Compromised Miss

by O'Brien, Anne

  ‘This is the first run I have not led since—well, I don’t recall.’ Perhaps with a touch of regret, she looked out over the sea to where the little cutter would emerge from the darkness. ‘But, no, they are quite capable of doing it without me. George will lead. I gave them the use of Lydyard’s Ghost,’ she replied, quite solemn, which made him smile.

  ‘So our married life will not be interrupted by your need to sail the seas.’

  She tilted her head as if considering it. For a long moment he wondered what she would reply. ‘No. I won’t be involved again. Or not unless there is great danger. I promise it, if that is what you want.’

  ‘Harriette. What an enigma you are.’ He lifted her hand from the glass and pressed his lips to her palm, cool from the cold surface, with sardonic amusement. ‘This was what had your nerves stretched to breaking, starting at every sound. And all the time I thought it was the thought of spending a night in my bed. How vain of me to consider that I might be your priority.’ He discovered within him an unpalatable rapier thrust of very male resentment that she should not put him first, and again the sharp spur of guilt. After all, why in God’s name should she? ‘I don’t even figure in your plans, do I?’

  ‘Not true. It’s just that I worry until they are safely returned.’ It was clear to him that she had no thought that he might begrudge her preoccupation. ‘Death and injury are cheap in such a venture. How would their families survive if the Gentlemen are hurt or killed? Or arrested? I’m a Lydyard and so must care, must I not? The fishermen of Old Wincomlee are our people.’

  Which put him entirely in his place. ‘Of course. Are you finished here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then may I suggest we return to eat the soup before it’s too tepid?’

  ‘I think you rate the talents of my borrowed cook too highly. I think it would be tepid on the first occasion and won’t have improved for the delay. But the beef might be edible.’

  Luke laughed. So did Harriette as they stood together in the shadows outside the pool of light from the lamp. And Luke was drawn to this appealing woman in the romantic gown who laughed softly, the glow of the lamp reflected in her eyes. He stepped closer, wanting to savour the moment of closeness, charmed when she did not resist, and took her into his arms. Her lips were as cool as her fingers had been as he began a gentle exploration, his tongue sliding over the satin smoothness of her bottom lip, searching the delicate corners. Her body was soft against his hardness, her arms light as she raised them to encircle his neck. Luke found his arms tightening, his mouth demanding more from hers. Her lips parted so sweetly against the demands of his tongue.

  Harriette sighed against him.

  Not here. Not yet. Luke dropped his hands, stepped back, surprised by the heat in his belly and the immediacy of his erection. In this elemental room enclosed by dark skies without, illuminated by the circle of lamplight within, it created a magical tug to his senses. To lower her to the floor, strip away the layers of silk and feast on her drove his control to snapping point.

  Not here!

  His new bride deserved more subtlety than he seemed capable of in that moment. ‘I admire your concern for your fellow criminals,’ he informed her carefully, relieved that his voice echoed none of the rampant upheaval in his body.

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Luke found himself replying candidly. ‘But without doubt I admire you.’

  The meal was as dire as she had predicted, the dining room chilly enough for Harriette to resort to a Kashmir shawl that had seen better days, but the wine was good, of course. And she relaxed from the tension that had plagued her until she knew that all was safe, leaving her strangely light-headed. The lighting of the lamp had in some inexplicable way broken the ice between them. Would he have forbidden her? He was certainly capable of it, she decided. And, even more crucial, would she have obeyed him? It was an uncomfortable confrontation to face on the first day of their marriage. Uncertain, Harriette turned her mind from it. Now all she had to face was a night spent with this man who was able, with the briefest of touches, to turn her blood to fire and to rob her of all her confidence.

  The heat of his kiss was still on her mouth, the sensation of his arms still round her shoulders holding her hard against him. Harriette glanced through her lashes and saw that Luke had abandoned his battle with the beef and was watching her, a touch of speculation, no humour in his face. She was unable to guess at the direction of his thoughts, but it crossed her mind again that he was already regretting his noble gesture. Well, it was no better for her than it was for him, and there was one issue that still stood between them. So she would step across the divide and ask him. He might not like it, but that couldn’t be helped.

  ‘I would like to know one thing,’ she announced.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Why were you in France? Why were you set on and wounded and robbed—but not killed? Why did you bargain for the use of the Ghost?’

  No, Luke was not pleased. Harriette doubted he had ever been questioned over his actions in his life. Her eyes fell to where his fingers had tightened around the stem of the wineglass. She prayed for its safety.

  ‘When I asked you before,’ she pursued, ‘you wouldn’t tell me. You said it was family business. But now I’m your wife.’

  ‘I know.’ The groove between his brows was deeply etched. ‘I can’t tell you.’

  Can’t or won’t? ‘Who was the woman you were looking for? Marie-Claude?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that, either.’

  ‘I see.’

  Harriette did not see at all. Dread settled in her chest, a weight of despair, as she watched her husband’s handsome face settle into bleak lines. She had hoped he would explain, denying all wrongdoing. Some trivial matter of business that had gone wrong, even a debt that had become dangerous and brought revenge. Anything. But not silence, not an inability to met her eyes and fingers as white as bone on the old glass. For if he was silent…Had she indeed married a traitor who was working for Napoleon to enable a French victory over England? Was the man Jean-Jacques Noir some treacherous go-between for gold or information? It was not beyond belief. The Earl of Venmore would not be the first Englishman to sell his soul to the devil, bought by French gold, and Harriette did not know him well enough to cast aside such suspicions as unworthy. He might have been honorable enough to rescue her from scandal but was that only because the Ghost was a tempting acquisition? Dismay filled her.

  As for the unknown Marie-Claude—did she hold a place in Luke’s heart? If so…then her marriage to him was based on an empty façade. Worse than that, on the unpalatable base of lies and deceit. Against her will, against the promptings of all good sense, Harriette had fallen in love with him when he was helpless and at her mercy. How could she have been so wrong in her judgement, to allow emotion to swallow up cold logic? And since she did love him, why was it that love could bring with it such torment?

  At last, Luke’s eyes lifted to hers, clear and completely without shadow. His voice was low and even, expressing words that were obviously difficult for him, and she strained to hear the truth in them. ‘Harriette—you will think the worst of me, as I know. Yet I would ask you to trust me, even without explanation. I’ll tell you when I…when I am free to explain. But not yet. Forgive me, not yet.’

  Luke’s words were light and without inflection as she weighed them. Regretwas there, a depth of it. Sincerity, too. A deep unhappiness at the very core. His eyes did not waver from hers, but held her, breath suspended, as if to impress the truth—however meagre it might be—on her mind.

  ‘Can you accept my word? My silence is not of my own making.’ Abandoning the remnants of the meal, Luke pushed back his chair and came round the table to her side. Taking her hands in his he lifted her to her feet. ‘It’s not spying. On my honour, it’s not. Nor is it treason, if that’s what worries you.’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  ‘I know. But on my oath, Harriette, I will do
nothing to put you in danger or destroy your good name. Have I not wed you to restore your reputation? I will do nothing to destroy it. Nor would I do anything to dishonour my own name or that of my family.’ His expression was stern; the grip of his hands tightened around her fingers as if he were unaware of their power, only slackening when she winced. ‘Do you believe me?’

  ‘Yes. I think I do,’ Harriette offered. But there was a frown in her eyes and that dangerous wedge remained driven between them.

  He could not tell her the truth. Her heart was sore that he did not trust her enough with his secrets.

  ‘I will protect your honour and your name with my life. I swear it. All I can ask is that you will give me time.’ Turning her hands within his, he pressed his mouth to the soft inner skin of her wrists and then her palms.

  And Harriette was seduced by Luke’s promise and the caress of his mouth against her skin. Time, yes. She could give him that. And his arms were strong, his shoulders broad, his words surely without deceit. Perhaps he would prove his innocence to her. Perhaps all her fears would be smoothed away, flat and calm as a summer sea with nothing to hurt or destroy. Perhaps everything would be put to rights with patience and time, and a solution to whatever it was that drove Luke to dangerous scheming.

  ‘Will you put your trust in me, Harriette,’ he asked again, his lips now light against her fingers, ‘as you gave yourself into my care?You trusted me enough to wed me. I swear, I will never hurt you.’

  He bent his head and took her mouth with his.

  Voices, edged and insistent, broke the kiss. They both turned their heads, listening as the sounds grew louder, the slam of a door a sharp note. Running feet. Without warning or courtesy the door to the dining room was flung back to smack against the wall. Harriette recognised the intruder immediately. Tom, Alexander’s messenger, lurched to a halt on the threshold, slight chest heaving. His frightened eyes moved from Harriette to Luke, then back again as he gasped.

  ‘Excise, on the cliffs, Cap’n Harry. A party of dragoons. Headin’ this way. And the cutter’s lights’re in the bay. The Ghost’s ‘ere with ‘er cargo—three blue flashes been seen in the bay.’

  Preventive officers! Disaster!

  Harriette’s mind scrabbled to make decisions. The worst possible outcome on the worst possible night. What malicious turn of fate had sent the Revenue men hotfoot to Old Wincomlee on her wedding night? A decision was needed from her, as it was entirely possible for the noble Earl of Venmore and his bride to spend the night in the gaol at Lewes if the cargo was intercepted. She choked on a ripple of hysterical laughter. No time for that now. She found that her hands had tightened around Luke’s as if for support. But would he give it? She had no idea.

  ‘What do we do, Cap’n? Use the cellars?’

  ‘Yes. Tell Mr Alexander to come here. I’ll arrange it.’

  Tom fled.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Solve the problem of Captain Rodmell and the Revenue men,’ Harriette replied without hesitation because she really had no choice. ‘Will you help me?’

  ‘Will we end up in gaol?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘What better way to spend our wedding night?’ The dry comment was not lost on her, but there was no fear in him, rather an unruffled acquiescence that impressed her. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  So he would help her. She would find time to thank him later. But for now…‘It would be best to fire a beacon on the cliff top, but we’ve no time. Go up to the Tower Room, Luke. Can you find your way?You must close the shutters to block the light six times. Count slowly to ten in between each. The spotsman on Lydyard’s Ghost will see the warning. It should do the trick and he’ll know what to do. If he sees the warning, you’ll see six rapid flashes from a pistol in reply.’

  ‘I can do that.’ He was already on his way to the door. ‘And then?’

  ‘Can you find your way down to the kitchens? If I’m not there, Wiggins will tell you what’s afoot.’

  ‘And you?’

  Her face was pale, her skin taut over her cheekbones. ‘We’ve a cargo of contraband to hide and the Gentlemen to keep safe.’

  She turned to go through the door before him.

  ‘Wait.’ His outstretched hand touched her arm and she immediately stilled. ‘Is it dangerous for you?’

  His eyes were dark and sombre. Harriette felt his concern like a warm cloak to wrap her safe from her fears. She managed a smile through her anxieties, placing her hand over his. ‘No. I hope we can come about. I’ll not consign you to a prison cell.’

  ‘Have a care, Harriette. I don’t choose to lose you just yet.’

  The words hummed beneath her skin, through her veins as she sped towards the kitchens.

  Luke carried out his instructions to the letter without bothering to consider what he had got himself into. Six slow gleams of light from the Tower Room. Followed, to his relief, by six brief flashes—presumably from the pan of an unloaded pistol—in reply. The warning given and received. By the time he found his way back down the stairs to the kitchens it was to join Wiggins, the two maids and his wife.

  ‘They’ve been warned,’ he murmured in Harriette’s ear, standing behind her, lightly holding her shoulders.

  A brief smile of thanks angled up and back, but Harriette’s attention was elsewhere. ‘Now we wait.’

  So they did. He drew her back closely against him, responding to the fierce protective instinct in his blood with her hair curling over his hands. Desire, all sharp claws, took him by the throat, ridiculously inappropriate desire for a woman he barely knew and with a cargo of contraband to dispose of, the Revenue men at their door. But she was warm under his hands, against his body, the scent of lavender bringing back a distant hazy memory of when he had lain under her hands, wounded and incapable. As Harriette moved against him, brushing his body with her own, his loins stirred and he drew in a breath, appalled at his lack of control.

  ‘Not long,’ she spoke softly, a hand raised to his in warning pressure, bringing him back to the present.

  There it was. The shuffle of muffled hooves on cobbles. Whispered commands. The kitchen door into the courtyard was pushed back and a procession of men carrying barrels and bales and small casks began to make their way through the kitchen, down the steps into the cellar below. Stepping from his hold, Harriette nodded, wasting no words, to George Gadie who led them in.

  To Luke’s inexperienced eye they worked silently, efficiently, professionally. Well drilled with an astonishing degree of discipline in the rapid disposal of the goods. They had done this before, many times, and Lydyard’s Pride was the key to it. A valuable base as a place of storage for illicit goods, as well as a source of a signal to the approaching vessel. Which perhaps explained Harriette’s inexplicable love for the old house, her determination to be here on this night of all nights. Luke stood and watched, having the sense to keep out of the way. Until the procession dwindled to a halt, ended, and George Gadie emerged from the cellar, a grin very evident.

  ‘All done, Cap’n.’

  ‘The ponies?’

  ‘Mr Alexander took them away. Best not to wait. They’ll be back with their owners by now and no one the wiser. Our luck’s in. No sign of the Excise yet.’ He wiped his sleeve across his face. ‘I’ll leave you, y’r honour, and your good lady—’ A thundering knock interrupted, probably from the stock of a rifle, echoing from the region of the front door. ‘That’s ‘em. Revenue men, damn ‘em!’

  Instantly Harriette began issuing orders, Captain Harry in satin and lace. ‘Get yourself off home, George. It’s Captain Rodmell, I expect. Wiggins, bring him up to the dining room. Announce him as if nothing has happened.’

  ‘Of course, my lady.’

  Luke had no idea what Harriette intended when faced with a troop of dragoons and their officer, but her masterful command sent an answering excitement surging through his limbs and spurred him into action. Hers might be the experience i
n this crisis, but he could see a way that might help the outcome.

  ‘Jenny,’ he addressed the maid. ‘Fetch up a decanter of port and one of brandy to the dining room—and glasses.’ He smiled briefly at Harriette. ‘We can’t have the upholders of the law going away without hospitality, can we?’

  Harriette laughed. ‘No, we can’t do that.’

  The Earl and Countess of Venmore were seated in magnificent isolation at opposite ends of the dining table, the Earl in the act of raising a glass of brandy to his lips in a toast to his new wife. The candles had deliberately been placed to bathe Harriette in golden light, and cast Luke into shadow. Wiggins ushered in the Customs’ Riding Officer.

  ‘Captain Rodmell, my lady.’

  The Captain, tall and spare, features tight at being thwarted of his victorious capture of a valuable cargo, launched into his accusation without apology, eyes fixed on Harriette as if he would prize the information from her. ‘Miss Lydyard. We have reason to suspect that a landing was made in this cove not two hours ago. The cargo has vanished, in the blink of an eye. I believe that these premises are being used for the storage of that contraband. I demand permission to search the house.’

  Luke sipped the brandy, silent, watchful. So Harriette was already a suspect because of her name. How would she respond? She looked a little startled, deliciously feminine and helpless. Would she carry it off? His pulse picked up its beat, his heart began to thud. He would allow her to dictate the order of events—for now.

  ‘Contraband here? I can’t believe it, sir,’ she responded. She rose to her feet and advanced to wards him, holding out one hand with impeccable grace.

  ‘It would not be the first time, I wager.’ Unable to resist without rank bad manners, the Captain took her hand and inclined his head curtly. ‘The inhabitants of Old Wincomlee have a reputation for illicit trade.’

  ‘As I am aware, Captain Rodmell.’ Amazingly compliant, artfully feminine. ‘Which fisherman does not eke out his livelihood with the odd barrel of brandy or bale of silk?’