by Mary Brendan
She’d believed Luke Wolfson had a wedding on his mind because, unconsciously, that’s what she wanted...what she’d always wanted. From the first moment their eyes had met through driving rain she’d felt attracted to him in a way that defied logic. Oh, he was wonderfully handsome, but it was more than mere good looks drawing her to him. She’d sensed between them existed an affinity that she’d never experienced with anyone other than her birth family.
When she’d been Jeremiah Collins’s terrified prisoner she’d trusted Luke Wolfson would rescue her from the gang. And he had not let her down. But now he would; saving her from a life of servitude, or from her ruined reputation, was a chivalry too far. And why should he marry her? Did she think she now had a hold on this mercenary’s affections because they’d shared intimacies a wife would allow a husband? How naive and unsophisticated he would think her, compared to Becky Peake!
If he guessed her awful mistake he might laugh...or feel embarrassed. He could be no more uncomfortable than she was! She must never disclose how close she’d come to throwing her arms up about his neck and blurting that she’d be delighted to be his wife.
Fiona had grown stiff in his arms, but didn’t yet push away. Even relinquishing the bittersweet comfort of his warmth and strength was hard to do. She remained quiet, conscious of his silence, and of puzzles still unsolved.
Why would a man who already had a beautiful young mistress want an older, plainer woman in his bed? The solution she found made her burn with humiliation. She’d never save enough money to settle his fee, so he was offering to take payment in kind, allowing her to keep her precious locket, and to save her blushes was wrapping his lust in generosity. Then, when he’d had his money’s worth, no doubt he’d turn her out. Perhaps he might even give her a reference to ease her path towards employment as a governess!
Disentangling herself from his embrace, Fiona raised her hands, intending to fumble beneath her collar for the clasp of the locket, but her fingers were arrested in mid-air and held steady at her shoulders.
‘What are you doing?’ Luke asked quietly.
Fiona shook him off, attempting to step back, but he gripped her elbows, jerking her against him.
‘You mistake my character, sir. Thank you for your kind offer, but I still intend to keep a roof over my head by teaching children, rather than sleeping with gentlemen,’ she said with a faux sweetness.
‘Gentlemen? How many lovers did you anticipate having, Fiona?’ he rasped.
‘None...’ She flung back her head, her tawny gaze clashing on eyes that gleamed between lengthy jet-black lashes.
‘None? You intend to remain celibate? Do you not want children?’
‘Only within wedlock,’ Fiona answered coolly. She would not allow him to upset her fragile equilibrium with his taunts.
The throaty chuckle he gave lacked humour. ‘You’re after a husband, but not a lover, is that it?’
‘I’m not looking for either, but if I were I’d want a gentleman I can respect and trust!’ Fiona snapped.
‘And desire?’ Luke purred. ‘I fit the bill on that score, even if you don’t respect or trust me.’
Fiona had backed away against the gate, but he pursued with slow deliberate steps, bracing an arm either side of her, trapping her as he lowered his head towards hers...
‘Mr Wolfson...is it you? Are you there, sir? Is Miss Chapman with you? Oh, for a pair of young eyes! It is grown quite dark and I left my spectacles inside...’
Chapter Fifteen
An expletive, forcefully ejected through Luke’s teeth, preceded him straightening up. As he turned about he subtly brushed his mouth across Fiona’s lips, still invitingly parted in a soundless wail of horror from recognising Mrs Jackson’s cheery tones.
‘Ah...it is you, sir!’ Mrs Jackson was peering myopically into the twilight. ‘And there you are, Miss Chapman. What a wonderful surprise to see your saviour again!’ Betty beamed at the couple as she hurried closer. ‘You two young people must have lots to talk about before we all leave this...’ She cast a dramatic glance over a shoulder before whispering, ‘This dreadful episode behind us and finish our journeys.’ She patted Luke’s sleeve. ‘But do both come in and join us. My husband will be pleased to see you, sir. You mustn’t just go off as you tend to do without saying a proper goodbye,’ she playfully scolded Luke. ‘I’ve come to see if Miss Chapman would like some warm milk or chocolate ordered before bedtime. With so much to do tomorrow I expect an early night is in order for us all.’
‘I... Yes...that sounds nice,’ Fiona burst out, aware of a very ironic look singeing the top of her head at the mention of bedtime. ‘Chocolate...’ She quickly gave her choice of beverage, relieved that Betty didn’t appear to have noticed anything untoward.
Perhaps the Jacksons were beyond being shocked by her behaviour, Fiona wryly reflected. When she’d first met the couple they’d seemed alarmed that she was travelling without a companion. Heaven only knew what they’d think of her now if they discovered what she’d been up to moments ago with the gentleman at her side!
‘You mustn’t take a chill, Miss Chapman.’ Luke’s mild tone was at odds with him briskly pulling her cloak edges together.
‘How considerate,’ Mrs Jackson praised, blinking adoringly at her hero.
It took Fiona a moment to recover from his abrupt ministration and to realise the reason for it: she glimpsed an edge of her lacy chemise and, horrified, realised that her unhooked buttons had been exposed to view. Blood surged into her complexion and she silently gave thanks for the dusk and for Betty’s forgetfulness. Had the woman been wearing her spectacles...
Discreetly tugging at her clothes, Fiona accepted the arm that Luke extended to her. She knew she owed him at least a glance of gratitude for preserving her modesty, but she could not do it. Betty clutched Luke’s other elbow and began chattering about the richness of the lamb hotpot they’d enjoyed for supper.
‘Ah...capital to see you, sir!’ Mr Jackson had made quite a sprightly leap to his feet on seeing Luke accompanying Betty and Miss Chapman into the tavern. Solicitously he began rearranging chairs so that everybody might sit close by the fire. ‘I must shake you by the hand, Mr Wolfson, and do allow me to procure you some brandy. It is the least I can do after such a noble effort on Miss Chapman’s behalf.’ Peter Jackson glanced furtively about before hissing, ‘Awful business!’ He shook his head, continuing to pump Luke’s fingers.
As Fiona sank back into her chair she wished the couple would quit referring, even obliquely, to her dratted abduction. She wished, too, that the hero of the hour would go away and leave her be! Yet seconds after the landlord had brought a bottle and glasses she learned that Luke was, indeed, staying for just a short while and her heart vaulted to her mouth in consternation.
‘But surely, sir, it is best not to travel so late?’ Peter had previously asked whether Luke intended taking a room at the tavern and had received a reply in the negative.
‘I’m used to riding at night,’ Luke said, taking a sip of the brandy Mr Jackson had insisted on pouring for him.
‘You must make sure your guns are loaded and ready for use,’ Mrs Jackson instructed in a motherly way.
‘I always do, ma’am.’
A silence developed during which the married couple exchanged several significant glances. Suddenly Mr Jackson burst out, ‘I have to say, Miss Chapman, that I’m sorry I was stubborn that night.’ His veined cheeks flamed. ‘It was my fault we got caught by those rogues. Had I listened to Toby Williams and turned back towards the Fallow Buck all might have ended differently—’
‘And I must also say sorry.’ Betty interrupted her husband’s apology to insert her own. ‘I wanted to journey onwards when we should have heeded the driver’s advice.’
‘There’s no need for any mention of it.’ Fiona sounded forgiving although the thought had c
rossed her mind that they’d been foolish and selfish to overrule Toby Williams. ‘You’ve been good friends to me and I’m pleased to see that you are recovering well from that crack on the head, sir.’
‘It would take more than that tap to do me down,’ Mr Jackson boasted, conveniently forgetting how he’d suffered and complained at the time. ‘Besides, it was my own fault.’ His expression again turned sheepish.
‘All is now forgotten.’ Fiona glanced about at her cosy surroundings to indicate she hoped the matter closed.
‘So graciously done...’ Mrs Jackson leaned towards Fiona, clasping her hand in gratitude. ‘Are you sure you do not want to set the authorities on those rogues? They should not get away with treating you so abominably.’
‘No! I’m very well, as you can see...as I have already said...’ Fiona rattled off. Carefully she disentangled her fingers, then rose to her feet. ‘I think I shall ask the landlord for that chocolate. I’ll order a cup for you, Mrs Jackson.’ She knew that the moment she was out of earshot the Jacksons would again discuss her. But Fiona needed to escape Betty’s probing questions and Luke’s dark, preying gaze. Close to him she felt stifled by the heat of his desire and the ambivalent thoughts storming her mind were making her light-headed.
‘I wish she would turn around and go home to her family,’ Mrs Jackson whispered before Fiona had moved more than a yard.
A small, unseen grimace was Fiona’s only reaction to the overheard remark as she carried on, with an admirably steady step, in search of the landlord.
‘Hush...’ Peter said. ‘Now, we don’t gossip, do we, my dear. Miss Chapman wants no more talk of it.’
‘Hmmph... I’m sure that Miss Chapman considers Mr Wolfson as trustworthy as we, after all he has saved her virtue and her life.’
Peter shrugged in defeat.
‘She is going to Dartmouth to be a governess, you see,’ Betty hissed, gazing earnestly at Luke.
‘Miss Chapman has told me all about it,’ Luke said, finishing his brandy.
‘Ah...she has, has she?’ Peter mumbled, ignoring his wife’s smug nod.
‘Mr Herbert is known as good stock. We aren’t personally acquainted with him, but we know people who are,’ Betty carried on as though deaf to Mr Wolfson’s heavy hint to change the subject.
‘Yes...yes...’ Peter cut across his wife. ‘We cannot vouch for people, though, can we, if we don’t know them well?’
‘That’s why I’d sooner see the poor lamb go back home to her mother.’ Betty pulled her shawl this way and that. ‘She seems such a sweet, genteel young woman—things cannot be so bad that she must leave all she knows and loves in London to school a stranger’s children.’
‘Miss Chapman is independent and quick-witted—assuredly she knows what she is doing.’ Luke knew that Fiona wouldn’t appreciate being talked about behind her back...especially by him. He got to his feet, executing a farewell bow. ‘Thank you for the brandy, sir.’
Peter lunged to his feet to again shake Luke by the hand and mutter good wishes and hopes for a renewal of their acquaintance. Betty extended her fingers, too, acting coy when Luke briefly raised them to his lips. Then with a smile and farewell that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but final, he said, ‘My best wishes go with you for a safe journey home. I’m off to the stables to see if my horse is sufficiently rested to set upon the road.’
* * *
Having found the landlord and asked for two cups of chocolate, Fiona dithered outside the kitchen door into which the fellow had disappeared. She was reluctant to return to the saloon and face more questions or well-meant advice. Part of her wanted to spend every available second that remained with Luke; she knew he was simply being polite in tarrying a while with the Jacksons. That other, logical, corner of her mind was urging her to avoid him completely because the pain of parting would worsen the more she saw him. She knew she must forget about him and his tacit offer of protection at a price.
But she couldn’t; at present overriding all sense and reason was an unbearable thrill trembling her from head to toes, the like of which she’d never before experienced.
She was twenty-five years old yet had never before aroused such ardency in a gentleman. Now she had, and the man who wanted to make love to her was the man to whom she’d given her heart. Would it be so bad to lie naked with Luke Wolfson and bask in his passion if she couldn’t have his love? The maelstrom of emotion battering her person caused her to sway on her feet and she sought support from the wall, her warm palms flat against cooling plaster.
She couldn’t deny that his taunts had hit home: she did desire him...and she trusted Luke would treat her well as his paramour. If she could conquer her indignation and dreadful disappointment that another woman was sure, one day, to be his wife...what matter if she accepted the crumbs offered to her for as long as he tossed them her way?
‘You seem to be lost in thought again,’ Luke said huskily.
Startled, Fiona swung about, wishing she’d heard him approach. ‘I’ve a lot to think about,’ she blurted, managing a wavering smile.
‘Me included?’
An immediate denial was teetering on the tip of her tongue. But the mockery in his eyes was directed more at himself, making him appear oddly vulnerable.
‘Yes...’ she murmured. ‘You were on my mind, sir...amongst other things.’
‘Were you thinking you might come to trust and respect me, Fiona, if I strive to improve my behaviour?’
‘And how might you do that?’ she asked, suppressing a smile. As well as being the most handsome man alive he had a self-deprecating humour she found appealing. Luke Wolfson, she realised, had qualities that any woman would find attractive in a husband. And no doubt he possessed other, sensual skills, temptingly tasted by her, but to which his mistress could fully testify.
Luke leaned his broad shoulders against the wall opposite and crossed his arms so they diagonally faced one another in the narrow corridor. ‘I might quit seeking dangerous escapades as though a boy tasting excitement for the first time.’
‘Is that why you’re a mercenary? For the thrill of it?’
‘Most probably...’
Fiona had to admit that did make him sound immature. Most soldiers would surely only risk their lives for their king or their pay. ‘You really don’t need the money from such work?’
His sensual mouth twisted aslant in a way that looked oddly bitter to Fiona. Most people would be happy to announce they were well off.
‘My grandfather left me a bequest,’ Luke stated distantly.
‘My grandmother left me a bequest,’ Fiona answered simply. She told him things she never mentioned to others. It was as though he held the key to her tongue as well as her heart.
‘And what happened to it?’ Luke asked gently.
Fiona’s eyes slid sideways to merge with his dark stare. She could tell he knew...as he knew everything about her without her needing to utter a word. But he must never know she’d fallen in love with him; that was a secret she must bury deep.
‘My stepfather spent it,’ she informed him briskly. ‘Which was typical of his selfishness. So now I am not a minor heiress, but a governess.’
‘And what else has he taken?’
Fiona stiffened against the wall, her nails digging into flaking distemper. So...he had guessed that, too, had he? She lifted her eyes to his face but could read nothing there. His gaze was relentless, as always, demanding she bare her soul as well as her body to him. ‘He...’ Fiona moistened her lips. ‘He took liberties and believed he had a right to my bed as well as my mother’s, promising me nice things in return for my compliance.’
‘He forced himself on you?’
‘Not...to the full extent. He tried to kiss and touch me and he became unpleasant enough to make me want to leave.’ Fiona lifted her chin, challenging him
with a stare. If he felt disgusted to know she’d been mauled by a man charged with caring for her, he gave no sign. But there was a livid white line circling his mouth, stark against the depth of his tan.
‘Did you tell your mother about it?’
Fiona nodded. ‘She didn’t believe me at first. Now she detests him as greatly as do I.’ Fiona clasped her hands before her. ‘I worry about her being left there alone with him.’
‘And is she worried about you, do you think?’
‘I believe she is...yes.’
‘Will you go home, then?’
Fiona frowned at him. ‘What is there for me to go back to? Nothing will have changed, and if it has, it will be for the worst. My stepfather has almost stripped the house of everything of value to fund his carousing.’
‘You believe him a fortune hunter,’ Luke stated.
‘I believe he is a corrupt individual and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that what he told my mother about his background is a pack of lies.’
Luke’s thick eyebrows were drawn up in enquiry.
‘He said he hailed from Surrey and had been decorated during his army career, even serving under Wellington. He was a very smooth talker, at first...until he had my mother pinned beneath his thumb.’
Luke frowned. ‘His name?’
‘Cecil Ratcliff.’
‘I also came under the Iron Duke’s command, yet I don’t believe I’m acquainted with Ratcliff.’
‘Then you may think yourself fortunate!’ Fiona said pithily.
Their eyes merged through the murky flickering shadows thrown by the corridor’s wall candles. For a moment Fiona felt tempted to cross the tiny space that separated them and launch herself into his arms. She knew he would comfort her and how she longed for such. But then he spoke quickly and harshly, breaking the spell.
