‘Which you, Miss Lydyard, apparently condone.’
‘I may condone it, out of charity for their lack of means, but I know nothing of such goings-on, Captain. How should I?’
‘And I suppose you know nothing of the activities or identity of a Captain Harry Lydyard, either?’ The sneer was heavy. ‘Nor it is a matter of the odd barrel, the odd bale. I am not talking of small-scale smuggling here, madam.’
Harriette raised a delicate lace-edged handkerchief to her lips as if in some distress. ‘I know nothing of a landing here to help you in your search for these hardened criminals, Captain. It fills me with fear that such activities go on so near my own home. Nor, I regret, do I know the identity of this Captain Lydyard. He is no member of my family, I assure you. More like a local villain who has adopted our name to cover his tracks. I cannot imagine how he would dare. I advise you to speak with my brother, Sir Wallace, about it. He will help you in dragging him before justice. Sir Wallace is a Justice of the Peace, you understand.’
‘Nor, I suppose,’ Captain Rodmell continued, flushed but determined to the end, ‘do you know of this house being used to escape the legal paying of taxation on certain imported goods?’
‘Certainly not, Captain. The Pride is not engaged in such an outrageous trade. I refute any such suggestion.’
‘A light is not shown from the Tower here on nights when a run is made?’
‘I know nothing of that, either. If it is so, it is not by my orders. I would have no truck with such activities, sir! How could you think it?’
Luke was astounded, and absurdly impressed, to see the spangle of tears on Harriette’s cheek.
‘But this is your house, madam, is it not? Which could make you guilty by association.’
‘Yes. It is mine. As for guilt…’ She dabbed at the tears.
Luke watched in continuing admiration. She was holding her own well, but perhaps now was the time for a little decisive intervention. He could turn the direction of this scene quickly and bring an end to any threat from Captain Rodmell. Quietly, he put down his glass and stood, drawing the Captain’s eye. This would now be guided to a satisfactory conclusion with his hands on the reins.
‘There is a need to clarify the matter.’ His voice held a nice bland of hauteur and irritation. ‘The house is mine, Captain.’
The Captain cast him a jaundiced eye, lip curling. Luke felt the urge to laugh. Rarely had he been so summed up, cast aside, written off as a mindless dandy with no thought but for his clothing and the quality of the brandy in his glass. ‘And you are, Sir? Not an inhabitant of Old Wincomlee, I presume.’
Luke drew on all his dignity and severe disapproval. ‘I am the Earl of Venmore. Today I married Miss Lydyard. Her property is therefore now mine. And you, Captain, are disturbing our wedding night with accusations for which, it seems to me, you have not one shred of evidence.’
The Captain looked discomfited, but not unduly so. ‘My apologies, my lord. But still there are rumours…It is my duty to investigate and without doubt a cargo has vanished from under our noses this night.’
‘I understand. You have my sympathy, Captain. But I have nothing to do with smuggling. Nor will I. Now if you would care to take your men and—’
But the Captain dug in his heels. ‘I’m not satisfied, my lord.’
Harriette interrupted. Shockingly. Horrifyingly. Luke felt his muscles tense, his heart pick up its beat. ‘Perhaps you would wish your men to search the cellars, Captain Rodmell. And the Tower Room. To put your mind at rest.’
‘I don’t think it will be necessary, my dear,’ Luke managed. What was she thinking, to invite the Captain to snoop and discover? Too chancy by half. His quick glance in her direction told him that her eyes were bright, her selfcontrol perfect. Did she think the Captain would refuse the ingenuous offer? Luke would stake his fortune on the Captain carrying out his duty to the final letter. Had Harriette cast them all into the mire?
But Harriette walked softly towards him, placed her hand on his sleeve, a melting plea in her face, pure mischief in her gaze. ‘It will answer the question, my love, far more quickly than any of my protestations. Then the Captain can leave, honour satisfied. And we, at last, can be alone together.’
Her lips curved, her lashes swept low over softly glowing eyes, her chin tilted provocatively. She was flirting with him, openly, outrageously. So be it. Reacting fast, Luke covered her hand with his, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘My darling girl. That is what I would wish for, too. Nothing must keep me from your side, from your bed…’ He raised her fingers to his lips.
‘Ah, Luke…I can barely wait.’ Whisper-soft, full of promise. Disgracefully expressive.
‘My heart. When we are alone again…’ Swallowing the laughter, Luke allowed his lips to linger on her fingers.
‘My lord…my lady!’ Captain Rodmell slapped his gloves against his thigh, supremely embarrassed.
‘Captain Rodmell. Of course, forgive me.’ Harriette dragged her eyes from Luke’s face as if it were the most difficult task in the world. ‘Perhaps you would direct your men…Wiggins will show you to the Tower Room…and the cellars.’
The dragoons were dispatched, Luke holding his breath at what would be found. Annoyance, yet deep intrigue, skittered along his nerves. Why had Harriette not followed his lead, to overawe the man with aristocratic consequence and send him on his way with a sharp reply? Not his usual response to those who upheld the King’s law, but essential in these circumstances as far as he could see. Whilst Harriette had wilfully torn up his plan and cast it to the four winds. The gaol at Lewes seemed a distinct possibility.
‘Perhaps I can offer you a glass of brandy, sir?’ he offered Captain Rodmell.
‘I doubt it’s paid taxation, my lord,’ the man replied caustically.
‘I think it has, sir. I brought it from London today, to drink with my bride on my wedding night. Perhaps you would drink our health?’ Luke was already pouring a glass.
‘Thank you, my lord. Your health. My lord. My lady.’
He drank, tossing back the brandy as if it was distasteful to him. Captain Rodmell did not believe a word of their little charade, Luke considered, but could do nothing without proof. Which the dragoons would discover and report on any minute now. One of his men returned with a brief rap on the door. Luke found his muscles straining, until Harriette’s hand tightened on his arm.
‘Nothing here, sir,’ the dragoon announced. ‘Tower Room shut up under covers, shutters nailed tight. Looks unused to me, sir. Cellars empty. Nothing in the stables except a team of bang-up blood and bone. And a smart carriage.’
‘My horses and curricle, Captain,’ Luke explained, disbelieving. ‘We leave for London tomorrow morning.’
‘You searched the cellars thoroughly,’ the Captain demanded. ‘They’ll be extensive in a house this size.’
‘That we did, sir. Nothing to find, sir.’
Captain Rodmell swung to face the Earl and Countess. ‘Then again I ask pardon. It seems that on this occasion I have been mistaken. Goodnight, my lord, my lady.’ He bowed stiffly, then retreated. They heard his heavy tread echoing down the hall, full of disbelief and disapproval.
Luke and Harriette stood and looked at each other as the sounds died away. Luke saw the gleam in her eyes, the infectious curl of her lips. She was alight with the moment, full of vitality, glowing with triumph. It was infectious, reaching out to him, anchoring them together in a moment of dangerous idiocy in which they had both played an outrageous role. The exuberance of the moment had completely obliterated the strain of distrust between them. Luke saw it, recognized it for an unexpected blessing, and gave silent thanks.
‘Harriette…! Hell and damnation!’
She laughed, low and soft. ‘Did you not enjoy it?’
‘Enjoy it? No, I did not!’ But flames of energy, pure and bright, were leaping within him, racing along his veins. ‘All I could see was our valiant Captain hauling us off to Lewes along with all the barrels and bal
es I last saw disappearing into the cellar. I didn’t imagine that, did I?’
‘No. You saw them. You should have trusted me.’
‘How did you do it?’
‘A double cellar, constructed well nigh a century ago with this in mind. A trapdoor leads from the cellar down into a secure lower chamber. It’s impossible to see without knowledge of it and I’m sure George had the girls sweep sand across the floor to hide any footprints or sign of the joints where the slab meets the solid floor. It’s well made, hard to detect.’
‘And the Tower Room?’
‘Wiggins put it to rights. He’s not as ancient as he might appear.’
Luke seized a glass and tossed back the brandy, much as Captain Rodmell had done. ‘God help me. Shall I have to do this often?’
Harriette tilted her head. ‘I don’t think there’s a need in London.’
‘I don’t think my reputation can stand it.’
‘Mine could. Until I rescued you and things went awry…’ Her bright laughter died, and she looked away.
‘Ah, Harriette. I didn’t mean…’ He had hit a nerve and regretted it. Regretted anything he might do to rob her of that magical vivacity that lit her with an inner beauty. How had he ever thought her to have few attractions, for her looks to be little out of the common way? How had he ever mistaken her for a man! Without thought he covered the space between them and framed her face with his fingers, his hands smoothing her tumbled curls away, inordinately pleased when the tension in her ebbed under his hands.
‘You have skills I would never have imagined, Madam Countess.’
‘Whilst you showed remarkable ability in duping his Majesty’s Preventive officers, sir.’
She was delightful. ‘I did, didn’t I? And were you flirting with me in public?’
‘Most definitely I was, my lord. Captain Rodmell, an honourable man, did not know where to look.’
‘You were very adept.’ He ran his knuckles along the silken skin of her jaw.
‘I was very inexperienced.’
‘Then let me show you…’ He lowered his mouth to hers.
Blood ran hot for both of them. It astonished Luke how the demands of his body, the sheer primal desire of a man for a woman, could rule his mind. The only image was the one he had earlier denied, that of pouncing without thought to strip the layers of silk and lace from her body and ravish her with no concern but for his own fulfilment. The candlelight still glowed on the delicate skin above the laceedged neckline, highlighting shoulders and the swell of her breasts as he forced his lips to follow its path with at least some degree of finesse. His body was suddenly suffused with heat, his loins painfully, urgently, demanding release.
This was no way to approach an inexperienced virgin.
Deliberately, for the second time that night, Luke stepped away, registering her look of confusion, regretting being the cause of it.
‘Do you not want me?’ she asked.
‘Yes. You are my wife.’
She lifted her chin. ‘That’s no answer.’
‘No. It isn’t.’ Even as he acknowledged the faint reprimand, he cursed himself silently for his insensitivity in handling this unpredictable girl. So he would remedy the slight, nor would it be far from the truth. ‘You are lovely and desirable, and I want you. What man would not want you?’ He closed the distance again, now aware that she was shivering—with nerves rather than the incessant draughts. ‘But I don’t know where our room is,’ he murmured, his mouth against the white column of her throat as his hands loosed the ribbons that held her hair.
‘Shall I take you there?’
‘Unless you wish us to shock your servants further.’ He struggled to keep the words light. It would be so easy to overwhelm her, to spring and devour.
Harriette linked her fingers with his and led him upstairs, wordless now, the wild thrill of the hour driving her. Then they were behind the closed door of her room, where his mouth raced over her face, lingering on eyelids, the soft hollow of her temple, the fine edge of her jaw, heated kisses. Knowing hands made short work of the French gown until she stood in her shift and trembled. Luke made to blow out the candle.
‘No. Leave it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I want to see you.’
His eyes gleamed, a sardonic curl of his mouth. ‘I thought you already had.’
‘Yes. But not through your choice. Not like this. Do you need help with your boots?’
‘No, I do not.’
Luke lifted her onto the bed, placing her softly against the pillows, bending to kiss her again because her lips held the sweetness of honey, impossible to resist, and was caught there, unable to look away. Her soft mouth was made for pleasure. Her eyes wide, luminously silver in the candlelight, were full of mystery.
Harriette longed to respond, to touch him, to push the fine shirt from his shoulders and savour the hard flesh she already knew, but faced with this reality she found her wild confidence waning. Her cheeks burned, her lips and throat dried.
‘Should I touch you?’
Luke sat back, took her hands, placed them against his chest, holding them.
‘What do you feel?’
Harriette smoothed her palms over the linen, over the firmness of his muscles, his skin warm through the fine material. In some strange way it settled her.
‘Your heart is beating hard.’ Turning her hand beneath his, she transferred his palm to her own breast, pressing it there. ‘As does mine.’
For a brief moment he replaced his palm with his lips, then held her gaze, his words a promise. ‘I’ll make love to you with all the skill I have, Harriette. There is nothing for you to fear. Only to accept and enjoy. I’ll do nothing that is beyond your bearing. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
And as Luke released her to pull off his boots and strip off his own garments, Harriette caught her breath. How could she have forgotten how superb he was? Returned to health, the light gleamed on the smooth-carved skin, the scatter of dark hair over chest towards belly, tempting her to touch again. Long and supple, the muscles of hips and thighs were splendidly powerful. If she had any doubts of her own desirability, it was instantly dispelled. Aroused and magnificently erect, his need for her was evident.
Then she forgot everything under his touch as he pushed the shift off her to expose her body to his gaze. Gentle. Persuasive. Everything he had promised her, but insistent, supremely confident in his ability to arouse and pleasure, allowing her no space for reticence nor yet for embarrassment.
‘Let me touch you. Let me show you how good this can be.’
His voice was soft in her mind, his words encouraging when he felt her muscles tense. Every inch of her became immediately awake to the slide of his tongue, the delicate edge of teeth, the searing heat of lips. She shivered, hot desire shocking her, pooling in her belly, between her thighs.
Luke held his breath. She was lovely. Glossy elegance, firm muscles below the satiny skin. Breasts high and firm. He bent his head to her nipples, then the shallow dip between her breasts where the scent of lavender captured his senses. Flare of hips from her narrow waist enticed, the elegant length of her back from nape to swell of buttock seduced. His hands stroked and splayed in languorous movement, soothing her, beguiling her. Her scented hair enfolded him, her sweet breath warm against his cheek. Desire gripped him ruthlessly as she moved her legs to entangle them with his, a subtle movement that was almost his undoing, challenging his control when she pressed her mouth against the beat of the pulse in his throat, a murmur of pleasure that vibrated and spread from her to him.
Sliding her hand down over waist, hip, thigh, Harriette marvelled, gasped, winding her arms around his neck as he parted her thighs and settled there. She could feel the tension in him, the tight knots of muscle in his back as he controlled every movement as he made it easy for her. Instinctively, she lifted her hips—was this not what he wanted? It was what her body dictated as she felt his erection thrust hard again
st her, and she sighed as he pushed, slowly, deliberately, lingering when he felt resistance and her own intake of breath. With a cry she arched her body against him, and he thrust deeply into her, filling her. Harriette found herself holding her breath, afraid to move against this impossible invasion, until slowly, he began to rock, holding her so that she had no choice but to move with him, echoing the slide of skin against skin, thigh against thigh. Her own desire flared as the heat built, nerves consumed.
The fire became intense.
‘Luke!’ she gasped.
Immediately he stilled. ‘Have I hurt you?’
‘No.’
‘Shall I stop?’ Hoarse. On the very edge of control.
‘No.’
‘Then come with me. Stay with me.’
His lips on hers were amazingly soft, his fingers gentle in her hair, even as his thighs were hard, demanding. Still with enough presence of mind to hold his weight from her, he drove on, unable to hold back.
His mouth took hers, his tongue possessive in that final plunging moment.
Harriette Lydyard. Now Harriette Hallaston. Luke savoured the thought in his mind. Something in her touched his emotions, his heart, certainly his physical desires. By no means the first woman to share his bed, yet she had taken him by surprise. He was not in the habit of taking his pleasure with virgins, preferring rather a worldly mistress who knew her place and her role in his life, who could intuitively give and receive pleasure. This had been outside his experience, all his expectations. Harriette could never be described as worldly, and by her own admission had no experience, yet she had proved to be a web of contradictions. A charming innocence, but certainly no shyness. A lack of knowledge, but a desire to learn and discover, a delicate reticence but one that was willingly overthrown as her confidence bloomed. An unwary man could be entrapped in such a web. What had he hoped for from this unusual union? Friendship, possibly a deep one. A caring, tolerant acceptance of each other if they were fortunate.
It had proved more than that, far more, but quite what he did not know. Admiration and gratitude, he acknowledged. Was that all? What he did know was that the delicate web had wrapped itself around him and for that short time in her arms had enslaved him. Now her dark hair curled invitingly over her breasts. He allowed it to spiral around his fingers, and clenched them into a fist as he felt his body harden again.
Compromised Miss Page 11
