Compromised Miss

by O'Brien, Anne

  ‘What is it?’ she murmured, her face turned into his shoulder.

  ‘You are beautiful,’ he stated, moved by the discovery.

  What could he do but lift himself over her again, finding her ready, hot and wet and eminently desirable, spread beneath him. What could he do but bury himself again within her, losing himself in the dark, satin depths.

  His self-control was suddenly not good, not good at all.

  Harriette’s dream, admitted later to no one but her own innermost thoughts as she lay and studied Luke’s sleeping face, had come true. He had wed her and told her she was beautiful. Not that she believed him for a second, but at least he had no distaste for her. Stretching her limbs, marvelling at how he had lured her into such heart-stopping awareness of him, she leaned and pressed her mouth to his, soft as a feather.

  ‘I am yours now. For ever,’ she whispered.

  Beware! her mind advised her heart. It would be dangerous, painfully so to be drawn into foolish imaginings. Luke did not love her, but had merely been seduced by the flash of heat, of overwrought emotion caused by the exhilaration of the night’s events.

  Ah, but did she love him? Oh, yes, she feared she did. Sense told her it was not possible to fall in love with a man she did not know. It was merely the unfortunate result of her never having met a man so good to look at before in her life.

  But she could fall in love. She had done so, a treacherous and sudden fall, as from the deck of a ship in a turbulent sea, with such ease that it frightened her. It made her tremble.

  Luke woke her at dawn to make love to her in the full light of day, sunbeams filtering through the curtains to warm and soften, casting dappled patterns over their skin. Breathless sighs, long caresses, slow kisses. How slender she was, the muscles sleek and softly defined from her active life. Luke pressed kisses along the curve of her throat, the gentle slope of her shoulders. His tongue lapped at the seductive swell of her breasts, the pertly aroused nipples.

  She shivered beneath the inexorable onslaught of his mouth and hands, shuddered, every nerve ending alive, alight. Lured into unthinkable intimacies of her own. With astonishing freedom Harriette traced his collarbone with the tip of her tongue. Pressed her lips to the healed wound in his arm, the skin where the bruising had faded to a mere shadow, sliding her palms over the hard muscle, flat nipples and down to the lean thighs, the heavy weight of his sex. Where she hesitated.

  ‘Touch me,’ he spoke harshly.

  And she did, enclosing the firm length of him until he groaned his denial and anchored her wrists above her head, before beginning his own onslaught. Harriette quivered as his mouth drifted over her ribs, belly, to the throb of her thighs. She dragged in a breath, tightening her grasp of his shoulders in consternation.

  ‘Luke…’

  Relentlessly, he continued with knowing fingers and tongue, teased, stroked, refused to allow her peace until, in a flood of sweetness, Harriette turned her face away and gasped at the outrageous build of desire within her. Until she shivered, Luke’s mouth swallowing her cry as he took her beyond her control. Beyond everything but the sensation of Luke’s body, above hers, his erection iron hard.

  And then he was deep inside her.

  ‘Look at me!’ Luke ordered, wrapping her hair around his hands, his wrists, as if it was she who held him captive. She looked into his eyes dark with passion. And was captured, lost, drowning, her heart beating in time with his.

  More powerfully now, he thrust home. Deep and long, driving with an urgency that overwhelmed him, as physical need took precedence over care for her inexperience. Luke felt her gasp again, her whole body tense around him, and control was no longer an option for him. He fell from the knife-edge, into the dark, helplessly, magnificently overcome by the slick heat of her, taking her with him.

  ‘Well, Captain Harry?’ he murmured when he could, looking down at her, framing her face with his hands.

  ‘Well?’ A little wary. Entirely satisfied.

  ‘Was that as enjoyable as a fast run in a stormy sea?’

  Head tilted, she kept him waiting as if in thought. Then smiled. ‘Yes,’ she replied simply.

  ‘Madam Smuggler—you are as charming as you are beautiful.’ Her mouth, reaching up, laughed against his in mute invitation. ‘An insatiable woman…’ How could he not comply?

  And did so.

  Chapter Six

  Absurdly satisfied with the events of the previous day, Luke made his way to the stables at Lydyard’s Pride to find someone who could be trusted to organise his curricle and pair for later that morning. A sleepy stable lad—whom he recognised as Tom, Alexander Ellerdine’s messenger—showed willing but inept, so Luke stripped off his coat, led the horses into the yard and applied himself with a curry comb whilst the lad tackled the harness. It was a pleasurable enough task with thoughts of Harriette imprinted in his mind as he picked the hay-stalks from the manes and tails of the two bays. The result was not quite to his exacting standards, but it would have to do. He found himself, to his amusement, remarkably tolerant. His hand moved caressingly over the velvet coat of the bay. Much like the soft vibrancy of Harriette’s hair when he had turned his face against the elegant length of her throat, the urgency of his desire momentarily eased…

  ‘Venmore!’

  He raised his head at the unexpected voice with its note of command. A man stood watching him from the entrance to the yard. Not quite aggressive, but nor, Luke thought,was he friendly. Luke straightened, at which the man walked forwards, now smiling, and offered his hand in greeting.

  ‘I’m Alexander Ellerdine. Harriette’s cousin.’

  ‘Of course.’ Luke shook hands. He should have known, and had obviously mistaken the antagonism. There was little family resemblance other than dark hair and slender build, but he recalled that the man had been at the church. So this was the cousin who, according to local gossip, might have made a match of it with Harriette. The man’s handshake was firm, his expression open and welcoming. Luke decided that the gossip and his first impression was at fault.

  ‘Congratulations on your marriage, my lord. I didn’t get a chance to wish you well yesterday. And also many thanks.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘The rescue operation last night. A dangerous moment—the whole cargo could have been lost.’ The friendly smile gained a sardonic twist. ‘You never know with the Revenue men and Rodmell is an efficient Riding Officer—the best we’ve had in this area for years, more’s the pity. Someone lays the information and the dragoons appear where you least expect them. But Harriette has a cool head in emergencies.’ Alexander slapped his hand against the neck of one of the bays. ‘That’s why I’m here now. To see Wiggins about moving the goods on tonight. A fine pair of animals, by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen finer.’

  ‘Yes. They are. Home bred. I’ve a useful stallion at Venmore.’

  ‘A smart curricle, too.’ Alexander ran a hand over the highly lacquered rail of the vehicle. ‘An ambition of mine to own one, but not one I’ll ever achieve. The lanes in this part of the world don’t lend themselves to anything better than a gig.’

  Luke smiled wryly. ‘I know. I had the dubious pleasure of travelling in mine host of the Silver Boat’s rattle trap to Brighton. It did nothing for my injured shoulder.’

  And Alexander laughed. ‘So you did.’ He walked round the bays to appraise their good points. ‘I have to say—I admire you, my lord.’ He returned to lean against the animal’s flank as Luke once again applied long slow strokes to the gleaming shoulder.

  ‘Admire?’ Luke squinted up.

  ‘For taking Harriette on, all things considered.’

  ‘What things should I consider?’ Luke asked quietly, straightening, senses suddenly alert.

  ‘Well, there’s her background for one thing. You must be aware. Not every man would be willing to introduce her into his family.’ Alexander grinned. ‘The Lydyards have not always been respectable, despite Wallace’s stuffy consequence. And Harr
iette has no inheritance to speak of to entice a husband to ignore the…the difficulties.’

  ‘Oh? Which background should I be aware of?’ Luke kept his expression perfectly bland, as if discussing the finer points of his horses. Awareness roiled in his belly. His first impression, he decided, had not been wrong at all. There was something about Alexander Ellerdine. Luke acknowledged that he did not like the man at all.

  ‘Well, the strong links with our enemy across the Channel—you know about Harriette’s mother, I take it.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Alexander shrugged. ‘It’s not to everyone’s taste when they’re killing our soldiers. And then there’s the smuggling. Lydyards have always been smugglers, of course. Your family must be very tolerant, Venmore.’

  Luke forced himself to reply laconically. ‘Harriette will not be the first lady with French blood to make her mark in English society. And, since she’s agreed to step back from the Trade, I don’t see that we need to broadcast the smuggling connection.’

  Alexander’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘Agreed, has she? I didn’t know…But still, rumours tend to spread, do they not? Even as far as London.’

  ‘Only if someone ill wishes us enough to sow the seeds.’

  Alexander smiled ruefully, eyes gleaming. ‘Not me, my lord, if that’s what you suspect. I wish Harriette nothing but good fortune in her marriage. It’s just that some would see smuggling as no better than treason, France being the enemy.’

  ‘They do?’ Luke felt the chill of ice spread through his veins. Where was this leading? Alexander Ellerdine was making an excellent argument to blacken the name of all smugglers, yet he appeared ingenuous in his manner. Was this deliberate provocation? Or an innocent exchange of opinion? Besides, he had known of Harriette’s smuggling before he had wed her.

  ‘I don’t subscribe to that line of thought,’ Alexander continued, running his fingers through the bay’s mane. ‘Life’s hard for the fishermen, and without the income from the Trade it would be even harder. Legality is a fine line when your family is near starvation and the winter seas are too rough to put out. What does legality matter when the cooking pots are empty? Everyone in Old Wincomlee turns a blind eye to the signalling from the Tower Room.’

  ‘Yes, they would,’ Luke agreed, carefully feeling his way. ‘Signalling’s essential, I should suppose, to get a boat home safely into the cove.’

  ‘True. But what do you suppose we do when there’s no cargo to be had? When times are hard in bad weather and the local folk go hungry with no income?’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘Think about it, my lord. Everyone knows of the Gentlemen. But who has not also heard tales of the fraternity of the Wreckers?’

  Luke’s voice remained even, all his willpower focused on showing a mere bland interest. ‘Wreckers? What do you imply, Ellerdine?’

  Alexander replied, equally cool, ‘If you lived in these parts you would know what goes on. It’s all part of the life on this coast and has been for generations of Lydyards. The signalling on a dark and stormy night is not always to bring in one of our own vessels. It’s a bloody business, but common enough and highly lucrative.’

  ‘Are you saying that Harriette is involved in this, Ellerdine?’ Luke asked quietly, rising to his full height, fixing his informer with a cold, green stare. ‘You will excuse me if I say that I don’t believe you.’

  ‘No? Ever heard of the Lion d’Or?’

  ‘I don’t think…’ But there again, why should he?

  ‘A vessel out of Dieppe with a cargo of silk. It came aground on the rocks out there, three years ago now.’ Alexander indicated the rocks on the headland with an expansive sweep of his arm. ‘The silk sold on to the London market for a tidy sum.’

  ‘And the crew?’

  ‘Lost.’ Alexander shrugged. ‘It happens. There was nothing we could do.’

  ‘Who lit the light?’ Luke heard himself demanding.

  ‘Who do you think?’ Luke found that he could not bear to watch the self-satisfied smile cross Alexander Ellerdine’s face or the dramatic gesture of his hand. ‘The lamp shone out from the Tower Room at the Pride, luring the brave Lion d’Or to her rocky grave.’

  There was no time for Luke to question further. And had he not heard enough? Light footsteps in the distance informed him that Harriette was approaching across the stable yard. Then she had joined them. Ellerdine turned to her, bowing with ironic but graceful courtesy.

  ‘We were just speaking of you, cousin. And how is the Countess of Venmore this morning?’ And planted a kiss on her blushing cheek.

  Alexander left them to find Wiggins and make arrangements for the disposal of the contraband. Harriette turned to Luke with a shy smile and a leap of joy in her heart, only to face the cold implacability of a marble façade. Luke regarded her with what could only be a deep brooding appraisal. It was as if she had thought to dip her foot in a warm summer pool, only to find a thin sheet of ice covering the surface. It chilled her blood. Nor were there any soft words of greeting for her as she had expected.

  ‘It’s time we left, Harriette. Are you ready?’ Clipped, flat vowels.

  ‘Yes. Of course.’ She frowned. ‘Is something wrong, Luke?’

  ‘Why should there be?’ She watched as he forced the taut muscles of his shoulders to relax, and his face softened into a brief smile—a smile that she sensed was entirely without warmth. ‘Go and collect your travelling garments—the wind will be cool. The curricle will be harnessed by the time you return.’

  ‘Have I done something you do not approve of?’

  ‘Not a thing.’ But his eyes remained coolly watchful. It was as if some impenetrable barrier had been erected between them. ‘Any problems are of my own making,’ he continued. ‘You must forgive me if I seem preoccupied.’

  What did that mean? What had she done, for surely some blame must rest on her shoulders? Did he regret the passion that he had lavished on her in their bed? The marriage? Did he regret everything? Harriette found, to her shame, that she had to battle against a threat of tears.

  ‘Go and fetch what you need for the journey,’ Luke repeated.

  The distance that had so startlingly opened up between them seemed to yawn. Harriette turned to do as she was bid because she could think of nothing else to say. Was this the man who had held her in his arms, kissed her, possessed her? Was this cold formidable man the one who had introduced her with such skill to all the delights possible between a man and a woman, who had woken her again with hands and lips at first light to renew his amazing assault? Was it wrong for her to expect some degree of warmth from him now, even though he might not love her?

  Harriette’s world was suddenly turned on its head. What had occurred to cause this separation? She would wager it was not her smuggling activities. When they had worked to save the cargo, had there not been some overpowering, overwhelming link stretching between them? Had there not been a living connection, bright as cold steel, hot as fire? It had pulsed through their blood, driving them into each other’s arms. Surely she had not misread that glittering bond?

  Was this the man who had acted out of honour to repair her reputation, when no blame could be attached to him, when he could have turned his back and abandoned her to whatever filth society chose to cast on her shoulders?

  Then perhaps her judgement was all wrong, all built on a fatal inexperience of fashionable behaviour. Perhaps that was the way of polite society, that tenderness in bed was just a lie, to be transmuted into bleak tolerance in the light of day. She must remember this lesson for it would be a dire mistake if she ever forgot it. She could think of nothing worse than allowing Luke to discover that her feelings for him were more than that same cool tolerance. How humiliating, how demeaning it would be. So Harriette marched back to the house with a determination to preserve the same unemotional façade as her husband had so expertly shown to her. I will be as politely cold as he if that is what is demanded of me. When the tears pricked behind
her lids again she blotted them with her sleeve. She would not weep. She would not! It was her own fault. She would bear the consequences, allowing no one to see the scars such a betrayal left on her heart.

  Harriette was given no time to dwell on her misery. Her cousin was waiting to waylay her in the hall, as if there were nothing amiss.

  ‘Before you go, Harry—will you let me make use of the Pride in your absence?’

  She struggled to focus on his words, when her thoughts were scattered spindrift in a gale and her heart seemed to be in pieces within her breast. ‘The Pride?’

  ‘Yes.’ He grasped her forearm, shook her a little. ‘Let me use the house.’

  Did she want that? Lydyard’s Pride was hers. She might choose to make use of it when danger threatened, but did she want the smuggling fraternity making free of it in her absence, even under Alexander’s control?

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t, Zan,’ she said, unhappy and distraught but determined. ‘I don’t want it known as a haunt of smuggling with Rodmell and his men descending on the house every time we draw breath. Use the Tower Room, of course, by all means. Wiggins will light the lamp for you.’

  ‘I want to use the cellars here…’ Alexander’s grip tightened to keep her attention. ‘No. I don’t want that except in a dire emergency. Use the church if you have to. Reverend Dance will let you in. You’ve done it before.’

  Alexander drew a breath, as if he would argue his case, then lifted his hands with a deprecating smile. ‘I don’t agree, but it’s your decision.’ She sensed his displeasure, but he kissed her cheek, already making for the door. ‘Enjoy your new life, little cousin.’

  Leaving Harriette to make her way back to her bedchamber, the scene of such happiness, now empty and desolate. All she could do was simply stand and look at the disordered linen on the bed and wondered if she had imagined it all.