by Mary Brendan
‘My daughter detests my husband...as do I...but we both loved her father very much,’ Maude rattled off, still dazed to have made such an admission to a stranger.
‘Indeed...that is a mixed blessing and I would hear more about it.’ Thornley glanced at her, looking taken aback. ‘But not now because I still have much to say. I must tell you something and beg your forgiveness when I have done for being the bearer of such bad tidings...’ He frowned, wondering where to start to report to a mother that her unwed daughter had been vilely mistreated, and what’s more, folk knew about it.
‘My Fiona... She is not...’ Maude licked her bloodless lips. Was he beating about the bush unable to say her daughter was gravely ill...and might die?
‘Oh...no, no, she is in fine fettle!’ Thornley burst out, having read Mrs Ratcliff’s dreadful suspicions from her expression. He suddenly smiled, feeling rather better about everything. ‘You are right, madam, there are much worse things might befall a parent than a scandal about a daughter. We are not at a wake, are we? Come, let us cheer ourselves up.’ Thornley struggled to his feet while his visitor watched him with her eyes popping and her jaw sagging.
‘I imagine—if you’re anything like my dear departed wife—that you might prefer a drink of something stronger than tea.’ He gave the bell pull a tug, then another. ‘We must toast our children’s good health, then worry about the rest later!’
Chapter Fourteen
Had Fiona but known it, she would have been astonished to learn that her attitude mirrored that of the illustrious Duke of Thornley, a man she’d never met.
Things were not so bad, she impressed on herself in an attempt to combat pangs of melancholy. Gossip could not kill her, but when thrown over Fred Ruff’s horse she might have slid off and cracked open her skull during that mad gallop. Worse still, once she was locked in that mildewed cell, bound and gagged, her captors would doubtless have gone off about their nefarious business. Had they met an abrupt end at the hands of the militia, she, too, would have expired, but not mercifully quickly, but in a drawn-out grisly way! It was the terrifying thought that she might slowly starve with nobody about to hear her muffled cries that had spurred her to immediately attempt to escape. She had much to be thankful for! She had her precious liberty, and her health, and good friends like the Jacksons...
And the memory of Luke Wolfson’s hands on her body, trailing fire in their wake...
With a sigh Fiona cast him from her mind for the hundredth time that day. She had promised herself not to mope over him. She must accept that he was gone for good and probably hadn’t given her, or their escapade, a moment’s pause, since being reunited with his mistress.
Leaning her elbows on the wide gate at the side of the Pig and Whistle, she cupped her chin in her palms and gazed over meadow grass that swayed and gleamed beneath soft breezes and the setting sun. How would her mother take knowing about her eldest daughter’s plight? Thank goodness Maude was in blissful ignorance of it all, she thought. But ever since Cecil Ratcliff set about defrauding the Chapman family Maude had toughened up, so she might cope better than expected when eventually Fiona recounted her tale. And she must; she’d hate it to come to her mother’s notice on the grapevine.
Had her papa still been alive he would be distraught to know how badly things had turned out for his wife and spinster daughter. In his final months he’d mentioned leaving them financially secure, with no need to worry about paying the bills. But Anthony Chapman hadn’t reckoned with his wife’s silly vanity making her prey to a silver-tongued trickster. Her father’s astute business deals, made to provide his widow with a comfortable pension, were now lining another man’s pockets. Or they had been, Fiona reminded herself sourly, till her stepfather emptied his pockets at gaming tables and brothels.
It would have been easy for Fiona to rail at Maude, but she would not allow Cecil Ratcliff the added victory of turning mother and daughter against one another. He had often tried to drive a wedge between them, no doubt so he could mistreat both women under his roof without them seeking mutual support. He hadn’t succeeded; though the parting between Fiona and Maude had been strained, there had been tears and affection on both sides.
Familiar laughter reached Fiona’s ears, breaking into her introspection. Through one of the Pig and Whistle’s mullioned windows she could see Peter and Betty Jackson. They were seated comfortably, partaking of an after-dinner tot, happy in each other’s company. Her parents had liked to settle down together in such a way. But Fiona had not seen her mother laugh in a long while now.
Earlier Fiona had eaten supper with Mr and Mrs Jackson, and a very good dinner of mutton hotpot it had been, too. Naturally the couple had been curious to know where she was heading, and why. After all they’d been through together, Fiona believed that they had proved their friendship and trustworthiness. She told them honestly that she’d travelled from London to take up employment in Dartmouth. Betty had said she’d heard of the Herberts and that nothing bad had reached her ears about the family. That had lifted Fiona’s spirits a little. If Mr Herbert was good and kind he was sure to be sympathetic to her tale of the coach being delayed by highwaymen. And that was the extent of the story she would relate!
Fiona had wanted to stretch her legs before retiring to her chamber for the night. Tomorrow morning she must say farewell to the Jacksons, who were heading inland to Woodstone while she carried on journeying west.
Being considerate sorts, the Jacksons were trying to put a brave face on things for her. But Fiona feared human nature was much the same whether people were peasant or peer: salacious rumours would always be of great interest when a young lady’s reputation was at stake. And heaven only knew there were stories about her now to give a gossip a field day.
The first twinges of self-pity assailed Fiona. Had fate been kinder to her, and that accursed vehicle of Toby Williams not broken down, none of it would have happened. The ruffians had been waiting for night to fall to rob innocent travellers braving the dark lanes. It had been very bad luck that Megan had misconstrued her identity from an overheard conversation at the Fallow Buck, then shared the misconception with her beau. Sam and Fred were not the sharpest tools in the box and had pounced too readily on the idea of her being the duke’s daughter, hoping for high praise from their boss and a fat slice of profit from her ransom.
She owed her freedom, her comfort, perhaps even her life to Luke Wolfson. She should have thanked him properly rather than going off in a huff because his mistress had been waiting to welcome him at the King and Tinker. Now it was too late; he was no doubt halfway to London with his friends and had already forgotten her...
Her head dropped forward as she swayed on her feet, yearning to have his sweetly teasing fingers roving her skin once more. Fiona spun about to thump her back against the gate and stare up at the first stars studding a pale night sky. ‘I’m glad he’s gone...’ she groaned in a whisper, desperate to convince herself of it.
‘You’re glad who’s gone...dare I ask?’
Fiona snapped down her face, gazing unblinking at his beautiful gypsy features as though seeing a ghost. ‘Jeremiah Collins...’ She finally forced the fib through her quivering lips. ‘What are you doing here, sir? I thought you’d travelled to London.’ She made a small gesture, then turned away from him quickly lest she betrayed how happy and confused she was to see him.
‘Who told you I’d gone to London?’
Fiona scoured her mind for an answer. In fact, Mr Robley at the King and Tinker had said Mr Wolfson had left with his friends but not where he’d headed to. She’d placed Luke in the metropolis because she brooded about him, and what he might be doing, far too much.
‘I... Nobody told me... I just assumed you’d go there with your friends.’ Fiona swiftly changed the subject. ‘Mr Robley gave me your packet. I must thank you for your generosity. But it was uncalled for, Mr Wolfson. I am glad to have
back my locket, but will replace its value with cash as soon as I’m able. As for the three sovereigns you gave me...’ She dug in the pocket where she had stored his precious parcel of gold. ‘I must return two to you straight away.’
Luke moved closer to her, enclosing her wrist as she would have thrust the parchment-wrapped money in his direction.
‘You were glad I’d gone. Have you changed your mind now I’m back, Fiona?’
She looked away from those penetrative dark eyes. Of course, he’d known all along she was thinking...talking of him, whereas he probably had Becky Peake at the back of his mind. ‘I’m certainly happy to have the opportunity to thank you properly for rescuing me,’ she answered brittlely.
‘My pleasure...’ Luke raised her imprisoned fingers, chivalrously touching his lips to them.
Fiona avoided his gaze. She didn’t need to look at him to know that his suggestive comment would have strengthened the amusement glimmering at the backs of his eyes. ‘Why have you come here, sir?’ she demanded, snatching back her hand. ‘Is your purpose simply to mock me some more before you carry on with your life as normal? My life will never be normal again! I might be a disgraced woman but I’m certainly not a toy to be trifled with.’ Again she thrust the coins at him and this time he took them with a sigh, slipping them into his pocket.
‘I’ve never thought of you as such. Neither have I underestimated what you have endured. You’re the bravest woman I know.’
His unexpected praise humbled Fiona; she even felt rather embarrassed by it. She’d heard simple sincerity in his voice and that was very pleasing. But she must not let his opinion matter too much; soon they would part ways for good.
‘What normal life are you rueing the loss of, Fiona?’ Luke asked, plunging his hands in his coat pockets. ‘You’ve left home to get away from your stepfather and intend to take up paid employment in a profession that is likely to make you miserable. Do you still hanker for such an existence as that?’
‘You don’t know anything about me!’ Fiona burst out. ‘Who told you I dislike my stepfather?’ she continued, ruining her determination not to speak about anything personal.
‘You did... Have you forgotten already?’ Luke replied. He approached her, moving a hand as though to draw her close, but Fiona whipped aside, greatly alarmed that he might have guessed Cecil Ratcliff had treated her in a very inappropriate manner. Nobody knew about that apart from Maude, and perhaps Rose. Not that Fiona or her mother had mentioned it to their maid, but Rose had a keen eye and a sharp mind. Nothing much happened in the household that passed the woman by.
‘So I have an idea of why you quit London to journey west. Do you know what brought me this way?’ Luke asked quietly.
‘How could I, sir, when you’ve made it your business to keep it all a secret,’ Fiona retorted.
‘I’ve not intentionally concealed anything from you. When we were outrunning the gang I said I’d no time to explain, but now things are different. So, in answer to your previous question—what am I doing here at the Pig and Whistle?—I’ve come specifically to see you, my dear. You wanted me to tell you about my involvement with Jeremiah Collins, didn’t you? Are you still interested in hearing about it?’
Fiona raised her eyes to his and through the dusk could see his fixed gaze was no longer lit by mockery, but by another, truer emotion.
‘Yes...if you will, sir.’ Fiona dipped her head. ‘An explanation is in order, I think, so must thank you for taking the trouble to come out of your way to give it to me.’
‘Have you told anybody you suspect me to be in cahoots with the gang?’ Luke turned his head to glance at the Jacksons, still ensconced by the tavern’s fireside.
Disquiet needled Fiona as she slowly gave a shake of her head. Perhaps his purpose in coming was to discover if she’d exposed him as a criminal, rather than to honourably explain himself.
Luke braced his hands against the gate, close to Fiona’s side, and stared out over the darkling meadow. Somewhere out in the wilderness that held a tang of brine blown off the sea, a curlew called and was answered by its mate. After a moment in which they faced in opposite directions, enclosed in pastoral peacefulness, Fiona turned about and she, too, propped herself on the timber rail to gaze at the horizon.
‘I quit the army last year, but still accept commissions suited to my profession,’ Luke began in his rich baritone. ‘I took on a contract for the Duke of Thornley. A day or so later I went back to see him to cancel it as the two of us didn’t see eye to eye on vital aspects of the plan’s structure and execution. My aim was then to return to London and forget all about the deal.’
Fiona digested that, then darted a bemused glance at his profile. Surely he was not about to tell her that the duke had somehow plotted to have his own daughter kidnapped by some villains! For what purpose? To prevent the young woman marrying the man she wanted? And why would Luke Wolfson’s help be sought? Fiona found the answer to that last conundrum almost immediately: a duke would not deal directly with the scoundrels. He would need a go-between...somebody who might be able to infiltrate the gang and pretend to be in league with them. But the duke would not want his daughter harmed, just taught a lesson. And His Grace’s mercenary would protect the girl while pretending to be her abductor.
Fiona had forgotten to seem aloof and rattled off the sum of her conjecture, moving closer to Luke in her eagerness to have his response to it.
‘You’ve almost worked it out, sweet, so you’ll understand my misgivings about strategic flaws.’ Luke smiled sardonically. ‘It was hardly going to fool a crook like Collins for very long.’
‘Does the duke not like his daughter to risk her life in such a way?’ Fiona gasped.
‘He loves Joan very much and would have risked his own life before hers. The tale of Thornley’s daughter running off to wed a lover was concocted. The duke’s idea was for a woman to impersonate Joan, then when Collins was lured into the open in the hope of netting a huge ransom for the discreet return of the runaway bride, the villain and his accomplices would be captured and finally get their day in court.’
‘Well, none of it came to pass!’ Fiona snorted derisively. ‘And it would have been exceedingly good luck if it had succeeded.’
‘Indeed...’ he concurred.
Fiona stole a glance at Luke’s rugged profile; he had sounded very scathing, as well he might! He’d cancelled the contract with the duke and had been on the point of returning to the metropolis when he found himself again embroiled in rescuing a damsel in distress, albeit the wrong one, and for no reward!
‘So...if a false rumour had not been put about concerning Joan’s secret elopement, those dullards Sam and Fred would have stolen my money, but left me be.’
‘I’m sorry you suffered, but I’m not sorry that I met you.’ Luke pivoted on the elbow he’d planted on the top of the gate, facing her. The hand idle at his side was raised so a leisurely finger could trace the delicate contours from her temple to jaw. ‘I’m not sorry, either, that I had the chance to rescue you, or to get to know you better during that short time we shared. It wasn’t enough. I still want more of you...’ he said huskily.
Slowly he straightened, removing his lounging arm from the timber and very deliberately sliding it around her narrow waist to draw her closer. ‘Just a day or so apart, yet I’ve missed you, and I don’t believe you’ve not felt the same way about me. We’ve unfinished business, Fiona...that’s the main reason I’ve come to find you.’
He lowered his face and intuitively Fiona angled her head sideways and back, sighing as they fitted together like pieces of a puzzle. He swept his warm lips across her throat to take her mouth in a leisurely, drugging kiss.
From behind a daze of sensation Fiona reminded herself that he’d still answers to give her. But the tantalising touch of his tongue tip against hers was enough to make her gasp and open u
p to his artful probing. When his hand caressed from her spine to the buttons on her bodice she instinctively put an arch in her back to entice the skilful fingers infiltrating her clothes to fondle her nude skin.
‘You’ve no need to fret over gossip, sweet,’ Luke murmured as he stroked the warm plump flesh he’d exposed beneath her chemise. ‘And no need to fret over your employment, either. The fellow will understand you quitting your job, given the nature of what you’ve been through...’
‘But he must not know!’ Fiona’s whispered cry was smothered beneath the sweet assault of his lips. She clasped his abrasive chin to force back his head an inch. ‘Nobody must know what happened to me...’ she breathed into his preying mouth. ‘Or I will be unable to earn a decent living anywhere.’
‘You’ve no need to earn your keep, Fiona,’ Luke growled, tantalising a small ear with nips and kisses. ‘I’ll protect you...care for you...give you everything you’ll ever want. Just tell me what it is you desire...’
A burst of intense joy swamped Fiona and she nestled her cheek against his shoulder. With a tiny sob of astonishment she realised that pure love was at the centre of the conflicting emotions this man aroused in her. In just a few days she’d finally fallen deeply, instinctively in love. And he must love her, too, or why would he want to marry her when he didn’t have to...
Her lashes parted and the throb of joy faltered, then faded as her reason revived. He hadn’t mentioned marriage...or love. And thank goodness that she hadn’t, either!
What a fool she was! Fiona inwardly railed at herself. She’d simply read into his declaration what she wanted to hear. Yes, it was a proposal of sorts, but now, recalling it word for word, she saw it was similar to that delivered by her stepfather. He had also promised to give her gowns and trinkets, while attempting to thrust a hand beneath her skirts. And all the while he’d been raiding her inheritance—money put by for her dowry—so he could carry on carousing with his dubious friends.
