As he spoke he was looking at her very steadily. Lucy felt her cheeks heat with warmth. Suddenly everything about the day was beautiful, everything bathed in a soft glow—and the glow came from within herself. Never had she felt like this—so secure, so happy. As she gazed at her handsome companion it was as though a vital part of her had been missing until now. The feeling had come over her all of a sudden, it seemed, and she was slightly bewildered, but she revelled in it. Glancing to where Miss Hope still dozed in perfect ignorance of what her charges were up to, Lucy knew she should have left him then and walked away, but she did not. Knowing what her future had in store for her, she wanted to hold on to what could be her last taste of freedom.
‘Miss Hope, who is supposed to be chaperoning us, is asleep. She would have a seizure if she knew I was talking to you like this.’
‘Then we shall keep it to ourselves. I find it is the things we are not supposed to do that we enjoy doing the most.’
Lucy listened to him intently lest she missed a word or an expression on his face as he described the countries he had visited, east and west, and the cargoes he had carried, not even looking at her which, if she had more experience of men, would have told her of his consuming interest in what he had chosen to do. He talked about crossing vast oceans as if it were a mere sailing up the Thames. She hung on to his every word, the glow inside her spreading, coursing through her veins like a glorious elixir, filling her with new emotions and instincts.
‘You were born in London?’ he asked, getting to his feet and holding out his hand to assist her.
Lucy took it, grasping it firmly. ‘No. I was born in Louisiana.’
He looked surprised. They began heading in the direction of where they had met. ‘You are an American?’
‘Yes. Have you been there?’
‘Yes—quite recently, in fact. Like you, I too am an American. I was born and brought up there—Charleston, South Carolina. My father came from Surrey, but before he died he considered himself an American. He helped fight the Revolutionary War back in the early eighties. When the fighting was finished and America won the war, things changed. He started a shipping company in Charleston. How did you come to leave Louisiana?’
‘When my mother died my father sent me to England to be educated and to be taught to be a lady. He sets great store by such things.’
‘He is English—or was he born out there?’
‘He was born there. My grandfather went to America when he was a young man. The lure of America was too great for him to resist—he was bitten by the bug that bit everyone else in those days. He toured about—travelling west for a while—hungry to see it all for himself.’
‘He wasn’t the only man lured by the Promised Land. It was a dream shared by many—thousands of men all seeking a better life, a different life, to raise their families, all the time pushing further west in a valiant attempt to tame the land and carve themselves a niche. What made your grandfather settle in Louisiana?’
‘He got tired of wandering and eventually settled near Baton Rouge—which was where my father was born and later met and married my mother. She was Spanish.’
‘I see. You have a colourful and interesting background. You must have missed it when you left.’
‘I did—very much. I was homesick for a long time.’ Lucy would never forget the day when she’d had to leave Louisiana. She’d been so happy there that she hadn’t wanted to leave. Oppressed by a terrible feeling of isolation, when she had first come to England she’d felt out of place. With her exotic upbringing and the freedom and vibrant colour of Louisiana coursing through her veins, it had been difficult that first year, try as she did, for her to conform to an English young lady’s way of life.
‘Will you return to Louisiana to be worshipped by the handsome sons of wealthy planters?’ he said teasingly.
‘No—at least not yet. I would like to see my father, but I like England very well. Besides, Louisiana might not be the idyllic paradise I remember—and yet, even though I have settled down here, there are times when I still feel like a stranger in a strange land. Do you trade with England and do business with the people your father fought?’
He grinned. ‘I don’t hold grudges when it comes to business. My father liked trading with the English—like your own father—for a profit.’
‘And will you carry on your father’s business?’
‘No. Things change—things have changed for me. My parents are both dead. I sold the business.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Despite his self-assurance, she sensed a deep sadness in him, something frozen and withdrawn. ‘You have no siblings who can take it on?’
‘Sadly, no. I have a younger sister, but no brothers.’
His eyes had clouded over and, sensing he didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t question him further about his family. ‘You said things have changed for you. If you are not going to run a shipping company, will you remain at sea?’
‘No. I’m in the process of selling my ship. I have a buyer. Hopefully the sale will go through.’
The breeze blew her hair across her face and she reached up and absently drew it back, combing her fingers through it and sweeping it behind her ears, unconscious of how seductive the gesture was to her companion. Her eyes moved over him in the bright sunlight, memorising the gleam of his dark hair, the firm lines of his jaw, his mouth, the lean, hard strength of his body.
He met and held her gaze, his lips curving in a smile. ‘You seem to be greatly preoccupied with my looks. Do you like what you see?’
‘Why—I...’ She bit her lip, suddenly realising the imprudence of letting her tongue run away with her. This man was a stranger to her and there was no reason to share the intimate details of her life with him.
Appearing to enjoy the confusion his question caused her, chuckling softly, he brought a finger up to her face and followed the arc of her cheek, ever so gently, then brushed back a stray curl and tucked it behind her ear. Lucy shivered at his touch, but she did not draw away. She recognised the obvious admiration she read in his eyes and suddenly became aware of the boldness of his body, his maleness and the impropriety of being alone in his company.
Her heart beat hard in her chest and pounded in her ears and he moved closer, but then stopped. His mouth curled in one corner. He looked at her for a long time, his eyes studying her darkening, and she thought she knew what he was thinking. It alarmed her just a little, but she didn’t lower her eyes.
‘If you were not so young and innocent, Lucy Walsh, I would most definitely be tempted to kiss you to see if those lips are as soft and sweet as I imagine them to be—just something to remember in the coming days.’
‘Why, do you mean you would claim a kiss from me as pay back after all?’ she murmured cheekily.
‘My dear Miss Walsh,’ he said, looking at her face directly with a frank leer of approval that raked down over her body, ‘I am a seaman and if you were on my ship, and older and with more experience of the world at large, believe me when I tell you that you would pay me back, only I don’t think you would like the price.’
Shocked, Lucy drew herself up, a hot flush mantling her cheeks, but strangely she was not offended. ‘Sir, you are no gentleman.’
He grinned. ‘So you’ve finally figured that out. But worry not. I mean you no harm. Keep your innocence, Lucy Walsh. Hold on to it as long as you can. Your virtue is the most precious thing you have. Never forget that.’
Lucy stared at him, thinking it was a strange thing for him to say and wondered what had prompted it. Then he smiled, a slow, sensual, brilliant smile that made her feel as if she’d stared at the sun too long. ‘You are going far?’
‘I’ve been visiting a relative here in Surrey. I’m with a friend, Jacob Higgins, and we’re on our way back to London. Jacob couldn’t resist dropping in to see what the fair was all about and to partake of refreshment�
�the liquid kind. Speaking of which, I should go and look for him. Then I really should be going. I want to make it back before dark. Captain Christopher Wilding at your service.’ With a smile he inclined his head in the briefest of bows. ‘I bid you good day, Lucy Walsh. It’s been a pleasure talking to you.’ He turned from her and walked away.
Lucy’s eyes followed him as he strode across the grass with a casual grace, took hold of the bridle of a splendid chestnut stallion and swung himself on to its back with all the ease of a trained athlete. She noted how he rode his horse as if he were part of the animal. She still felt the undercurrents created by his presence and, as he disappeared into the trees, she was touched by an incredible sense of loss.
She had no idea what had possessed her to go off with him like she had, for she had been unable to stop herself. It was as if the innocent part of her had undergone an extraordinary transformation beneath the intense silver gaze and she had become a shameless wanton. When she thought of it and their conversation and he had said that, had she been older, a kiss would be the reward for saving her from a runaway horse, an acute embarrassment washed over her, along with an odd, breathless excitement that she was certain could not be anything but wicked.
She was sure he had been attracted to her in a special sort of way and there was no doubt he’d had an effect on her. He had made her feel she was no longer a child. She felt frustrated that he had gone before she could understand the meaning of this attraction between them.
Hearing someone call her name, she looked round to see Emma, who came to stand beside her.
‘Who was that man you were talking to?’ Emma asked, looking in the direction in which he had disappeared.
‘Christopher Wilding, apparently,’ she murmured a little dreamily, completely unaware that there was a sparkle in her eyes and a delicate pink flush on her cheeks that hadn’t been there before her meeting with the handsome sea captain. From the moment she had set eyes on him she had felt a strong sense of attraction to him, right from the moment she had looked into his silver-grey eyes when he had saved her from being trampled to death by the horse. ‘He came to my rescue when a horse threatened to run me down. He’s a sea captain.’
‘Then he must have been with the person I was talking to. He told me he was a sailor. He said his friend was a sea captain, a privateer—the owner of a vessel called Sea Nymph, which is docked in London—and quite famous for escaping at the most crucial moment from impossible situations.’
Lucy gave her an indulgent smile. ‘I think he might have been trying to impress you, Emma, with his story of derring-do.’
‘Perhaps you’re right, but he was nice—and see,’ Emma said, running towards a leather satchel on the ground, ‘your captain must have dropped this.’ She handed it to Lucy. ‘Do you think we should look inside?’
‘No. If he did indeed drop it—or it might have fallen from his horse—then we should try to find him.’ She looked around, hoping to catch sight of him, but he was nowhere to be seen. ‘He must have left with his friend.’
‘Perhaps there’s an address inside where he can be reached. Have a look, Lucy. There will be no harm done.’
Nervously Lucy unwrapped the package, but there was nothing inside to identify the stranger, just papers with an address in Hanover Square which she immediately put back without reading them.’
‘We’ll take them back with us. He knows I am at the academy so when he misses them, if they are important, he might very well go to there.’
CHAPTER TWO
Riding away from the fair with Jacob, Christopher found his thoughts turning to his pleasurable meeting with Lucy Walsh, unable to believe he had felt such delight spending time with a young woman fresh out of school eating warm gingerbread under a tree. She had roused his interest and he had been immediately drawn to her, attracted by her physical beauty. He had been at sea until two days ago when he had put in at the port in London.
It had been a while since he had seen such fresh beauty. When she had turned her face up to the sun, the light had caught her eyes, which were brown and flecked with pure gold, deep and transparent like sunshine on water, and surrounded by incredibly long lashes. If he had looked into them too long he knew he would have become lost. Her skin was soft and golden, and she had a mouth that enjoyed laughter.
For the short time they had been together he had revelled in her presence and fought down the insane impulse to bend his head and slowly kiss the laughter from her soft, inviting lips. Give her another year or so and she would be a natural temptress, alluring and provocative. But for now she was an innocent, young and with the face of an angel and an unspoiled charm that made him smile. She was also in possession of a strength of character that would mature as she became older—though she had been sadly in need of grooming.
Her rich cloud of dark hair was highlighted with streaks of gold and boasted dried leaves and bits of grass. The plain white blouse and blue skirt that she wore accentuated her tiny waist and the body beneath, outlining the curve of her young breasts. Her face was enchanting. The primal rush of attraction he had felt for her had surprised him. He was an experienced man of the world, but he was also an honourable man and sincerely hoped she would not be chastised for spending time with him.
The strength of his desire was unexpected. How, in a matter of moments, had he gone from contemplating an evening’s wanton revelry in London with his friends to finding himself attracted to an eighteen-year-old girl he would very much like to see again? All the time they had been together she had watched him with the wide-eyed, fascinated attention of an innocent, untouched girl for a man older and presumably experienced. It was probably the first time in her young life that she had been in the presence of a mature male with a colourful existence and therefore delightfully dangerous—it would not have occurred to her she could be out of her depth.
Most of his adult life had been spent on board his ship so he had to take advantage of carnal relationships when he put into port—be it the Caribbean, America or England. He was single by choice and, because long absences would be certain to strain a relationship, he wanted no emotional intimacy or entanglements that having a wife or keeping a mistress would have entailed.
Born and raised in America, he was a man who liked to make his own fortune—or die trying. Having learned at an early age that the only way to survive was to fight back and use his own initiative, he had become a reckless adventurer and privateer. As the estranged grandson of the Duke of Rockwood he was also heir to a dukedom and the estate of Rockwood Park in Surrey. It was an inheritance shunned by his own father, who had become estranged from his father when, thirty-five years ago, he had married an American woman of lowly birth and chosen to live in America. His grandfather had disowned him for marrying a woman he considered to be so far beneath him that he could not accept her at the time.
As the years went by it was a decision he had come to regret and sought absolution from his son, but where his son was concerned there was no forgiveness. When Christopher had come to England for his education and spent time at Rockwood Park, his grandfather had been prepared to go to any lengths in order to win his respect. If he could not have his forgiveness, then he would take comfort from the times he spent at Rockwood Park.
When he had been a boy the estrangement and the nature of it had caused Christopher considerable heartache and bitterness at his grandfather’s rejection of his mother—a gentle woman who had not deserved such harsh treatment and would have given her life to repair the damage her marriage to Christopher’s father had caused. His father had died in America six months earlier, his mother several months before him.
Christopher had notified his grandfather of the death of his father. Whether it was regret or his effort to make amends for what had happened between them so long ago now, the Duke had taken to writing to Christopher on a regular basis, asking him to give serious thought to his position and not to turn his
back on his inheritance, that it was up to him to cherish and safeguard what generations of Wildings had built and would pass on to his descendants. Christopher was the rightful heir to Rockwood Park, the Wildings’ ancestral home, and the Duke genuinely wanted him to take on the responsibility.
Christopher had known the time would come when he would have to give serious thought to accepting his inheritance and settling down. Having developed an understanding of his grandfather, out of which had come respect and a closeness having grown out of the times they had spent together at Rockwood Park, with his ship docked in London and up for sale, and a dearly loved sister—who had attempted to take her own life following an unhappy love affair—at Rockwood Park recovering, he knew this was the time.
* * *
Having arrived back at the academy, the handsome sea captain was temporarily forgotten when, after tidying herself up in the room she shared with Emma, Lucy was summoned to Miss Brody’s study. As soon as she saw the woman seated stiffly on the gold and green sofa, she knew this was her stepmother. She rose when Lucy entered, her hazel eyes focusing steadily and unnervingly on her.
‘Why, you must be Lucy.’ Her voice was low and husky—like honey, Lucy thought. Catlike, she crossed towards her and gave her a peck on the cheek. Standing back, she smiled, the smile remaining fixed on her lips without reaching her eyes, giving a lie to any words of welcome and instant fondness for her stepdaughter. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you from your dear father that I feel that I know you already.’
Totally unprepared for this attractive, perfectly formed woman, within seconds of their meeting Lucy felt gauche and terribly unfeminine. Sofia’s long dark brown hair coiled beneath an elegant hat that matched her saffron-coloured dress, and tall slender body, gave her a regal effect. Her mouth was full and red and there were a few lines of age on her face and her cheeks owed some of their glow to the rouge pot, but there was no denying that Sofia Walsh was still a handsome woman and also much younger than her ageing and ailing father.
Harlequin Historical May 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 25
