Claire Thornton

by The Wolf's Promise

  ‘Stand here,’ said Benoît briefly, moving her into position with firm but not unkind hands. ‘And don’t let your skirts blow in my face.’

  She did as she was told, although it was only when she heard steel striking against flint that she realised he was using her body as a shield. The light flickered so briefly she doubted if even someone watching for it would have noticed it, and then he covered it and stood up.

  “What is that thing?’ she asked softly, indicating the strange object he was holding.

  She’d barely had time to see it, but she already had her suspicions about its use—Sir William had told her of such things.

  It was made of two tubes of metal. A short, rather stubby vertical tube with a conical lid, and a longer, tapering pipe, which extended at right angles from the side of the first tube and which could be covered and uncovered at will.

  ‘Spout lantern,’ said Benoît shortly. ‘Stay here.’

  She heard his boots on the pebbles, then she saw his dim outline against the paler sea as he stood on the beach. She guessed he was signalling, but the spout lantern meant that the only light visible was directed out towards any waiting boats. No wonder smugglers used them. The penalties for being caught signalling out to sea were severe—and even innocently lighting a pipe on the beach could get a man into trouble if the wrong people saw him.

  She waited, shivering and hugging her shawl tightly around her head and shoulders. The wind had picked up again and it tugged viciously at her skirts.

  She could hear the roar of the sea, much rougher tonight than it had been during the day. Nothing happened for a long time, and she huddled against the mare’s shoulder for warmth and comfort.

  She couldn’t believe where she was or what was happening to her. Nothing in her previous experience or wildest imaginings had ever prepared her for the events of this evening. She didn’t know which was more unbelievable—the fact that less than an hour ago she’d seen a band of armed smugglers march within a few feet of her—or the strange and unprecedentedly intimate relationship she was developing with Benoît.

  No one else had ever had such a profound effect on her behaviour, or so completely disturbed her peace of mind. She should be sleeping quietly in her bed now, not avoiding smugglers and riding officers on a black, windswept beach. What had he done to her that she could so unthinkingly abandon all modesty and decorum to follow him to an unknown destination?

  She looked towards Benoît, and then beyond him, straining to pierce through the murky night and see what lay ahead for them. The stars above began to dance and blur before her overtaxed eyes; the shadows grew even darker and took on strange and alien shapes. She was no longer sure what was real and what was imagined. She gripped the comforting leather of the saddle, grateful for Dorcas’s placid and solid presence. She had no intention of letting Benoît discover how nervous this long wait was making her.

  Then she blinked, and lifted her head, hardly able to credit that she’d just seen the signal. The light flickered again, and then the sea was dark once more.

  Angelica left the horses and the shelter of the trees and stumbled down over the shingle to join Benoît. He turned sharply at the sound of her approach.

  ‘It’s me,’ she said softly, and sensed rather than saw his relaxation of tension. ‘Are they coming?’

  ‘Assuming we haven’t confused our signals,’ said Benoît dryly. ‘I’d hate to find we were the unintended recipients of several hundred tubs of brandy meant for the Gentlemen we saw earlier!’

  ‘I know we’re not smuggling,’ said Angelica, shivering at the possibility he’d just raised, and wondering where the men they’d seen earlier had gone. ‘But what are we doing here?’

  ‘You astonish me, my lady,’ said Benoît, and she heard the gentle mockery in his voice. ‘When I’ve done nothing more questionable than offer you a glass of brandy you accuse me of smuggling, and when I’m standing on a moonless beach sending signals to an unidentified vessel you acquit me of the crime! Here!’

  In the darkness, she realised he had shrugged himself out of his greatcoat, and was holding it around her shoulders. She slipped her arms gratefully into the sleeves and hugged it tightly about herself.

  ‘I’d say I’m sorry you’re cold,’ he said softly in her ear, his arms enfolding her from behind. ‘But you shouldn’t be here in the first place. How am I going to explain this to your father?’

  ‘You won’t have to explain anything,’ Angelica protested, not sure what he meant.

  The warmth of his body against her back was unbelievably comforting, and the soft caress of his breath against her ear sent a delicious tingle rippling down her spine. It was incredible that only a short while ago he had been rigid with fury at her.

  ‘Papa won’t know I followed you,’ she murmured breathlessly as Benoît’s lips brushed her cheek, devoutly hoping that she spoke the truth. ‘All he wants you to do is rescue Harry,’ she added rather incoherently.

  ‘But what about you, my lady?’ Benoît said softly, pushing her shawl back from her face.

  ‘I want you to rescue Harry too!’ she whispered, trying to maintain at least the pretence that they were having a normal conversation.

  ‘I know.’ Benoît began to explore the warm, delicate skin of her neck with soft, intimate kisses.

  She gasped, and quivered responsively as glowing rivulets of pleasure radiated out from beneath his lips. Her eyes were open, but in the dark, lofty night there was nothing to see; she could only feel his arms around her, and hear his low voice reverberating through her body as he spoke to her, his mouth almost touching her skin.

  ‘Is that all you want from me, ma douce amie?’ he teased her, reaching across the front of her body to cover one of her hands with his as she clutched at his greatcoat.

  ‘Of…course.’

  She was still locked in his arms, the heat of his body burning through her back, his lips wrecking devastating delight beneath her ear. She was even beginning to forget why they were standing on the beach.

  ‘Liar!’ he murmured provocatively, biting gently at her earlobe. ‘Besides, I might feel compelled to tell the Earl about this escapade myself.’

  ‘What?’

  She gasped with horror and tried to turn in his arms, but he prevented her quite easily. Fortunately she’d been too breathless to exclaim loudly, but it didn’t stop him from admonishing her for her indiscretion.

  ‘Shush!’ he murmured infuriatingly, the familiar note of laughter audible in his low voice as he settled her comfortably in his embrace once again. ‘Remember where we are! Besides, why not tell your father?’ He returned to his thrilling explorations of her earlobe, his tongue running gently over the sapphire earring she had been in too much of a hurry to take off. ‘Lord Ellewood might have some practical suggestions to offer about not wearing jewellery when tracking potential smugglers!’

  Angelica drew in an indignant breath, but before she could speak Benoît lifted his head alertly.

  ‘The boat’s coming,’ he said quietly, releasing her from his arms.

  She looked out to sea. She couldn’t hear anything beyond the familiar crashing of the waves, but she had no doubt Benoît was right.

  ‘Go back to the horses,’ he ordered, and went down to the tideline.

  She started to walk up the beach, looking back over her shoulder, still not sure what to expect from the approaching boat. It was clear that Benoît was meeting someone, presumably one man who would ride the spare horse he had brought. But she still didn’t know who the man was, although she was beginning to guess what he was.

  She was still glowing from Benoît’s embrace. The cold wind didn’t seem so bitter any more. She smiled wryly. Twenty-four hours ago she would never have believed that she could care so little about whether Benoît was involved with a spy. But now she was far more concerned with how he felt about her, and how she felt about him. The man in the boat was just an unwelcome interruption to their conversation.

  She h
ugged the greatcoat. She was much warmer than she had been. She reached the edge of the shingle and turned to look back at the sea. She could just hear the slap of oars on the water, and see the dark shadow of Benoît as he spoke to the men in the boat.

  Then, somewhere to her right, she heard a man shout out. His harsh voice ripped through the peaceful, empty night—alien and frightening. His cry was followed by a pistol shot, raised voices and more shots.

  Angelica jerked round in stunned amazement, staring blindly into the dark night. The noise was coming from further west. She blinked as she saw the brief flash as a pistol was fired. Her heart was racing in disbelief and alarm. She had almost forgotten the men they’d seen earlier, but now the danger from the smugglers had been made sickeningly real. A full-scale battle was taking place between Sir William and the smugglers only a few hundred yards down the beach!

  ‘Angelica!’

  She’d been momentarily frozen with horror, but at the sound of Benoît’s voice she snatched up her skirts and ran towards him.

  As she did so, she was vaguely aware of someone whistling—then Benoît seized her around the waist and dumped her without ceremony in the boat.

  Another man, no more than a faceless shadow to Angelica, helped Benoît push the boat into deeper water, then they were rowing out into the black void of the Channel.

  The boat rocked and pitched on the windswept waves. Angelica was quickly soaked with seaspray, and half-deafened by the thudding of her heart and the crashing of the water around her. Her skirt was already sodden from where it had trailed in the sea as Benoît lifted her into the boat. Four men manned the oars, with another at the tiller, and she huddled as small as she could, trying not to get in their way.

  She had been terrified when she’d first encountered Benoît, but now that real danger threatened she felt more excited than afraid. She had no idea what would happen next, or where they were going—but she was with Benoît. She knew he would take care of her.

  She could hear low voices as Benoît talked to the other passengers in the boat, but she couldn’t distinguish what they were saying. This was the man they’d come to meet. She wondered who he was, but instinct rather than the evidence of her senses told her that he was hurt and in pain.

  The black bulk of the cutter loomed suddenly above them. Benoît gripped her arm.

  ‘We’re going on board,’ he said quietly. ‘Take off my coat, it’ll get in the way. And take care as you climb up, there’s no hurry now.’

  ‘I’ll be all right.’ She stood up, swaying as the boat pitched, grateful for his steadying hands on her waist.

  She slipped out of the greatcoat, then picked up the front of her heavy woollen skirts and held them clenched between her teeth. The creak of the wet wool in her mouth made her want to gag, but she knew it was safer than trying to spare one hand to hold them up and she daren’t trip over them.

  ‘Good girl,’ said Benoît. ‘Here.’ He guided her to the ladder and she seized the rung.

  It was a terrifying moment as she stepped out of the rocking boat, but she hung on grimly and then made the short climb. As she reached the top unseen hands seized her and helped her over the side of the cutter.

  ‘Good evening, miss,’ said a dry voice. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’

  ‘For me also,’ Angelica replied, staggering slightly as the deck tilted. ‘Thank you.’

  She was grateful for her companion’s roughly steadying hand, but she wished she could see him more clearly, and she felt very isolated now that she was no longer near Benoît.

  She could only discern the dim outline of the man, just enough to know that he was of average height and stocky build. He spoke with an unmistakable Sussex burr and she guessed from his voice and his stance that he was no longer young. She wondered immediately if he had been one of Toby’s cronies.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘I don’t know exactly,’ she said, not sure how much she ought to say. ‘There was a…disturbance…further down the beach, then we came back with the boat.’

  ‘We heard shots,’ he said grimly. ‘Blunderbuss Billy’s busy tonight.’

  He turned as a dark shape appeared over the side. Angelica just had time to realise that Benoît was carrying a man over his shoulder before her companion went to help lift him into the cutter.

  ‘Hell!’ The wounded man almost cried out as his leg touched the deck and she heard his quick, hissing intake of breath as he tried to suppress his agony.

  ‘He can’t walk,’ said the stocky man, almost dispassionately. ‘I said he was foolish to try to land, but he insisted. What are you going to do?’

  ‘Can you land us this side of the Arun, on West Beach?’ Benoît asked crisply.

  ‘Of course. But he still cannot walk, and no doubt you sent the horses home. Besides—what of the lady?’

  ‘The lady is more than equal to the situation,’ said Benoît dryly. ‘It’s Adam I’m worried about. Get under way, George, I don’t want to waste time.’

  George grunted, then Angelica heard him giving orders to his crew.

  Adam dragged in a groaning breath and Benoît dropped on one knee beside him. Angelica joined them, feeling the rough decking beneath her hands.

  ‘Is he badly hurt?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘He took a sword thrust just before they left France,’ Benoît replied curtly. ‘I don’t know the details yet. George, I need some light!’

  ‘In the cabin. I’ll not have a light showing on this boat tonight.’

  They lifted Adam from the deck, and Angelica winced in sympathy as she heard his barely suppressed groan of anguish.

  In the cabin light his face was grey and strained, but there was no fresh blood on the rough bandages around his thigh. His breeches had been slit open and a clean pad pressed over the wound, then strips of cloth had been wrapped around his leg over his breeches. Benoît looked at the dressing carefully, but he didn’t touch it.

  ‘As long as it hasn’t started bleeding again, we won’t interfere with it,’ he said briskly.

  Adam gave a choking laugh. Angelica guessed he was about the same age as Benoît, although the lines of pain on his face made him look older. He was a thin, narrow-chested man, although she suspected he was a great deal tougher than he at first appeared. His eyes were shrewd enough, and he was bearing his discomfort with fortitude.

  ‘Your father was right, you should have been a sawbones,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Sorry, Ben. I didn’t mean to cause so many complications. Although I hadn’t expected such a turnout for my arrival either.’

  His eyes rested with open curiosity on Angelica as he spoke. The shawl had fallen back from her hair and the sapphire and diamond comb glinted richly in the lantern light. Her cheeks glowed with fresh colour and her eyes were bright with interest and concern. She didn’t seem in the slightest bit disturbed by the ugly stains on Adam’s leg or the uncertainty of her current situation.

  ‘Neither did I.’ Benoît smiled faintly as his eyes rested briefly on the glittering comb. ‘Adam, I am sure you will be charmed to meet Lady Angelica Lennard.’

  Adam’s eyes widened in surprise and appreciation.

  ‘Ellewood’s daughter!’ he crowed in delight. ‘Ha! Your sins are finally catching up with you!’

  ‘As you say.’ Benoît’s smile broadened. ‘My lady, may I present Mr Adam Kennett? If he hadn’t lost the toss sixteen years ago, it would have been him, not me, who waylaid your father that night.’

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’ Angelica held out her hand to Adam without hesitation. ‘I’m so sorry you’re hurt.’

  ‘I’m sorry to meet you in such uncomfortable circumstances,’ Adam replied ruefully. ‘But this is no place for you. I don’t know what Ben was thinking of to bring you.’

  ‘He didn’t,’ she said awkwardly, not daring to look at Benoît.

  ‘She wants me to rescue her brother from Bitche,’ Benoît explained, ‘but she knows too much about my unsavoury p
ast to trust me—so tonight she followed me to see what dark deed I was about to perpetrate. Next time I will know better than to wear a black cravat in her presence!’

  Adam stared at Angelica in amazement, then gave a crack of laughter which was cut short by a wincing stab of pain.

  ‘Serves you right for being such a dandy!’ he said gaspingly. ‘Black cravat indeed! Well done, my lady! He needs taking down a peg or two sometimes—and so far the Lennards seem to be the only people who can do it. I’m very glad to meet you.’

  Angelica blushed, avoiding Benoît’s eye. Remembering everything that had happened that evening, she wasn’t at all sure that Adam’s enthusiasm was justified.

  Adam stirred restlessly, his smile fading as he looked at Benoît.

  ‘We’ll be at West Beach soon,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Ben, you’ve got to take the news to London. I can’t.’ He hesitated, glancing doubtfully at Angelica.

  ‘If I didn’t think you could trust her, I wouldn’t have told her your name,’ Benoît replied instantly, taking Angelica completely by surprise.

  ‘I guessed as much.’ Adam closed his eyes for a moment. His face was pinched and, despite the fillip the unexpected discovery of Angelica’s identity had given him, he was obviously weak and in considerable pain.

  ‘Bonaparte’s building a battlefleet in the Scheldt,’ he said after a moment. ‘There are ten ships of the line already in service, and more than that number being built at Antwerp and Flushing. I’ve seen them. If they aren’t dealt with, they could pose a threat to England’s security. You must tell the Admiralty, Ben!’

  ‘I will.’

  Angelica had been looking from Adam to Benoît and back again. Excitement, alarm and amazement had all flickered across her face as Adam spoke, but now she fixed her bright, glowing blue eyes on Benoît. He did not seem perturbed by Adam’s news, but she was aware of the coiled, watchful tension which filled him. He was alert and intent on the business on hand, sure of his ability to overcome any obstacles. The black wolf was poised and ready for action.