Skylark

by Jo Beverley

  “Oh, no, sir! Just the one. Farouk does everything for his gentleman. Won’t even let us in to change the sheets or build the fire.”

  Excitement began to fizz. Because they had a child confined in their rooms?

  “Are they staying long?” Stephen asked. “I am not pleased to be sharing a roof with a heathen.”

  The maid’s fingers were tugging at her apron now. “I’m sure I don’t know, sir. They’ve been here only a week and show no sign of leaving. The climate here is very healthy, you know.”

  Perhaps Stephen sniffed. Searching for a heathen odor? Laura pursed her lips, praying not to laugh. Surely Priscilla Penfold would purse her lips at this horror.

  “Do these people have rooms near us?” Stephen asked at last.

  The poor maid turned pale. “Well, sir, the captain’s parlor lies next to your bedchamber, sir, but there’s no adjoining door! There’s no other way, sir, for Captain Dyer’s taken the center rooms, you see, and we only have the eight up here and two down below, but an elderly couple has those on account of him needing a chair to go out.” She ran out of breath and asked desperately, “Shall I get Mr. Topham, sir?”

  Stephen appeared to consider it. “That will not be necessary at this time. At least assure me that there are no children around. My cousin cannot abide a childish racket.”

  “Oh, no, sir! No children other than the boot boy.”

  Laura longed to soothe the maid, but suspicion and affront gave a better basis for curiosity. She was relieved when Stephen, radiating disapproval, sent the maid off to get their dinner.

  As soon as the door closed, she laughed. “You were insufferable.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Yes, wasn’t I? But we know our men are here and nicely close.”

  “But where’s the child?”

  “There may not be one, Laura. That was only supposition.”

  She realized she’d built young Henry Gardeyne in her mind to point of reality. “Then who is HG? I know, I know, this could all be a hoax, but it may not be.”

  “Perhaps HG is hidden somewhere else. This is all speculation. We need more facts, and we’ll find them in time.”

  She almost spit back, “Time!” but suppressed it. Stephen seemed to bring out the child in her.

  He turned to look toward his room. “So, we share a wall.”

  That was more like it. Laura rose. “You think we might be able to hear something. Do let’s try!”

  But he raised a hand. “Patience. Dinner will be here soon, and you can hardly be found in my bedchamber.”

  “We could switch. I don’t think it’s fair that you have that one.”

  “What? Would I let my frail cousin sleep next door to a heathen savage? I’ll go and listen while you wait for the meal.” When she would have protested, he added, “There’s doubtless no point yet, Laura. Farouk has just left, so who would Dyer be talking to?”

  Accepting that, Laura only pulled a face at his back, then went into her own bedchamber to remove her outer clothes. She really must stop acting like a girl—and yet it was as amusing as sharing a bedroom with Juliet at home and chattering as they once had.

  She turned, smiling, for her habitual check in the mirror, and remembered. She snarled at Priscilla Penfold and returned to the parlor. Stephen was already there.

  “Silent, as expected.” He eyed the door to the corridor. “I wonder if their doors are locked.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Now who’s being rash?”

  “I will merely be checking out these suspicious characters for fear that they might attack my poor cousin in the night.” His smile was boyish as he slipped free and left the room.

  He was back in moments. “Locked, which is certainly suspicious if Farouk is merely a servant.”

  Laura frowned in the direction of the next room. “I’m not normally impulsive, but I wish we could break in.”

  “Not impulsive? Don’t I remember a prizefight you attended, dressed as a lad?”

  “I was twelve. And you took me!”

  “Even so. And the time when you and Charlotte went swimming in the river without thought to the view from Ancross.”

  “A gentleman wouldn’t have looked. I could remember some of your childish scrapes, you know.”

  I could remember watching you swimming in the river, too.

  “I indulged in no scrapes to match yours,” he said, strolling to the window to look out. “What about the time you bribed the gypsy at the Barham fair to let you take her place so you could give most peculiar predictions to your friends and neighbors?”

  Laura covered her mouth. “I thought no one but Charlotte knew about that. Did she tell you?”

  He looked back. “No, but when I heard some of the fortunes I kept watch, so I saw you slipping out of the back of the tent. So don’t tell me, Laura Watcombe, that you are not impulsive.”

  “That, sir, was a carefully thought-out plan.”

  But he’d called her by her maiden name, as if he, too, were back in the past.

  He didn’t seem to notice. He was looking out of the window again, and said, “Farouk!”

  She ran over to look. “Now can we listen? If dinner arrives, you can emerge to deal with it.”

  To look out at Farouk, she had pressed close to Stephen’s body. A tingling awareness washed through her, almost causing her to gasp. She slid away, trying to make it look natural.

  “You always get your way,” he said, but his voice sounded strange. She glanced at him and saw a tight expression. Disapproval of her impulsive manner, probably. Or disgust at her appearance. Or both. She couldn’t tell. It was most peculiar to inhabit a different skin, to make different ripples in the world around.

  They turned together and hurried into the adjoining room, past his nightshirt hanging on a rack before the fire to warm. Through a faint aroma of spicy soap, and him . . .

  The shared wall was mostly taken up by the head of the bed and a chest of drawers. He moved into the available space and beckoned her to join him. She could hardly refuse. Or perhaps she didn’t want to, even though she had to squeeze against him there. That frisson dazed her again, and now she was aware of his scent.

  She knew about the arousing smell of men, but Stephen’s was both new and familiar. She wanted to press closer to his chest and inhale, but had willpower enough to instead press her ear to the rough plaster wall.

  Chapter 23

  Stephen pressed his right ear to the wall, but his mind could not escape Laura. She was facing him, and they were squeezed into the small space available, her back to the bed. She was almost where he wanted her.

  In his arms.

  In his bed.

  Had she just looked at him with awareness that he was a man, not just her old friend? He was used to assessing situations and making quick decisions, but now, in the midst of the most important situation of his life, his brain seemed like a soggy pudding.

  “Can you hear anything?”

  Laura’s soft question pulled him out of the pit and he concentrated. “Only a faint murmur.”

  “Me, too.”

  So hard not to press his body against hers, hard to look anywhere except at her breasts, swelling softly beneath her dull, high-necked gown. Impossible to avoid that perfume.

  The one created for Labellelle.

  Careless, that. It wasn’t at all the scent for Priscilla Penfold, but he wouldn’t ask her to change it. He tried to remember what scent she’d used as a girl. Something light and flowery, he thought, probably made in the Merrymead stillroom from garden flowers. This was a complex masterpiece.

  As she was.

  Nicholas had been right.

  To all the other Lauras he was aware of, he must now add philosopher and quick-witted partner. He shouldn’t be surprised—Laura had never been stupid or silly.

  Something about her appearance was twisting his mind, as well. Would he have even mentioned philosophy to her without her sallow skin and faded hair? On the other hand, the way he was react
ing now had nothing to do with Priscilla Penfold.

  He swallowed and concentrated again on the voices beyond the wall. Frustratingly, they were almost distinct, so he felt that if he concentrated hard enough he would be able to distinguish words. Either that was untrue or concentration was beyond him.

  “Well?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  That gave him an excuse to move away. He didn’t want to, but for sanity’s sake, he must.

  When they were safely back in the parlor—people could make love in a parlor—she said, “It sounded like a normal conversation, though, didn’t it? No anger or fear? And adult voices.”

  He tried to recollect and couldn’t. Devil take it, being squeezed close like that had clearly had no effect on her. Would he have to watch as she again married another man?

  “Stephen?”

  He pulled his wits together. “Probably.”

  She spun away and took a tempestuous turn around the parlor. “How frustrating this is. Is there nothing we can do?”

  His hungry mind put a different interpretation on her words, and her sizzling energy burned him.

  “Stephen? What is wrong with you?” She’d stopped and was frowning at him, hands on hips.

  “I was thinking. Wait a minute.”

  He fled into his room to collect himself, taking a deep breath to try to sort out his wits. Now he needed an excuse for his abrupt departure. Some result of his brilliant thoughts. Some action.

  He opened his valise, took out the long leather case, and returned briskly to the parlor to show it to her. “A telescope. Nicholas lent it to me. Tomorrow, if nothing else avails, we can spy on the windows from the beach.”

  “What a clever idea!” She glanced out of the window. “We could do it now.”

  “Impatient again.”

  “Do stop throwing my heedless youth in my face.”

  “I liked it.”

  He had, too. It occurred to him that his love was rooted in the Laura he’d known until her marriage. That he hadn’t disapproved of her then, even if he’d teased.

  She frowned slightly. “Do you like me less now?” “Devil take it, Laura, don’t take me up on every word. I like you now. I liked you then.”

  I didn’t like you when you were married to Gardeyne. But he managed not to say that.

  “Good. And,” she added, “there’s no reason not to go out now to look for boats through a telescope. Dinner can be held.”

  “It’s almost dark.”

  She grinned at him. “We’re impractical landlubbers. The local people will only laugh at us.”

  He found himself smiling back. It was exactly what the Laura of his youth would have said. “Then let’s go and amuse them.”

  They headed out again, pausing to tell a servant that they would dine in fifteen minutes. Stephen could feel Laura’s excitement bubbling beside him. Unfortunately, his baser nature translated it into another context.

  As they headed into the wind, down onto the pebbly beach, he knew she would be a magnificent lover. That bit like shark’s teeth, because she must have been a magnificent lover to Hal Gardeyne.

  As they crunched close to the rippling waves, she held her bonnet in place and raised her face to the wind, reveling in the sensual elements.

  “I don’t think Cousin Priscilla would do that,” he warned.

  “It’s the latest medical advice. To inhale the vigor of the wind off the sea.” She turned an invigorated smile on him. “It’s wonderful here, isn’t it? I’ve only been to the sea at Brighton, and it’s so busy there. Here it’s more elemental.”

  The breeze pressed her clothing against her body. He didn’t need that to know that it was lovely. Her breasts looked soft, as if she wasn’t wearing a corset. The sight didn’t help his sanity. Her mind was on nature, however, not on him, so he tuned his senses to hers. “The sound of the sea on the shore is a complex music, isn’t it?”

  She was back to inhaling, eyes closed. “Exciting and soothing at the same time. It’s as if nothing terrible could happen by the sound of the sea.”

  People die in the sound of the sea, he thought, but he didn’t want to spoil her pleasure.

  “Yet the sea can be brutal,” she continued. “It can smash and kill, as with the Mary Woodside. I wonder how many died then.”

  It was as if she’d picked up his feelings. Or, he thought with hope, as if their minds were more in tune than he’d thought.

  She turned to him. “You’re very quiet, my friend.”

  Friend.

  “Appreciating everything around.”

  She looked around, missing his meaning. “Some of the inn windows are lit. We might see something. Where’s the spyglass?”

  He took the telescope out of its case, wondering if the damn woman really felt nothing but the magic of the sea and the intensity of her purpose. “To have an excuse to look at the inn, we’d better pretend to admire the ships out there first. Here, you can be the idiot.”

  Her laughter danced on the wind. “Very well. Give it to me.”

  She dutifully studied the distant bobbing lights. “Do you think we could see France in daylight?”

  “I doubt it. My turn.” He took the spyglass and turned it on the inn.

  “That’s not fair. I thought we were supposed to pretend.”

  “We’ve pretended.”

  “Cheat. So what do you see?” She pressed close, as if she could share the view piece.

  Devil take it. He could hardly keep the telescope steady as he scanned across windows. “That’s one of their rooms, but the curtains are down.” He could feel her warm breath on his jaw. “Ah!”

  “What?”

  “Their parlor curtains are open.”

  “So what do you see? Talk, Stephen, talk! Or let me have the glass.”

  He couldn’t help but grin. “I see Farouk in his blue turban, standing, bowing slightly over the other man, who is sitting down.”

  “Dyer is described as sickly. What does he look like?”

  “His back’s to the window. Lightish brown hair.”

  “Let me see.”

  She gripped his wrist and tugged. Her touch, even through gloves, sent such a jolt of raw desire through him that he froze. It was that or grab her into his arms, tumble her down onto the beach, even.

  Damnation, he’d never expected this to be so challenging. He’d never expected the fire to burn so fiercely. He was a man of the mind, wasn’t he?

  Not the slightest damn bit.

  She seized the glass from his hand, stepped apart, and put it to her eye. He watched her. He couldn’t not do so, but at the moment she was unlikely to catch him at it.

  A hint of light from the inn and other buildings sketched in her perfect profile, which curls and cream could not distort. Straight nose, but just a little short. Lips full and slightly parted with concentration. Neat, determined chin.

  “Farouk’s moving around,” she said. “There could be a child there, out of sight. . . . Oh, no, he’s lowering the curtain.”

  She turned to give him the spyglass. “I had quite a good view of Farouk, but we’ve seen him, so we achieved nothing.”

  “To solve everything within hours is too much to expect.”

  “But we can hope.” He heard a smile in it as she turned back to face the wind and sea.

  Over time, the most wrought emotions have to mellow. As Stephen slid the glass back into its case, he felt surprisingly content to be here in the clean wind, soothed by sea music, with Laura at his side.

  “If Dyer is a cripple, he can’t be a henchman,” she said. “So we have only Farouk to deal with.”

  “We?”

  She turned to him. “I will have my part in this.”

  “It could turn dangerous.”

  “I gave you no permission to protect me.”

  “I need none. A gentleman does not let a lady fall into danger.”

  “So a gentleman automatically takes command?”

  “Yes.”<
br />
  He could sense rather than see her frown. “You forget our past.”

  “I remember it all too well. You were always recklessly impulsive.”

  “And you have become intolerably stuffy!”

  “Adult.”

  “Timid with age!”

  Something snapped. He pulled her close and kissed her, quickly, but hard. When he let her go, he said, “I am not so aged as that.”

  Her eyes were huge, but in the darkness, he couldn’t read her reaction at all. He had probably just destroyed any chance he had.

  “So I see,” she said, and turned to walk back to the inn.

  Chapter 24

  Darkness, Laura thought, was a friend to the embarrassed and the confused. In daylight, who knows what Stephen might have seen? She certainly didn’t. She didn’t know her own feelings.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. What did it mean when a man kissed a woman in anger? What would have happened if she’d kissed him back?

  To the music of the sea rolling rhythmically against the beach and the crunch of feet—his and hers—through pebbles, she made herself accept that to kiss him back would have been disaster. She didn’t even know this man. She hardly knew herself. She’d thought the young, wild Laura past and done with, but now she danced inside her like a possessing imp.

  By the time they arrived at the sanctuary of the inn, she could face the light. She had no idea what to say, but as she hoped, Stephen didn’t refer to what had happened. All the same, when Topham popped out of a room, it was a huge relief.

  “Sir Stephen, Mrs. Penfold, I want to assure you that Mr. Farouk has created no problems in the week he has been here.”

  “It was something of a shock to my poor cousin,” Stephen said haughtily. “Her nerves are not of the best.”

  Laura tried to look frail and fearful when at this moment, fresh from sea air and that kiss, she felt anything but.

  Topham wrung his hands at her. “I assure you, ma’am, that you have nothing to worry about.”

  “So alarming. After all,” she added, dropping her voice to a whisper, “Mr. Farouk cannot be a Christian.”