gone to bed knowing that he would dream about Angela. That was inevitable after visiting the church where they had married, and reliving his old memories.
To stand before the burned out remains of the altar where she had become his wife, and feel her spirit there beside him had given him a brief, poignant happiness. But he had known that he would pay for it later.
And so he had. In a dream she had returned to him, gazing at him with eyes full of love, but also full of reproach because the man who had killed her had escaped.
He had implored her forgiveness. For years he had sought this man, pursuing him across the world like a vengeful fiend, swearing never to rest until her murderer had been punished.
But he had failed and his failure lay heavy on his heart, dishonouring his love.
In his dream she had whispered that he might love again, but he knew that the joy of love was not for him while Angela was still unavenged.
But then –
The Marquis rose abruptly and escaped the breakfast table. He needed to be alone before he could allow himself to remember what had happened next. It was too terrible, too glorious, too wonderful and alarming, all at the same time.
He had kissed her, as he had done many times in his dreams. Always it had ended the same way, with her vanishing, leaving him alone and desolate.
This time she had not vanished. She had changed into another woman. For a few incredible moments the woman in his arms had been, not Angela, but his prim and proper secretary.
Except that suddenly she was no longer prim and proper, but clinging to him as ardently as he had embraced her. Her glorious hair – seen once and never forgotten – had streamed down over his hands, tempting him to weave his fingers through its silken beauty.
He had felt the warmth of her body against his and known that her desire had equalled his. Her lips had given him the same message.
Suddenly his arms were empty.
She was there no more.
As the feverish dream faded, he had awakened and found himself alone and desolate again.
He had lain there in the d
arkness for a long time, trying to understand what had happened. But no understanding would come to him.
At last he had risen, thrown on his dressing gown and looked out into the corridor.
But of course there was no one there. He felt ashamed. It was a shocking insult to a respectable lady even to have imagined her in his cabin.
Nonetheless, he could not stop himself from moving along the corridor until he was outside her cabin door. There he stood, listening intently, aghast at himself for behaving so improperly, but unable to depart.
He pictured her, lying on the other side of the door, in her chaste bed, oblivious to the way he had wronged her in his thoughts.
After a while he had forced himself to walk quietly away, returning to his cabin to spend the rest of the night staring out of the porthole at the sea.
Now he was grateful that he would not have to meet her too soon. He still needed time to collect his thoughts.
He did not see her until the evening, when they all met around the dining table. He was feeling tense and weary and she looked the same. Lionel was seasick and could eat little. In fact, the only person who seemed healthy and untroubled was Effie.
“My compliments, madam,” the Marquis said. “You put us all to shame.”
“Thank you, sir. I really don’t know what has happened to Shona. I have never known her to be seasick before, even when crossing the Bay of Biscay.”
“I suppose I must have changed,” Shona explained quickly. “This journey is – unlike any other.”
To everyone’s relief the party broke up early, and they all retired to bed.
But in the night Shona arose again. This time she did not go near the Marquis’s cabin, but climbed up on deck to lean on the railing, watching the foaming sea.
As Effie had said, she was a good sailor, and felt no fear of the choppy conditions. In fact it was a relief to stand out here in the wind, and be able to relax without any eyes on her.
Then she realised that she was not alone after all. Lionel had made his way uneasily on deck and stood there taking deep breaths.
“Are you well enough to be up here?” she asked.
“No,” he said wretchedly. “I am not well enough to be anywhere. But at least up here I can breathe fresh air.”
He took some huge gulps and seemed a little easier.
“Are you sorry now that you stowed away?” Shona asked him kindly.
“No, I had to come. He needs me.”
“He does? He doesn’t seem to think so. He was very angry when you appeared.”
“That is because I am family. He does not want anyone on this journey who knows him too well,” was Lionel’s strange reply.
He saw Shona regarding him quizzically and said,
“I have already told you, the travel book is just a cover. He is here to retrace his wedding journey. Did you know that he was once married?”
“I heard some vague rumour,” Shona said carefully.
“He eloped when he was a very young man. I believe they actually married in France. His wife was murdered soon afterwards. I am vague about the details because of course he doesn’t talk about it. But that is what’s behind it. This journey is in her honour, because after all these years he is still deeply in love with her.”
Shona turned away so that Lionel could not see how his words were affecting her. Her heart was beating madly as she thought of just how much in love the Marquis truly was.
It was almost frightening. How passionately would a man have to adore a woman’s memory for all these years and then plan a trip in honour of the precious time they had shared?
“What became of the man who murdered her?” she asked. “Was he caught and condemned?”
“No, because he escaped in the confusion and was never found. I believe that thought hurts my uncle more than anything – that her killer got away with it.”
Then Shona remembered something.
“That first evening we met,” she said, “you told me part of this story.”
“Did I?” Lionel asked vaguely. “I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you said he was not really writing a travel book, but it was a cover for something else.”
“And so it is – a journey in her memory.”
“But there was more. You also said you were not sure he had admitted his real purpose to himself and that he would not know until the last minute if he was going to do something terrible.”
She thought he became uneasy.
“No, I don’t think I said anything of the kind.”
“You did, I distinctly remember – ”
“Well, it was all moonshine,” he replied hurriedly. “I was probably drunk. Don’t attach any importance to it.”
“But Lionel – ”
“Goodnight,” he said, and departed.
CHAPTER SIX
Shona stared after Lionel’s retreating figure, wondering at the strange tension that had inspired his words.
What was it about the Marquis that alarmed Lionel so much that he feared to discuss it? What mystery was he concealing?
The ship lunged and she braced herself against the dipping and swaying of the deck. The wind was blowing harder now, creating huge waves and causing the rain to lash against her face.
She welcomed it. Perhaps the shock of cold water might help her recover her scattered wits.
Today she had avoided the Marquis, knowing that she could never look him in the eye after her shameless behaviour of last night.
He had aroused feelings in her that were as confusing as they were treacherously sweet. She knew she must not yield to them and she was not ready to face him.
And yet she had not been able to avoid him. Even while she shunned his presence, she discovered that she seemed to carry him about with her as a torturing memory.
Would she ever be free of the feel of his lips on hers and the feel of his arms holding her tightly? Lost in her dream, she took a moment to realise that a voice was calling her.
“Are you all right?”
She looked and found the Marquis moving slowly along the deck in her direction.
“Are you all right?” he called again.
He came to stand beside her. In the semi- darkness and the moonlight, his face damp with spray, he seemed different.
“You should go below,” he suggested firmly. “It isn’t safe in this weather.”
“I like it here,” she told him. “I always come on deck in the rough weather. It is exciting.”
“I wonder that your husband permitted you to do so.”
She frowned slightly, wondering what he meant. Then she remembered that she was supposed to be a widow. The real world seemed strangely distant.
“I did not ask my husband’s permission,” she said, slipping back into character. “Why should I?”
“Is not a woman duty bound to obey her lord and master?” he asked.
Shona could hardly have explained her own feelings to herself at that moment. But somewhere, at the back of them, was anger.
She was angry with this man because he had brought to life such strange emotions inside her, emotions that she would rather not have experienced.
She tried to tell herself that she was not in love with him. She was strong-minded and would not allow herself to fall in love with a man who could not offer his heart to her.
Nonetheless, she had been growing increasingly angry at her own confusion and now she lost her temper.
“My lord and master?” she said furiously. “I never considered him in that light. He was my true love. We loved each other in total freedom of heart and with complete equality.”
There was a shocked silence. The Marquis was taken aback by her outburst.
At last he said,
“He must have been a very rare kind of man.”
“He was,” she declared firmly. “I shall never know anyone like him again.”
“Then you have been a very lucky woman.”
In the moonlight he could see t
he wedding ring glinting faintly on her finger. It seemed to warn him that this was a woman who had renounced the world of men to live like a nun.
If she only knew how shamelessly he had thought of her –
He was jerked back to reality by a sudden surge in the sea that made the boat heave wildly.
“I think it is now time to go below, where it is safer,” he said earnestly.
“Not me,” Shona said. “I like it here.”
He was about to remonstrate with her when he caught sight of her eyes, blazing with excitement. There was something about the violent weather that thrilled her, he realised.
How different she was from the dowdy creature she had seemed at their first meeting. This was a vital, lovely young woman, full of courage and determination.
“I like it here,” she said again.
“But it’s dangerous.”
“Then I like danger,” she called back against the wind.
“It is real.”
“What a strange thing to say. Everything is real.”
“No.” She shook her head fiercely. “Not everything.
So much of the world is no more than a dream, and then you awake – ”
She stared out over the dark sea, so that he wondered if she realised that he was still there.
“And when you awake,” he said slowly, “you cannot tell what is the truth and what is not.”
“I am not real,” she said suddenly.
“I know that. I know you are not the person you pretended to be when we first met.”
“How do you know?” she demanded, startled.
“Because you cannot keep up the pretence.”
“But I am not the only one pretending,” she answered, looking at him and remembering Lionel’s mysterious words.
He did not answer, but stayed as he was, regarding her with a puzzled expression in his eyes.
Suddenly the boat lurched again, throwing her off-balance.
She grasped wildly for something to hold onto, but could find nothing. He reached out to save her and the next moment she had fallen against his chest.
For what seemed like an eternity, but was only a split second, he held her tightly against him in an echo of the previous night.
“Please let me go,” she cried breathlessly, suddenly full of dread.
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