The distinctive smell of the sea and the sound of the waves seemed deeply familiar to her. Without the lights of the town, she relied on the moon and stars to light her way. Fortunately, the beach seemed to be empty, and for several minutes, she just walked along the edge of the water, enjoying her solitude and freedom of movement. Until she saw a dark figure running along the beach toward her.
Perhaps this had not been such a wise idea. Her first instinct was to seek the shadows of the rocks, but to get there, she needed to cross a considerable expanse of open beach. In any case, she must already have been seen. If this running person meant her any ill, she could not hide from him. However, apart from his hurry, he did not appear to be threatening, making no effort to hide or to swerve from his own path into hers.
It was a tall, athletic man in shirtsleeves and pantaloons, a red coat tied around his neck by its sleeves. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead and thought she would seek out the road again, just as soon as he had passed.
But to her unease, he slowed down as he approached. She could hear his rapid breathing.
“Tillie?” he said, coming to a halt.
“Major?” If anything, even more startled than he, she veered toward him in mingled relief and guilt and sheer pleasure. “Is anything wrong?”
“Oh, no, nothing.”
“Then why are you running?”
He gave a breathless laugh. “Because I can.”
Intrigued, she gazed back at him, waiting for more information. But she could guess. A flash of something like memory struck her—the childhood exhilaration of running, long lost to a ladylike adulthood. For an active man, she guessed the torture of inactivity, caused by his injury, must have been severe.
He slipped back into his coat. “But I don’t think you should be out alone at this time of night. Where are you going?”
“Just walking,” she said with a rueful smile. “Because I can.”
“Hmm.” He offered his arm. “Come, I’ll take you back. I presume the Grants don’t know you’re out.”
She looked at his arm but did not take it. “No, but I’m more content now. Don’t stop on my account. I can easily go back by myself.”
“Funnily enough, I’m more content, too, having run into you.”
“I thought you were angry with me,” she blurted. Bravely, she raised her gaze to his.
The moonlight glinted on his steady eyes and emphasized the sharp lines and dark hollows of his face. Butterflies seemed to take flight in her stomach.
He didn’t answer, but took a step nearer, a faint frown of confusion on his brow. “Why would I be angry?”
“I don’t behave like a lady.” I’m probably not a lady.
His lips curved. “I would hate you to change.”
“Truly?” she asked with doubt.
“Truly. You are refreshingly honest and open and kind. You treat everyone as your equal. It may not be conventional, but it is most…appealing.” His hand lifted, and she was afraid to breathe when he touched her cheek.
“Tillie,” he said with an odd little catch in his voice. His warm fingertips were rough in texture and yet incredibly gentle as they traced a line from her cheekbone to her parted lips. As if he couldn’t help it, he dipped his head, and the butterflies in her stomach soared and plunged.
And then a breath of something like laughter stirred her hair. His hand dropped, and he stepped back, taking her hand and placing it decorously on his arm. In curious silence, they walked back along the beach together.
It should have been uncomfortable, even tense, and yet it wasn’t. She didn’t want to break the moment. With the sound of the sea in her ears and the beauty of the moon and stars above, it was somehow enough just to have him by her side, the hint of his warmth under her fingers, brushing occasionally against her skirts. She hadn’t known she could feel such peace and such excitement in one moment. One long moment that she didn’t want to end.
But inevitably, he guided her back onto the road and through the streets to the vicarage. She barely noticed the people they passed on the way. For her, there was only him. Her heart galloped as she turned to face him at the gate. Slowly, he took her hand from his arm and bowed over it.
His smile melted her heart. Her lips curved in response. And then it was all too much. She longed for him to touch her again, to be closer, much, much closer. With a gasp, she almost fled down the path to the front door, slid her key into the lock, and hurried inside. Only when she turned to close the door did she see that he still stood there.
A strange, new happiness was struggling up within her, yearning for recognition. She leaned against the closed door, listening to the sound of her heart.
I love him. God help me, I love him…
Chapter Eight
Since Tillie had much the same coloring as Mrs. Grant, the borrowed gowns suited her very well, particularly the ballgown of such a pale blue that it looked like ice, embroidered at the bust and hem in silver silk.
“It looks much better on you,” Mrs. Grant approved. “It was always too modest for a wicked lady like me!”
“You’re not wicked, you’re regal,” Tillie argued with a hint of envy. “I wish I could be.”
“I imagine I am ten years older than you. Regality is a benefit of old age.”
Mr. Grant complimented them both warmly, and since it was raining, the carriage was summoned to take them to the assembly rooms.
Although Mrs. Grant had warned her the ball might not be so well attended, it being a quiet and wintry time of year with few visitors, the ballroom seemed to fill up rapidly. The Grants appeared to be known to everyone, both residents and visitors alike. Tillie was introduced to so many people that her head spun and she got their names muddled. She even forgot to keep looking to the door for the sight of Major Doverton’s arrival.
When the orchestra struck up for the first dance of the evening—a country dance—Mr. Grant asked Tillie to stand up with him. Since his wife had already gone off on the arm of a rather devilishly handsome young man, Tillie accepted gratefully, for the vicar was entertaining company and she was, besides, quite at ease with him.
As they danced, she noticed a smile of what seemed to be approval twinkling in his eyes.
“Have I done something clever?” she asked as they came together.
“You dance,” he said.
“Well, of course I—” She broke off, her eyes widening as she understood. She remembered to step back and move forward before coming back to him. “You’re right! I can dance! I never even thought about it.”
“You appear to be a lady of many accomplishments.”
“So I do,” she said, much struck. “I speak French as well, you know, and I can play the piano a little.”
“The young men will be fighting over you.”
Tillie laughed, though deep in her heart she wondered if it meant she might possibly be respectable enough for Major Doverton. Exactly what this signified, she shied away from, but it did lighten her spirits. And she was more desperate than ever to see him again after last night’s strange encounter on the beach and the stunning revelation of her own feelings that had followed it. She had begun to wonder what it would have felt like if he had kissed her. Even imagining it left her breathless. And yet, she worried that something had changed in their relationship, that the ease of friendship might have vanished, that discovering her alone on the beach at night had made him think of her without respect.
She didn’t notice his arrival, in the end, but when she and the vicar made their way back to their seats, he and another officer were already with Mrs. Grant. Her heart lurched at her first glimpse of him and she blushed, although she hoped her heightened color would be put down to the exertions of her recent dance. He looked particularly handsome and dashing in his dress uniform, and somehow more distinguished than his fellow-officer.
“Miss Tillie,” he said, smiling as soon as he saw her, and the relief that they were still friends almost overwhelmed her.
>
Smiling back, she gave him her hand, and he bowed over it punctiliously. Her fingers felt cold when he released them.
“And this is Captain Grantham,” Mrs. Grant said. “Who particularly asked to be introduced to you.”
“How do you do, Captain?” Tillie said civilly.
“Very well—and even better if I can persuade you to dance with me.”
“The next dance, obviously,” Doverton inserted. “Not this one.”
“Pulling rank on me, Dove?” Grantham asked.
“Oh yes, if the lady will have me.”
“Then, the one after, Captain Grantham, if you will,” Tillie said gaily and gave her hand to Doverton. “Why this dance in particular?” she asked as they walked toward the dance floor.
Doverton snatched up a glass of lemonade from the table as they passed and presented it to her. “Because it is a waltz, of course.”
Her eyes widened. “You waltz in Blackhaven? How very daring!”
He paused by a pillar, turning toward her. “Then it was not common in your own circle?”
She frowned. “I think not. A new European decadence bound to be taken up in London but not fit for decent ladies. Or something of that nature.” She sipped her lemonade, hearing the disapproving voice that spoke the words, searching for the face, the name that went with it. “It is almost there,” she murmured. “I glimpse fringes that are almost memory, a feeling, a familiarity, but the detail is all hidden.”
As the orchestra struck up, she gasped and raised her startled gaze to the major’s watchful one. “Oh dear. What if I cannot waltz?”
His eyes lit with lazy amusement. He took the glass from her hand and set it on a nearby table. “Then it is a great time to learn.”
“Not if I step all over your toes and embarrass us both.”
“It won’t embarrass me,” Doverton said, leading her onto the dance floor. His arm slipped around her waist and he took her hand. Her other hand rested on his upper arm as if of its own accord. He didn’t release her gaze. “I suppose everyone has told you how especially beautiful you are tonight?”
Whether it was the compliment or the unaccustomed closeness, her breath vanished.
“It’s Mrs. Grant’s dress,” she managed, following him as he stepped back and turned with the rhythm of the beguiling music.
“No, it isn’t. The gown is merely a frame.”
“Are you teasing me?”
He blinked. “No. Why would you think so? Are you not used to compliments?”
“Everyone is kind…” She frowned, with another tingle of unspecific memory. “Since I came here. I don’t remember before.”
“And yet it seems you waltz.”
A breath of laughter shook her. “It seems I do. And I have been caught twice now in the same way.”
“What way?”
“Distraction. So that I don’t think about it, I just dance.”
“Perhaps. But you are beautiful. And you should know it.”
She shook her head, blushing and smiling. Whether or not it was true, she was glad he thought enough of her to say it. “I was afraid I had given you a disgust of me,” she admitted. “That we were no longer friends.”
“Disgust?” He stared at her, frowning in bafflement. “Why on earth should you have imagined that?”
She lowered her voice. “Because I walked alone on the beach at night. Because I snooped in Captain Smith’s rooms.”
“That wasn’t disgust, you goose, it was plain, honest fear. I don’t yet know how dangerous Smith is, and I do not want you caught in that kind of situation.” He leaned even closer, causing her heart to gallop. “Besides, I have already been through everything recovered from the sea.”
“You did not tell me that,” she said with dignity.
“No, I didn’t,” he agreed. “And it’s true the letter in French was not among his papers, then.”
“So I did discover something!” she crowed.
“Yes, you did. You’re very clever and very foolhardy, and you’re not to do such things again.”
“Unless you are with me.”
His breath hitched. His deep-set blue eyes, overwhelmingly intense, seemed to swallow her. Much as they did last night. “Unless I am with you. You know Captain Smith is here at the ball?”
“Oh! No, I haven’t seen him.”
“He’s in the card room for the moment. Now, there is another man here I think he might try to contact.”
“A man of great villainy?”
“Opinions differ, and you needn’t say it with such glee. Do you see Dr. Lampton and the princess?”
“I do. She is very lovely, isn’t she?”
“She is. Beside her is a small lady in spectacles and a tall man.”
Tillie craned her neck slightly. “Yes! Who is he?”
“That is Mr. Lamont, formerly known as Captain Alban, a man with a somewhat shadowed past, to call it no worse, who owns a fleet of ships, some of which, I suspect, are not unconnected with smuggling.”
“Ah! Then you think Captain Smith might approach him to get himself and his cargo to Sweden?”
“I would certainly like to know if they converse this evening.”
She glanced back to Doverton. “Is this an innocuous task to keep me out of trouble?”
He laughed. “Just something else to occupy your mind, should you get bored. I shall probably go and see Alban myself. What I really want is for you to enjoy the evening.”
“Oh, I am enjoying it,” she said with enthusiasm.
They danced in silence for the next few moments. Tillie allowed herself to relax into the dance, to secretly delight in his closeness. It made her heart and her stomach flutter most pleasantly. Even when she caught sight of his sister-in-law watching them, she did not feel cast down. She felt proud.
“How is your family?” she asked. “Are they enjoying Blackhaven?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“I expect your duties prevent you from going home much.”
“I could go more often than I do,” he said a little ruefully. “If I had gone in the autumn, it would have saved them travelling in the winter.”
“Why didn’t you?”
His lips parted to speak, then closed again in a slightly twisted smile. “Good question. I was wounded in the war as I told you—oh, more than two years ago—and John and Ellen fuss over me now. I am not good at being fussed over. But I do miss them.”
Tillie nodded in understanding. “I expect they’ll fuss less, now that they’ve seen you so fit and healthy.”
“I expect so,” he agreed.
It sounded innocuous and yet some faint, out-of-place tone in his voice made her peer at him more closely. The major did have a secret.
“Something has made you sad,” she said.
At once his smile relaxed, lighting his eyes. “How could I be sad with you in my arms?”
“It is obviously a mystery,” she said wryly. “But…you will tell me if I can help?”
His veiled eyes softened. His thumb stroked her hand, an almost involuntary gesture, she thought. “Thank you. You’re very sweet.”
“I don’t think I am,” she said doubtfully.
He laughed and whirled her around with rather more exuberance than was proper. Her toes barely touched the floor, but it was fun, exhilarating, and she didn’t think she had ever been so happy.
*
Dove had been only too well aware of the danger since last night when the sheer strength of his emotions had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t spoken as they’d walked home for the simple reason that he had no idea what to say. His desire to kiss her, and more, had been so powerful that it had not been easy to draw back. In truth, he was shocked at himself for coming so close to taking advantage.
But dear God, coming upon her at that moment, in so unlikely and so isolated a spot, he had been utterly overwhelmed by her beauty, by her sheer… Tillieness, for want of a better word.
She was unique, and there
were so many reasons to like her and desire her. But it wasn’t reason that urged him on, or made him draw back. He didn’t understand what it was exactly, but he’d known he had to keep it in check.
And yet, here he was the following evening letting it all happen again, and in public. Perhaps it was the same old reckless spirit that had propelled him into battle on numerous occasions. But whatever the cause, he did not try to stop it this time. It was too sweet to hold her in his arms, to flirt and make her laugh, to watch the color heighten and fade under her skin and see her eyes soften and smile. He did not care who she was or where she came from. He did not even know when it had begun, but he was falling in love, rapidly, relentlessly, and that was rather wonderful. If he had to die, he wanted to do so loving her.
When the waltz ended, he was reluctant to give her up, deliberately taking the long way back to the Grants. It brought them up against John and Ellen, who nodded to her with distant politeness, and Ashley, who promptly asked her to dance.
“I believe I’m promised to Captain Grantham for the next dance,” Tillie said apologetically. “If he remembers.”
“Oh, he remembers,” Dove murmured, watching Grantham scour the room.
“Then I suppose I must retreat and hold my fire for the next waltz,” Ash said sardonically.
Although the night was young, Dove gave her up with reluctance to Captain Grantham. Then, catching Kate Grant’s speculative gaze upon him, he bowed and strolled away before he could be catechized.
He had only gone a few steps before a voice said quietly, “Major.”
Dove glanced down and saw Captain Alban sitting alone. The man hooked his foot around a chair and drew it to his table in silent invitation.
Intrigued, Dove sat. “How can I help you, Captain?”
“Smith,” Alban said without preamble. “Of The Phoenix. He’s inquired about hiring one of my ships.”
“I thought he might. To Sweden?”
The Wicked Waif Page 8
