A Shocking Delight

by Beverley, Jo

  “I don’t need you to lie. By the time we go to the wedding, it won’t matter if people know.”

  “If you say so, miss, but I doubt your father will be pleased.”

  “He’ll be too involved in his own affairs to pay much attention,” Lucy said, praying that be true. “And you mustn’t worry about your future. Whatever happens, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

  * * *

  Lucy was on the road by noon, bridges burned, die cast, hurtling along the toll road to Exeter at alarming speed in a light post chaise pulled by six horses.

  They drove all day with only the shortest breaks to change horses and get refreshment. There was little conversation, for Nicholas was no chatterer and Lucy wasn’t sure what to say. She might like to debate her situation and actions, but what was the point when she had no intention of turning back? She would definitely like to tease out secret information, but that would never work.

  He’d brought books and offered her one. It was about the exploration of Australia, and she wondered if it had some special meaning. David’s mother had gone to Botany Bay in pursuit of the man he’d thought his father for most of his life.

  He’d claimed to have no feelings for them, but could that be true?

  True or not, she couldn’t settle to the book. Nor could she make plans or think logically about her situation, for love seemed to blank all reason from her mind. She was going to him. She would see him. Once they were together again the knots would untangle, the barriers would drop.

  Nothing could withstand the force in her and in him.

  They reached the Crown in Shaftesbury as the light was going and rain beginning. They decided not to attempt to travel through the night, but they rose with the sun at five in the morning to eat a hasty breakfast and hurtle on to Honiton. There they hired a gig to take them closer to the coast. After that would come pillion riding, which she didn’t look forward to at all.

  Their valises were put into the sturdy gig and Nicholas took the reins to drive them south toward the sea.

  “You were right about the road,” Lucy said as they swayed and jolted over the poorly maintained surface. “How far now?”

  “About eight miles, so two hours or so if we’re lucky.”

  She wished she could demand greater speed, but even insane love wasn’t mad enough for that. The sturdy horse’s steady pace was the only way, and even so it was a bumpy ride.

  She tried to admire the countryside, but she couldn’t help but notice how sparsely populated it seemed. Fields were under crops or grazed by animals, so it wasn’t wild, but the villages were scattered, and the ones they passed through were small. The inhabitants watched them, as if strangers were a rarity.

  It was a relief when Nicholas turned the gig into an inn yard in a small town, until he said, “We’ll fare better on horseback from here.”

  Lucy rubbed her backside. “After the last mile or so, that might be a relief.”

  “This is riding country. Or boat. In fair weather, it’s often easiest to go by sea from place to place along the coast.”

  “I’ve never traveled by boat unless a Thames wherry counts. I remember often wishing I were setting out on a merchantman headed for the Orient.”

  “And now?”

  “I think adventure is greatly overrated. I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “Ride pillion the mile and a half to Crag Wyvern?”

  “Commit to a life here. I see people, I see houses, I even see pretty gardens, but deep inside I think this is a savage wasteland.”

  “I’ve ventured to savage wastelands,” he said unsympathetically, “and you are far off the mark. Come, let’s progress to the dreadful end.”

  A hostler was leading out a horse fitted with a pillion saddle. Lucy eyed it resentfully, in part because she’d never ridden, not even pillion, but also because Nicholas was making light of her fears. It was not silly to be alarmed by the prospect of making a life in such a different place. Perhaps he’d been to Borneo, Hindustan, or the wilds of Canada, but she hadn’t.

  He was checking the various straps and fittings, but turned to look at her. “What has you smiling?”

  “Have you ever paddled a canoe down a river in Canada?”

  His brows went up, but he said, “Yes.”

  “Fleeing Indians?”

  “With Indians, fleeing Americans. Why?”

  “I’m simply appreciating how reality and fantasy sometimes mingle.”

  He didn’t enquire further, but strapped their bags behind the pillion. The poor beast was beginning to look like a packhorse.

  He mounted. “Ready?”

  The hostler stood by to give her a hand up the mounting block, so she climbed up and settled in the seat. Once there, and with her right arm around Nicholas, she felt reasonably safe, but as they set off, she wished the horse didn’t sway with each step.

  “Don’t go too fast, please.”

  He laughed. “Walking pace all the way. You could have ridden on your own.”

  She shuddered. “I don’t think so. How far did you say?”

  “A mile and a half or so.”

  Not far at all in London, but it felt like a great distance on this rough terrain. The road was no more than a cart track, and the hedges close enough to almost brush her skirts as they passed. When a trailing bramble caught her skirt for a moment, she gave thanks she’d been sensible and worn her brown traveling gown. She’d been tempted to try to arrive in finery, but she’d had sense enough to resist that madness at least.

  Soon she’d arrive and discover the truth.

  What if David was suffering an insane fit?

  What did she do then?

  She had to ask. “Are the earls of Wyvern mad?”

  “The previous one was unbalanced, at the least,” Nicholas said.

  “I saw a picture of the torture chamber, and read of one who rode off a cliff.”

  “He could merely have been drunk.”

  “What of the countess who threw herself from the battlements?”

  “Crag Wyvern could do that to a person.”

  “That isn’t a joking matter!”

  “Wait and see, Lucy. Not long now. To our left, beyond that hill, you can glimpse the sea.”

  It was a glimmer like polished silver that she might have missed. When the path turned, it disappeared from view.

  “It looked cold.”

  “It frequently is, but the Channel is tamer than the Atlantic. You could have fallen in love with a Cornishman.”

  “You sneer at everything.”

  “I never sneer at love. It’s too important. I simply stated a fact. Or do you feel you had control over whom you loved?”

  “Did you?”

  “No.”

  “But everything was straightforward for you.”

  She felt his laughter. “I wonder if it ever is.”

  “My friend Betty fell in love with a neighbor’s son, a perfectly eligible man who will one day inherit his father’s company.”

  “You wish you’d done the same?”

  She almost said yes, but then remembered Maria’s words. If she’d married in a conventional way, she wouldn’t have married Lord Vandeimen, whom she clearly adored.

  “There’s no reason for my romance to be difficult,” she said, “apart from Wyvern inconveniently living on the edge of nowhere. But I’m sure I can cope with that if I must.”

  “Then why are we on this journey?” he asked.

  Because David fled London and did not intend to return, and she had to know why. She’d tried to dismiss insanity, and yet what else could drive him away? She knew she hadn’t been mistaken about their passion or their love.

  The road began to slope downward, pushing her a little closer to Nicholas. She held on more tightly, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t protect her from herself. Odd to think that she might, perhaps, prefer to be protected, even prevented.

  During the urgent planning and the fast journey she’d not dwelt deep
ly on her actions, but this swaying amble down toward the sea had brought every problem to the top of her mind. Her journey would be seen as mad by most people, and shameful, too. David might be angry or even disgusted that she’d done such a thing.

  He wouldn’t have abandoned her without good reason.

  The rough road now pointed relentlessly downward, and the sea was no comfort. It spread before her, steely gray to the horizon. She could understand why people had once thought the earth flat and that ships would sail off the edge.

  Nicholas halted the horse and pointed left. “You can see Crag Wyvern over there.”

  The dark tower on a cliff top was exactly as uncompromising and isolated as it had seemed in that illustration, and as bleak as Wyvern had implied.

  She could deal with that problem, at least. If they did marry, they could use her money to tear it down and build better.

  Away from cliffs.

  Away from endless horizons.

  She focused instead on the spire of a church and thatched rooftops. There was a village below the cliffs, tucked down low, not exposed to the elements.

  The road smoothed out to flat as they entered the blessedly normal surroundings of well-tended cottages and gardens mingled with small farms surrounded by outbuildings and yards of poultry and pigs. The quite elegant church had a leafy graveyard.

  “Church Wyvern,” Nicholas said. “David was born and raised here, at Kerslake Manor. That road to our left leads up to the Crag.”

  Lucy supposed its width warranted the word “road,” but it was a track—rough, chalky, and very steep.

  “We have to climb that?”

  “By foot or on horseback. People who live here get used to slopes.”

  People who live here.

  The handful of villagers out in the street were staring and a few more were gathering. Probably they didn’t often see strangers here, especially fashionable ones, but she was struck by a kind of blankness on their faces. The only bright gaze was from an infant who was taking in wonders, thumb stuck firmly in mouth.

  Then, like a spell breaking, a gray-haired man came out of the inn, smiling. “Mr. Delaney, zur. I’ll be taking your horse?” The accent was thick but understandable.

  The villagers resumed their business, but Lucy still felt their wary speculation. She looked around, hoping to see David, but of course he’d be up in his daunting keep.

  She noticed that despite his professional courtesy, the innkeeper gave her a look that was sharp and, yes, guarded. What danger could a fashionable young lady pose to these people?

  Smuggling.

  That was it.

  A hazard she hadn’t considered.

  Even David had admitted that many of his people were involved in the wicked trade. They probably regarded any stranger with distrust, but how ridiculous to think she might be a spy for the excise men.

  All the same, smugglers were notoriously cruel to spies and traitors.

  Chapter 27

  David was in Magsy Lovell’s cottage discussing the lace trade when young Gabby Oke ran in, his eyes bright with excitement.

  “Strangers, zur! Least, one’s been here afore, but there’s a woman, too. In an odd hat!”

  “Tourists,” David said. “Nothing to fear, but I’ll come.”

  He ducked out of the cottage and walked down the lane to turn into the main street. As soon as he did, he stopped, his heart giving a betraying leap. Lucy. With Nicholas.

  Then alarm and anger surged. Did the woman have no sense at all? And what in Hades was Nicholas up to, bringing her here? He strode forward, ready to demand that.

  But not with half the village watching, either from the street or from windows.

  “Delaney,” he said, mildly enough.

  Nicholas met his eyes, his expression perhaps rueful but definitely unrepentant. King Rogue was meddling, damn him.

  David turned to Lucy, perched on the back of the big horse, looking as worried as she should. She was in that plain brown gown she’d worn in the park, but it still blazoned London wealth, as did her soft, stylish hat pinned with a quartz brooch. She was completely out of place here.

  But lovely.

  And desirable.

  And . . .

  Everything was fixed in place like a ridiculous tableau. The horse was nowhere near the mounting block—on purpose? He had no choice but to go forward and help her down.

  “Miss Potter. What an unexpected pleasure.”

  He put his hands on her slender waist and lifted her down, noting how slight she was, but only physically. Not in any other way. Her being here was proof of that and set his heart pounding with the need to pull her into his arms and never let her go.

  As soon as her feet were settled on the ground he let her go and stepped away. “No maid?”

  “No maid,” she said, looking around. He could see that she was attempting to look merely curious, but she was avoiding his gaze. She was uneasy under so many watchful eyes. It served her right, and would be useful. Her being here was disastrous in any circumstances, but especially with a run tomorrow night. Nicholas would have to take her back where she’d come from.

  But Nicholas had already had Matt Lovell, the innkeeper, unstrap a valise from the back of the pillion saddle, and he now turned the horse. “As Miss Potter is safely in your hands, Wyvern, I’ll leave and hope to intercept Eleanor and the children at Honiton.”

  If David had commanded it, the whole village would have poured out to block the road, but while some trace of reason ruled the world, he couldn’t do that. He could only let Nicholas ride away. But there would be a reckoning for this.

  Lucy was staring after her escort.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” David said. “That’s what you get for enlisting Nicholas Delaney.” When she turned to face him, he asked, “Why?”

  She was wary, which showed sense, but her chin went up. “Mad impulse?”

  “We need no more madness here.”

  Her eyes widened, but she spoke firmly. “I needed to see what this place is like.”

  “Why?”

  She blushed then, because the answer was obvious—to decide whether to marry him or not.

  “I’d have thought it disastrous in trade to be blind to facts that don’t suit you.”

  “Equally disastrous not to factor in everything,” she countered, willing to fight, heaven help him.

  “Emotions have no part in trade.”

  “That depends on the trade. My father paid more than the value for a painting that reminded him of something important in his life.”

  And your father will pay in blood to stop you marrying me.

  He couldn’t tell her that, because she’d brush her father’s objections aside. She was of age. She had command of her money. She could marry whom she wished.

  He couldn’t tell her the root problem: that he was Captain Drake, smuggler-in-chief, and her father would use that if crossed. He didn’t underestimate Daniel Potter’s powers to wreak havoc here, and since returning he’d uncovered evidence of his probing.

  A couple of scholars had arrived a few days back and were wandering about the area, being a bit too nosy, and even the Blackstock Gang, old enemies, had sent word of questions being asked about Dragon’s Horde affairs. Lloyd seemed particularly jaunty, as if his quarry was within his sights.

  David could only hope that Potter didn’t have spies in the area now or word would be speeding to London that his daughter was here.

  They couldn’t stand here bandying words. Damnation, from the look in some of the village women’s eyes, they were coming to conclusions. He’d take her to the manor and put her in Aunt Miriam’s hands. . . .

  No, disastrous. Aunt Miriam would set to planning the wedding.

  Right. She’d come here to see if she’d like living here. He’d show her that she wouldn’t.

  He picked up her valise. “Come.”

  “Where?” she asked.

  “To Crag Wyvern, where else?”

&n
bsp; * * *

  Lucy hadn’t expected a welcome, but she’d not expected enmity. In his country clothes, hatless, his shirt open necked, and his hair disordered by the breeze, he looked like David, but he was behaving like the masterful man who’d cowed Outram and Stevenhope.

  Like the dragon.

  She had reason to be wary of the dragon, but she truly had burned her boats. None of the people around—his people—would help her. Probably none would raise a finger if he threw her off a cliff, and they’d certainly keep the secret of it.

  She tried to tell herself that Nicholas Delaney wouldn’t have gone if he’d thought there was danger. But she couldn’t be entirely sure even of that.

  Then the chime of the church bell broke the dark spell and she got her nerve back. Church. Time. Normality. At the moment, at least, David was free of insanity. So what was the problem? She’d come here to find out the truth, and she would, even if she had to fight the dragon to do so.

  * * *

  Very soon she was wishing for a smoother battlefield.

  The “road” was steep from the beginning. Worse, the surface was uneven and unstable, with stones that shifted beneath her half boots. They were leather and she’d thought them sturdy, but they’d been made for city streets, not this kind of terrain. She could feel some pointed chips of rock through the soles.

  She wasn’t used to thinking of herself as frail and she could dance the night away, but her legs weren’t used to slopes like this and they were already protesting. She began to feel her heart’s effort and had to stop to suck in breaths.

  David turned back to look at her, expression as blank as those of his villagers.

  “I’m not used to slopes,” she said.

  “I warned you.”

  “Cliffs. You said cliffs. Climbing with ropes. Not without!”

  Had his lips twitched?

  She seized on that. “You could at least give me a hand.”

  His reluctance hurt, but he did extend a hand to her—a strong, bare hand, tanned and capable of work. She wished she dare take off her leather glove before taking it, but that would be a dare too far.

  His strength helped and she longed to complete the climb without further weakness, but she had to call a halt again. She used the excuse of a path going off to the right, sloping down.