by Cheryl Bolen
"Nor would a lovely young woman from Kerseymeade choose to marry an aging card shark."
Her eyes rounded. She was silent for a moment, then her voice dropped, and she spoke without hesitation. "My father sold me for a thousand pounds. My significant abhorrence to the match was irrelevant."
He felt the pain in her words and reached across the sturdy wooden table to take her hand. "So that's why you hate men," he whispered. "They've done nothing but hurt you. Not only your husband, but also your father."
She withdrew her hand and stiffened. "You're selfish creatures, the lot of you."
"I can see why you think that," he said solemnly, his voice low. Now he knew why she would never return home, why she wanted to get Ellie away from their father. Harry finished the last of his tea, then put on his coat and helped her into hers. "Let us hope the weather is better today."
It was still raining as they walked around puddles in the inn yard, and his coach pulled in front of another in order to save them a few steps of walking. Harry handed her into the conveyance, then took his seat across from her and watched with amusement as she tucked herself beneath the heavy rug.
He wasn't cold yet. He was still warm from the parlor -- and from the intimacy of their conversation. It was as if a barrier between them had been removed.
She looked out the window. "I believe the clouds are breaking up," she said cheerfully.
With a lump in his throat, he watched her. There was such a child-like quality about her, despite the tough facade she had erected. In the weeks he had known her, her demeanor had softened considerably. She dressed far less somberly, and acted far more femininely. If only he had more time to spend with the lovely lady.
He almost regretted that he would no longer see her once he located Godwin Phillips' benefactor, but since Harry had no intentions of becoming a member of the House of Lords, nor of embracing Mrs. Phillips' liberal politics, he knew he would have to steer clear of her once he regained Wycliff House.
Why should he wish to extend the franchise and allow his cottagers to usurp his rights, rights that had been enjoyed by the Earls of Wycliff for the past two hundred years? The notion was utterly ridiculous. He would be sorry to disappoint her, but his money should salve her anger and bruised pride.
"It's a pity man's future is determined by his birth," she said. "Take John Coachman. It's his lot in life to brave the elements, the cold chilling his bones and the wind cutting through him, while it is your lot to sit inside the coach, warm and dry."
"Would it please you if I sent him to join you and I take his seat on the box?" Harry asked, mirth in his voice.
"That is not my point at all," she protested. "It is a sad fact of life that while some children are coddled with nurses and tutors and protected within their nurseries, others are left orphans to beg strangers on the street for their next meal."
"I regret that I am unable to feed and clothe all the orphans of the world, Mrs. Phillips. My pockets are only so deep."
She heaved a sigh. "That is not the point, either. Don't you see it is the right of every child to be able to play and learn, not to work to earn his keep? It is the responsibility of thinking people like you and me to equalize people."
"And by that, we would all benefit."
She tossed aside her rug. He loved it when those pale eyes of hers flashed. "Yes!" she said. "A well fed and well educated citizenry would automatically reduce crime and could even reduce diseases which I am convinced are spread by sheer ignorance."
"I had no idea your education extended to the field of medicine, Mrs. Phillips."
She glared at him. "You're making fun of me."
"Not at all," he protested. "I find you exceedingly intelligent, and I have great respect for your intellect."
Growing cold, she took up her rug again. "What of your intellect, my lord? It seems to me you have carefully concealed your own ideas from me."
He felt pangs of guilt. "I admit I have spent much of my adult life amassing a fortune, giving little thought to the wisdom of the great thinkers of today. I am now trying to fill that void -- with your help." He sounded convincing, even to himself.
She met his gaze with a frank stare. "Tell me, Lord Wycliff, how did you make your fortune?"
Additional pangs of guilt vibrated through him. "I was in the shipping business."
She nodded. "Were I to go into the shipping business, could I make vast sums of money?"
"You're a woman."
"Exactly. Doors are closed in women's faces."
"The next thing I know, you'll be demanding the franchise for women, too."
"And why not? We comprise half the population."
"I don't deny that we need women, but their principal purpose in life is to bear children."
Her face looked wounded. "Are you saying that since I have borne no children, I have no worth?"
"Damn it, woman, that's not what I meant!" Despite himself, he tried to imagine her with a child. He did not at all like to think of her bearing Godwin Phillips' child. Not to say that she wouldn't have been a fine mother. And wife, too, had she been given the chance to marry a man who owned her heart. She might not realize it herself, but with her capacity for compassion she could have been a great wife and mother. Had her circumstances of birth been more fortunate. Had she not been born to the abominable father who could sell his spawn for mere money. The muscles in Harry's face tightened. How he hated the man for what he had done to his own daughter.
Harry's thoughts flitted to his own father. As angry as Harry was with him, he knew his father always loved him and his mother above worldly possessions. A pity his father's weakness had led to Harry's mother's death. Harry remembered how broken his mother had been when she lost first her home, then her husband.
Louisa's declaration that the clouds were breaking proved correct. When it was time to partake of a nuncheon, the skies had cleared, and they were able to depart the carriage and stretch their legs. Then Harry spread a blanket on the damp grass beside the road, and the three of them sat down to eat the generous repast packed by the innkeepers' wife.
Chapter 9
The grass was wet, but their blanket seemed to absorb most of the moisture. After they ate, the coachman went to tend the horses and Lord Wycliff leaned back, his weight on his elbows, his long legs stretched out beyond the length of the blanket as he gazed up into the now-blue sky. It was warm enough now that he'd removed his greatcoat, and Louisa -- with Lord Wycliff's assistance -- had taken off her black cloak.
She tried to avert her gaze from Lord Wycliff's limbs. They reminded her of one of those statues of ancient Greeks she had viewed in the British Museum. Like them, he was all firm planes and smoothly rounded muscles that must be as hard as the marble from which the Grecian men were carved. Her eyes traveled from his muddy boots, past his thighs and settled just above his waist, where there was not an ounce of fat on his well constructed bones.
She was once again reminded of her first impression of him when she had thought him too manly to be clothed in the finery worn by fops of the ton. Not that he sported the frivolous frills worn by dandies, either. She could see him sparring with the likes of Jackson or keeping his balance at the helm of ship, his sword drawn in defense of his schooner.
"What keeps you so pensive?" he asked, making no effort to sit up.
She watched him intently. The endless fields of wheat behind him framed his head like a golden halo in a Renaissance painting.
A week ago she would have lashed out in anger at his presumptuousness in asking her so personal a question. But this was now, and their close proximity had slowly been weathering away the armor they both had worn for a considerable period of time.
"I was wondering why you hate your father."
He sat up and drilled her with his dark eyes. "How do you know I hated my father? I never told you."
"You didn't have to say the words. Do you take me for such a fool that I would not notice that you adored your mother, yet said
nothing about your father?"
He relaxed, taking a sip of the wine that had been in their basket. "You know that my father lost everything."
"I know he lost Wycliff House to Godwin at cards one night at Waiters."
He looked as if a brace of candles had been lit within his gaze. "How could a man who had nothing to leave his wife amass a fortune great enough to play for stakes that would include one of London's finest townhouses?"
Now the brightness of her eyes matched his. "The benefactor!" she said. Godwin had certainly never been able to hold onto money. Not with his obsession for gaming. And for lavish living.
"That has to be it," he said.
They both stayed silent a moment, lost in their own thoughts. Finally, she spoke. "Do you suppose the benefactor chose his prey?"
He slapped at his knee. "You are positively brilliant!"
"You are just learning that, my lord?" She laughed.
"That you are considerably smarter than other women of my acquaintance I learned the day I met you."
The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile. "Lucky for me and my need for a good night's sleep that you are not enamored of intelligent women."
A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes. "Indeed."
Somehow, his answer seemed to lack sincerity.
He began to gather up the leavings of their luncheon, and she stood and stretched, lifting her arms straight toward the heavens. The stiffness in her back from hours of riding in the coach had lessened considerably, but she knew it would return once they resumed the journey.
To her surprise, he came to her and gently covered her shoulders with her cloak. Unexpected warmth surged through her.
* * *
That night he repeated his practice of leaving her to dress for bed while he went to the tavern. Only this night she was awake when he came to bed.
Lying there in the dark, she pretended to be asleep as he stood before the window and removed his pants. Her heart accelerated when she beheld him, his wondrous body bathed in moonlight. Then he tossed aside his jacket. She could no more remove her eyes from the glorious sight than she could cease to draw breath.
Had Godwin looked like that, she might not have found his presence in her bed so repugnant. She wondered what it would be like to lie beneath a man like Lord Wycliff. She watched as he moved toward the bed, lithe and powerful and dark like a panther, and she wondered how many women he had been with.
He climbed beneath the covers, careful not to touch her. After the brief whiff of cold air from lifting the covers, she felt his heat.
She lay there for a very long time, her back to him. She waited to hear his breathing change as a man's does when he drops into slumber, but she heard no such change.
Was he, too, wondering what if would be like to take her into his arms?
It was a very long time before she finally heard the pattern of his breathing change. He had finally gone to sleep.
Only then did she do likewise.
* * *
The following day, Harry consulted the map.
"How long before we reach Cornwall?" she asked.
He flicked a glance toward her. "We shall sleep in Cornwall tomorrow night."
"Do we go to the northern coast first?"
He smiled. "I see you know how to read a map." His glance darted back to the map. "We should make it to the River Tamar tomorrow evening -- if the weather holds out."
"Then Lord Arundel is our first prospect?"
He gazed at her with amusement in his eyes. "You are also in possession of a good memory."
She held herself proudly. "I believe I can even predict the route you wish to take, my lord."
"Indeed?"
She nodded. "Tintagel first, then south to Bodmin, and from Bodmin to Polperro on the south coast. From Polperro, we'll continue west along the south coast to Penryn. From Penryn we'll head directly north again to Curthbert. And Falwell -- being nearly at Land's End -- and shot her a devilish glance. "I see your map skills -- and your logic -- are excellent. He frowned. A pity she was a do-gooder. He rather enjoyed having for a companion a woman of superior intellect.
The weather continued unimpeded, and they slept at an inn in Minehead that night. Harry was disappointed that Minehead was some miles short of Devon. He had assured her they'd be sleeping in Cornwall the following night.
Then she grew dejected. "I daresay I never realized when we embarked on this trip that if would be four days before we even reached Cornish soil. Which means it will probably be two weeks before we return to London. I deplore leaving poor Ellie for so long."
"She'll scarcely miss you, she'll be so elated over the Bentham chap."
Louisa continued to frown.
"What do you know of Tintagel?" he asked.
"There's a shell of a castle there where it's said King Arthur ruled."
"Perhaps our Lord Arundel is a descendent of King Arthur."
"If one were to believe in Camelot," she said solemnly.
Harry gave her a solemn look. A pity she could never believe in Camelot or in happily-ever-afters.
The following day, as the afternoon sun shone its brightest, Louisa was looking out the window of the coach and seemed almost startled by his voice. "I think it's time for me to send the coachman to the next inn while you and I begin to explore the coastline on foot."
Since the weather had turned fair, they made excellent progress and were now travelling along the first part of the Cornish coast.
"An excellent plan," she agreed. "Glad I will be to stretch my legs."
Harry and Louisa disembarked, with the coachman given instructions to bespeak rooms for them at the inn in Boscastle. "Aye, Mr. Smith," the coachman said, winking with great emphasis. "Take good care of the Missus."
"Get on with you!" Harry ordered, a chuckle in his deep voice.
Louisa wrapped her dainty hand around his proffered arm as they began to walk along the single cobbled street of this village that was not to be found on their map. "I trust you are looking for our lordly friend," Harry said facetiously.
"To be sure, my lord."
In mere moments, the village lay behind them, and they followed the mists that would surely lead them to the sea.
Their instincts were correct. After traversing a craggy land, they heard the roaring of distant waves and tasted the salty air that seemed to cling to them like wool to sheep. Soon, they began to walk along the coastal path where they could see the dark seawater ringed by white far below. "I'm assuming Lord Arundel is a man of wealth, and it's my bet that he lives near the coast," Harry said.
Now that no one watching them, Louisa released her hand from Harry's arm and skipped ahead of him, stopping to pick a crocus blooming in the midst of rocky crags.
Had he been a painter, Harry would have painted her stooping to smell the flower that grew wild on the gray cliffs. With the wind catching her pale hair, Louisa Phillips was undoubtedly the loveliest creature he had ever beheld. Almost as refreshing as the complete lack of artifice in her beauty was her total lack of conceit. Did she have no idea how beautiful she was?
His eyes narrowed from the sun, Harry stood watching her as if he were as rooted to the land as the nearby elm. She looked up at him then, puzzlement on her face. "Are you unwell, my lord?"
He stepped forward. "I have never been better. It is a fine day, is it not?"
She stood up. "Wonderful, I should say. I've never been to Cornwall before. Have you?"
She looked like an inquisitive child. "No I haven't, and I quite agree with you. There's a loneliness about the land, but also a peace."
Waiting for him to come even with her, she watched him, a puzzled look on her face. "That's a most poetic thing for you to say, my lord. I had no idea you were so sensitive."
"Please," he urged, "do not imbue me with qualities I do not possess."
She took his arm again though he had not offered it. He was glad she did.
"There's absolutely nothing to be ashamed
of in having the ability to express one's feelings. Lord Byron did so, and to my knowledge, he never lacked for suitors."
Harry laughed. "Then perhaps I shall become a poet."
"Come, my lord, I hardly think you have to begin writing poetry to woe women."
"But according to you, all my suitors are women of easy virtue. Where's the fun of the conquest?"
She removed her hand from his arm. Though she continued to walk beside him, he detected a stiffness in her manner. Was she angry at his remark? Did she take it personally? Surely his restraint last night as he lay beside her throbbing with need assured her of the honor of his intentions. He had best change the subject before he angered her further by confessing his desire for her.
"Tell me, Mrs. Phillips, where is it you wish to make your next home?"
His comment relaxed her. "I had thought to buy a little cottage in a rural village, but as we left London yesterday I realized I am needed there."
"Needed?"
"I must see the poverty first hand if I am to do something to relieve it."
"And you think you can singlehandedly change it?"
"I am not naive, my lord. But with your help in Parliament, we can move forward."
God, but he felt as slimy as Godwin Phillips right now. Like all the other men in her life, he was using her.
She stooped to pick more wild crocus, then she leaned over the precipice of the cliff to tug at a huge flower that bloomed there. When she pulled the flower, the dirt around it came away, and the ground beneath her crumbled.
Harry watched in horror as she plunged over the cliff.
Chapter 10
Harry's heart nearly stopped beating. In one blindingly quick second Louisa bent at the precipice, the wind blowing her flaxen locks, a flower clutched in her hand. The next second she was gone, a whirl of tumbling skirts, then nothing.
He raced to the cliff's edge, not really wanting to look down, but knowing that he must. He was prepared to see no sign of the lovely Louisa who had surely been swallowed by the raging sea a hundred feet below.
