Regency 01 - The Schoolmistress and the Spy

by Julia Byrne

  Neither would an incriminating book, come to that. The damn thing could wait. He needed to find out if Emily was meeting anyone. It was one of the few questions remaining.

  And, despite the legacy from her father that she’d mentioned, he wasn’t thinking about blackmail. As far as he was concerned, Emily was innocent of that or any other crime.

  This was personal.

  The front door opened and closed. The key was turned in the lock. Footsteps, muffled by the fog, tripped down the steps to the pavement.

  Luke flattened himself against the wall, and put his eye to the crack between the wall and the door. Wrapped in her cloak, Emily drifted past on the street above him.

  He left the house, locked the door behind him, then climbed the area steps and followed. He kept a reasonable distance between them; the fog was thick, but that meant his footsteps would echo and he didn’t want to frighten her.

  When he reached the esplanade, Emily had crossed the sand and was standing at the water’s edge a little distance away. She’d taken off her half-boots, and every few seconds she dipped a toe in the water as though flirting with the tiny ripples that ebbed and flowed. The fog was thick out over the sea, but nearer the shore the pale disc of the sun was already transforming the grey-white mass into misty tendrils. She was quite alone.

  And enjoying her solitude, Luke thought, as she pushed back her hood. She spread out her arms, a small half-boot dangling from each hand, and twirled lightly along the shore, curls bouncing about her shoulders. A few seconds later, she stopped and lifted her face to the invisible sky, eyes closed as droplets of mist kissed her lashes, her cheeks, her lips.

  Luke had to stop walking. He could barely breathe. His body was suddenly aching with unbearable need. He wanted to seize Emily in his arms and taste the sweet dampness of her skin, to cover that soft mouth with his and unleash the passion he sensed in her. He wanted to hold her beneath him and ravish, to thrust his aching flesh into her again and again until they were no longer separate beings, but one. And then he wanted to cradle, to protect, to cherish.

  How in the name of all that was Holy was he ever going to leave her?

  The question came out of nowhere, blindsiding him. And, as if the turmoil churning within him took sudden shape and form, cleaving the mist between them, she turned her head and saw him.

  Her lips parted. For one incredible instant, Luke thought she was going to run toward him, to run into his arms. His heart pounded with anticipation, with the need for her to do just that. Then the moment passed and she simply looked at him, eyes wide. A water nymph interrupted at her play, unafraid, waiting to see what he would do.

  Luke took a deep breath and started toward her.

  *

  Emily went very still as Lucas approached. She felt as if time itself had stopped, as if in that suspended moment she was waiting for something to happen. Something important. She just didn’t know what it was.

  He halted less than a foot away and she tilted her head back to meet his intent gaze. Something fierce glittered in his eyes, something leashed but alert, as if he was waiting also.

  He reached out and threaded his fingers through the curls at her temple, cupping the side of her face. “Are you sure you’re not a sprite from some magical world sent to tempt me?” he asked, his voice intriguingly husky.

  Emily shook her head, unable to resist pressing her cheek against his palm. “I’m just me,” she whispered, enthralled that he, too, felt the enchantment of this misty dawn.

  The spell wasn’t broken even when a ripple, stronger and colder than the rest, suddenly washed over her feet, making her jump and squeal in surprise.

  Lucas smiled as he looked down. Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the beach to the low wall that separated the sand from the esplanade.

  Emily clasped her arms around his neck, her gaze captured, held, ensnared by his. She knew she ought to protest, but she was too beguiled by the moment, seduced by the strength of his hold and the heat and movement of his body against hers. When he deposited her on the wall, she sighed as she lowered her arms.

  But the magic wasn’t over. Lucas cupped one of her feet in his hand and patted it dry with the hem of her cloak. She looked down as he repeated the action with her other foot. She’d never considered her feet to be particularly sensitive before. They were just there. But the sight of her foot nestling between Lucas’s big hands made her quiver inside. She waited for him to release her, but instead he ran his thumb lightly along her instep, back and forth, over and over.

  Emily gasped and felt her toes curl at the deliberate caress. He circled her ankle with his fingers and stroked the delicate skin behind her calf, and she almost fell off the wall in shock at her own reaction. The muscles in her lower body clenched, as though they sought to clasp something but found only emptiness. The sensation was both thrilling and alarmingly beyond her control.

  This is desire, she thought, startled. Her lips parted on the discovery, but she couldn’t make a sound.

  Then Lucas freed her foot, took her half-boots from her slackened grasp, and eased them on to her feet.

  “Lucas?” she finally managed. “I think—”

  “Don’t think,” he murmured.

  He braced his hands on the wall on either side of her hips and leaned toward her. His mouth touched hers; the lightest of touches, yet everything inside her went soft, yielding. His lips were firm, tantalizingly warm against hers—and gone before she could do more than close her eyes to savor the sweet contact.

  Her lashes fluttered upward again. Lucas was watching her, his face stern, almost grim.

  “You’re right,” he growled, straightening away from her. “We had better think. This is a public place.”

  “Yes.” She gazed up at him, fascinated by the fleeting expression in his fierce lion’s eyes. He wanted her. The knowledge thrilled her, enthralled her. But even as caution made her draw back from the brink of an invisible chasm, shadows shifted in the golden depths, cloaking desire and closing him off from her.

  He raised his brows when she said nothing more. “Would you rather I return to the school?”

  “No,” she said with simple candour. Then, retreating still further, “As you just pointed out, it’s a public place.”

  “Fortunately for us, there aren’t any members of the public around.”

  “That’s why I like the beach at this hour. Especially in the fog. Everything is so quiet and still. I can think.” She smiled when she realized what she’d said. “Usually.”

  Lucas smiled wryly back at her and hoisted himself onto the wall beside her. “I suppose your thoughts are all for the school. It’s a big responsibility for a young woman.”

  Emily shook her head, still feeling a little bemused. “Not really. It’s not so different to running a household.”

  “What about the business side of things?”

  She hesitated. Lucas was asking questions again, but perhaps he was trying to ease them back onto a more familiar footing. And perhaps she could seize the opportunity to ask some questions of her own.

  “I managed Papa’s finances for him from the age of twelve,” she said dryly. “That was excellent training in balancing a budget, I can assure you.”

  He glanced down at her. “I assume from your tone that your father wasn’t the provident type.”

  “Far from it,” she said with a wry smile. “He could be very charming when he wanted something, but all he cared for was the next card game or roll of the dice. Or anything that promised excitement.” She looked up, her head tilted a little as she studied him. “He was a bit like you, chasing adventure.”

  Lucas’s brows met. “I was only eighteen when I joined the army looking for adventure. And I didn’t have a child to care for.” He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Was there no other family with whom you could live?”

  Emily shifted her gaze out to sea. “My grandparents took me in when I was a baby, but when I turned six
, they sent me away to school.”

  “When you turned six!”

  “It wasn’t so bad,” she said, smiling at his tone. “To tell you the truth, I was glad to go.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “They blamed me for the fact that their son married my mother. She came from minor gentry but decided to become an actress rather than marry the man chosen for her by her parents. They cast her off, of course. The Proudfoots’ constant refrain was that, although she’d had the decency to die in childbirth, she didn’t produce an heir in the process; only a daughter that no one wanted.”

  “Your grandparents actually said that to you?”

  “Regularly.”

  “Good God!”

  Emily felt warmed by his response. “School was interesting, at least,” she said, brightening. “It’s where I met Charlotte. She was a junior teacher there. I think she felt sorry for me because I was left at school during the holidays, but later we became friends.”

  “So you’ve known her for years, like Miss Tibberton. They’ve become your family.”

  She nodded, but she’d just spied an opening and wasn’t about to let it pass. “What about you, Lucas? Where did you receive your education?”

  He hesitated. “The local vicar. He taught most of the boys in the area.”

  Emily nodded again. It was a common enough situation.

  “I come from Dorset,” he added somewhat abruptly, as though reluctant to talk about himself, but acknowledging that she might need to know one or two basic facts about the man who had just kissed her. Even if the kiss had been fleeting.

  She looked up encouragingly. “Do your parents live there still?”

  “My mother does. My father died a couple of years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. What did he do for a living?”

  “Farmed the land.”

  “I take it you didn’t wish to follow him in that occupation.”

  His mouth quirked. “As I told you a few days ago, the army promised more excitement.”

  And that was a timely reminder, Emily told herself, if nothing else was. A man who sought excitement, a man who had done nothing but ‘this and that’ since he’d left the army, was not a likely candidate for a future.

  And just what did she mean by that?

  “We’d better return to the school,” he said, before she could come up with an answer. “Mrs. Starling and the maids will be stirring by now.”

  “Yes.” She pushed the question aside for another time and allowed Lucas to lift her down from the wall.

  They walked back to the school in silence, but it wasn’t a companionable peace. Lucas was looking grim again and she didn’t know why. As for herself, the magic of the early morning was slipping away like the streamers of mist dispersing in the breeze that had sprung up. When Lucas held out his hand for the key so he could unlock the front door for her, Emily wondered if the magic would ever return.

  “By the way, we’ll have guests this afternoon,” she said, summoning her crispest voice to dispel the sudden pang of wistfulness that struck her. “The maids will be busy with the tea things, so you’ll be on duty at the door. You should wear your good clothes.”

  “Yes, Miss Proudfoot,” he said dryly. “Any more orders for the day?”

  Emily winced as she preceded him into the house and across the hall to the staircase. She hadn’t meant to sound quite that dictatorial.

  “Not at the moment,” she muttered.

  She placed her hand on the newel post in readiness to mount the first step, but Lucas stopped her by putting his hand over hers. Emily froze. Her gaze flashed to his face as he lifted her hand to his lips. He looked straight into her eyes, gently kissed her fingers, freed them, and strode off toward the back of the house.

  Emily’s spirits revived like thirsty flowers after a rain shower. She mounted the stairs as though on a cloud—only to plummet swiftly back to earth when she heard a door close very softly on the floor above.

  She hadn’t mistaken the sound this time. Picking up her skirts, she raced up the remaining stairs only to find the empty corridor stretching before her.

  Annoyed and a little uneasy, she walked down the passage to the dormitories. She knocked lightly on the first door and opened it.

  Felicity Cartwright and the three girls nearest her in age were still sleeping. Emily closed the door without disturbing them and went on to the next room.

  Isabel, Susanna, and twelve-year-old Caroline, clad in their white muslin nightgowns, were all standing at the window that overlooked the yard. They turned their heads as she entered.

  “Oh, Miss Proudfoot,” Isabel said. “Come and look at poor Lucas.”

  Emily forgot about everything else and crossed the room at speed. “What’s wrong with Lucas?” she demanded, looking out of the window.

  Lucas appeared perfectly healthy. He was standing by the pump, stripped to the waist, and sluicing water over his face, chest, and arms. Soap, a razor, and a small mirror stood on the lip of the tub.

  Emily gazed at him, transfixed. For the first time in her life she understood how a female could go weak at the knees at the sight of a man. Tall and powerful, with the lithe fluidity of movement she had felt when he’d carried her across the beach, he was magnificently, breathtakingly, male.

  She told herself it wasn’t the first time she’d seen Lucas without a shirt, but that had been in the dark kitchen, the details were sketchy. Now she could see the strength in his shoulders, in the bands of muscle across his stomach. Now she could see the sheer male beauty of him.

  Then her breath caught as he turned to pick up a towel and she saw what the girls had noticed. A long scar curved around his ribs, from his spine to just under his heart.

  Emily took a couple of steps back and sat down rather abruptly on one of the beds.

  “Come away from the window at once, girls,” she said, gathering her wits. “I understand that the sight of Lucas’s scar must have shocked you, but you know better than to continue watching someone when they believe they are unobserved. Lucas probably thinks you’re still asleep.”

  “Yes, Miss Proudfoot,” they chorused in subdued tones. They gathered around her, anxious faces looking to her for answers.

  “How do you suppose Lucas got that terrible scar, Miss Proudfoot?” Susanna ventured.

  “Lucas was in the army, Susanna,” she explained gently. “He would have engaged in several battles during that time. Indeed, he told me, himself, that he’d been shot, but I think you can rest assured that he is now quite recovered. He certainly lifted you and Isabel into that tree without any problem.” And carried me across the beach.

  “Oh, yes.” Relief crossed each face in turn. Isabel looked thoughtful. “But perhaps we shouldn’t ask him to do that very often.”

  Emily smiled. “I doubt there’ll be many occasions when you need to sit in a tree, Isabel.” She rose to her feet. “Well, now that we’ve sorted that out, I think it’s time we were all getting dressed for the day. Annie will be up soon with your hot water. I’ll see you at breakfast, girls.”

  Another chorus of “Yes, Miss Proudfoot” followed Emily out of the room. But when she closed the door she had to lean back against it for a moment. She might have reassured the girls that Lucas was hale and hearty despite his injury, but his health wasn’t the only question on her mind.

  That scar had been caused by a rapier or a knife, and recently. At least, more recently than a year ago when the last battles of the war had been fought. She had seen enough injuries when she’d lived with her father to know that much.

  But if Lucas hadn’t seen action for a year, what had caused that dreadful scar? When and where had it happened? And why?

  Emily pushed away from the door and returned to her bedchamber. The shock of seeing how terribly Lucas had been hurt had caused her to forget the reason she’d been checking on her students in the first place. As she closed her door the click of the latch reminded her.

  She sat down on t
he bed and tried to think. It was apparent that none of the girls had been out of their rooms, which left Tibby or Charlotte. Perhaps one of them had heard the front door open and ventured to the top of the stairs to check that all was well.

  Yes, that was it. And having seen her with Lucas, whoever it was had retired without drawing attention to herself, probably because she’d still been in her night attire.

  The conclusion should have reassured her, but, for some reason, she felt uneasy.

  Probably, Emily told herself sternly, because—her own instincts aside—she still didn’t know much about Lucas. And by failing utterly to keep him at any sort of distance, she might be risking the secure future she was building for herself.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Luke walked to the head of the stairs and listened to the sounds of the tea party going on in the drawing room. Cups clinked politely against saucers. A discreet rattle of silver against china indicated that tea was being stirred. Above the students’ lighter voices, Harbury was holding forth to someone about the benefits of education for females.

  The man was a pompous windbag, Luke thought, but he doubted the fellow posed any physical threat to Emily.

  Nearer the door, he could hear a couple of guests starting to take their leave. It was time he vacated the first floor. He’d seized the opportunity created by the afternoon tea to search Miss Tibberton’s and Miss Haymes’s bedchambers, only to come to the conclusion that both ladies led lives of unrelenting virtue. There was nothing under the beds, nothing under the mattresses, nothing suspicious in the wardrobes, dressers, or drawers.

  He had then intended to finish searching Emily’s room, but if the tea party was starting to break up he didn’t want to risk being seen where he had no business to be. Unfortunately, he’d run out of chimneys and window latches to check.

  As the drawing room door swung fully open, Luke swiftly climbed the stairs to the top floor. It wasn’t really an attic, he thought, looking around. The enormous space under the roof had been divided into several rooms, three of the smaller ones at the back of the house being occupied by Mrs. Starling and the two maids.