‘Lord Ravensford.’ She tried to keep her voice level, attempting to fight down the tide of sensations and emotions that were rising inside her. ‘Are you trying to seduce me?’ Her words were intended to shock him back into polite conversation but they did nothing of the kind.
‘If I was trying to seduce you, you would already be . . . ’ on your back by now, he almost finished. But his hand, grazing her cheek and then pushing back her vibrant black hair, revealed a pearl earring; an earring he himself had helped Kit choose. With a flash he remembered that she was his friend’s sister, and that he was here to help her; not to taunt her with her passionate nature, a nature which he himself had unforgivably roused. He had forgotten how to behave in polite company, it seemed.
He took his hand away from her face and, reaching up, took down the candles and tinder box. Within a few seconds he had managed to get one of the candles to light. The others, their wicks dampened by the air, took longer, but at last burst into flame. Letting a little of the molten wax drop onto a rock shelf at shoulder level he stuck the candles securely to the rock.
‘How long will it take the tide to go down?’ he asked, returning the conversation into more normal channels.
‘Enough for us to be able to get back? A little over an hour.’
‘Will you not be missed?’
‘No. I told Trudie I was going for a walk. I am often gone for an hour or more, when I can spare the time.’
‘Good. I’m glad your life is not all work. Will you not sit down?’ He swirled his coat down onto the sand, making a soft, dry blanket for her to sit on.
She sighed; and then smiled. ‘So am I!’ She settled herself on the greatcoat, sitting down with her knees pulled up to her chest. ‘But tell me,’ she said, eager to turn the conversation away from the unsettling paths it had so far seemed inclined to follow, ’what were you doing on the seashore anyway?’
He gave a wry smile. ‘I, too, was taking a walk.’ As he spoke he sat down on a boulder, one foot raised on a smaller stone. ‘It’s just lucky for me that you saw me when you did. I wouldn’t have liked to have tried to swim against the tide.’
‘It’s dangerous here,’ she acknowledged. ‘There are a number of treacherous undercurrents. We were both frightened of them – Kit and I, that is – on the day we discovered the cave.’
‘You were cut off?’
She nodded. ‘Kit at the time was only twelve and I was ten. To make matters worse, we hadn’t told anyone where we were going. But then we discovered the crack and found the cave behind it. After that, we came here regularly. I did wonder –’
‘Yes?’
She gave a twisted smile. ‘I did wonder, when he disappeared shortly after Christmas, if Kit had come down here. It was a favourite haunt when either of us was in trouble of any kind. I came to look for him as soon as I thought of it, but there was no sign of him. That’s when I accepted he’d really gone.’ She wrapped her arms round her knees, hugging them to her. Her cloak fell in loose folds round her, the swansdown lining not only helping to keep her warm but also helping to keep her dry. ‘But I’m still worried about him. And still concerned about Mr Windham.’
He frowned, leaning one elbow on his raised knee.
She had the feeling that he could say more about Mr Windham if he had a mind to, but at the moment he was keeping silent.
‘You said Mr Windham was vicious, and I felt it, too,’ she said. ‘But if he is not in the pay of the money-lenders, then who is he?’
He sat up straight, looking at her appraisingly, as if wondering what to tell her. Then he seemed to come to a decision. He threw down the piece of sea grass he had been toying with and looked her directly in her clear blue eyes. ‘Tell me, Miss Travis,’ he asked her, ‘what do you know about the Jacobins?’
Marianne looked startled. ‘The Jacobins? What do they have to do with this?’
‘You have heard of them?’
‘Yes, indeed. It is the Jacobins who are behind the troubles in France. I know about them because my mother’s governess was French,’ she explained. ‘Marie-Anne taught my mama for many years. As Mama grew older the two of them became good friends. So that when Marie-Anne unexpectedly inherited a fortune and returned to France the two of them stayed in touch.’
‘Marie-Anne,’ said Lord Ravensford thoughtfully. ‘Are you named after her?’
Marianne nodded. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘I did not know that.’
She looked at him curiously. ‘How could you?’
‘As you say,’ he remarked, cursing himself for almost giving his knowledge of her family away. ‘How could I? And so they stayed in touch?’
‘Yes. Mama and Papa used to visit Marie-Anne, and in time her new husband, the Comte de Trevourny, and their daughter Adèle. And when Kit and I were old enough Mama and Papa took us on their visits as well. When Mama died we did not go to France for a while, but the Comte and Marie-Anne persuaded Papa that it would be good for us if the visits continued. There is nothing like spending holidays in France for picking up an authentic French accent, they said. Kit and I enjoyed the visits. Kit always loved playing with Adèle. She was – is, I hope – a very pretty girl. I often used to think . . . but that is all beside the point. The point is that I know all about the Jacobins, and unfortunately at first hand.’
‘You came across them when you were in France?’
She nodded. ‘It was in the summer of 1788, the last time we visited France. It was a strange summer for weather. There were hailstorms and drought and the harvest was spoiled. There was a lot of unrest. The poor people were suffering from rising bread prices, and they knew the bad harvest would make the problem worse over the winter. It was then the Jacobins began to meddle, whipping up feelings and stirring up trouble.’
‘The Jacobins wanted to further their own political ends,' nodded Luke. 'They wanted to overthrow the ruling classes and take power into their own hands. And they were happy to use the poor to further their own cause.’
‘Even so, things weren’t so bad at the time. It was more a case of the Jacobins whipping up feeling than actually causing harm, but the atmosphere in the countryside was unpleasant, and the Comte warned us not to venture off the estate. After that, we returned to England, but we heard from Marie-Anne that things were growing worse. There were violent riots throughout the winter and before long the country was in a state of upheaval.’
Marianne fell silent for a minute. Then she sighed and continued. ‘It is such a shame. We hoped the trouble would have blown over by the following summer, but Papa received a letter from Marie-Anne telling him it would not be safe for us to visit them. There were riots everywhere, and the peasants were attacking the nobility, burning property and killing animals.’
‘Encouraged by the Jacobins,’ nodded Luke. ‘They are vicious people. Devious, underhand and evil.’
Marianne nodded. ‘Marie-Anne met one of the worst of them, a fastidious and ambitious man named Robespierre. She told us about him in her letters – that is, before her letters stopped. We were all very worried about her and her family. Then came the Grand Peur, the Great Fear. So many members of the nobility were killed or injured during that time. Many of them brought it upon themselves, but Marie-Anne’s family were decent people and it seemed unfair they should be in danger when they had done no harm. But fortunately they came through unscathed. After that, we hoped that affairs in France would soon settle down.’
‘But instead they got worse,’ said Luke.
Marianne nodded. ‘And now we have not heard from Marie-Anne and her family for over six months. At first we thought they were just having trouble getting a letter through, but since the execution of King Louis . . . ’ She shivered.
He put his hand over hers. To her surprise his touch was reassuring instead of searing. It seemed that he could control the effect he had on her; something which made her feel even more vulnerable. But for now she drew comfort from his touch.
‘Your hands are like
ice,’ he said.
He took them between his own. His warmth flowed into her.
‘But why did you ask what I knew about the Jacobins?’ she asked, drawing her attention away from his firm, strong hands and trying to concentrate on their conversation.
‘Because,’ he said, ‘that is what Windham is.’
She looked at him in horror. ‘A Jacobin?’
‘Yes. His real name is not Windham, but Rouget. Philippe Rouget.’
‘But . . . what is he doing over here?’
She saw Luke looking at her intently. She had the curious feeling he was on the verge of telling her something important, but then he seemed to change his mind. ‘He’s trying to drum up support for the Jacobin cause.’
‘And why was he asking about Kit? Did he want to try and win him to the Jacobin cause, so that Kit would make sure that French nobles fleeing the terror could not land their boats in one of our coves?’
‘Yes, very likely,’ said Luke.
‘I hope he does not bother my father.’
‘I think it unlikely. The rumour is that Windham will soon be returning to France. Even so, it would be best not to speak to him if you should happen to see him again. If he tries to gain any information from you, about anyone or anything, then do not give it to him. He is up to no good, of that you can be certain. But now, let’s forget about him.’
He smiled, and she felt an answering smile rise to her own lips.
‘Agreed,’ she said. She stood up. ‘I think I’ll take a turn round the cave.’
‘A good idea.’
The sun had moved round a little, and the strip of brightness that ran along the centre of the cave had moved with it. Marianne stood up and walked up and down in the patch of sunlight. Before long it began to warm her through.
The cave was one she had always liked. Although there were other caves along the seashore, there were few with holes in the roof. They were dank and dark, but this one, with its access to sunlight and fresh air, was always pleasant. It held the tang of the sea, of salt and seaweed, without having a fishy smell. Its sandy floor was clean, and there was often some kind of life – a gull that had waddled in through the crack and would leave by flying through the roof, or, as today, a crab that scuttled across the floor, sending the dry sand flying as it hurried along with its curious sideways gait.
But as she walked around the cave she was aware of Luke’s eyes following her, and was conscious of the harsh and disturbing admiration in his gaze. It was predatory; devouring. No gentleman had ever looked at her in that way - but then, Lord Ravensford was not a gentleman. It made her uncomfortable and restless. It also made her tingle from head to foot.
She fought down her disturbing sensations. But she could not stop herself from being very aware of Lord Ravensford. He reminded her strongly of a wolf. A ruthless predator who threatened her long-held beliefs. Men, she had thought, were one thing or the other: kind-hearted if bumbling like Jem; good company like her brother; or cold and frightening like Mr Windham. But Lord Ravensford was a disturbing mixture of parts; of light and dark, sun and shade. Dangerous and mocking on the one hand, but absorbing and compelling on the other. He was alarming and perplexing and difficult to understand. But when he looked at her as he was looking at her now, he was utterly magnetic.
‘I think I should see how far the tide has turned,’ she said, making an excuse to remove herself from a situation she was finding it hard to understand. She stood up and went down to the mouth of the cave, bending down to go through the small opening and standing up straight on the other side. The sea had receded, and most of the rocks were now above water, with only a trail of seaweed and a stranded starfish to show where it had been. It would not be long before they could leave, and she could retreat to the haven of Seaton Hall. Away from Lord Ravensford. Away from his lazy smiles and disturbing manner. Away from the searing intensity of his glances and the burning heat of his touch. Away from the dangerous air that surrounded him. Immersing herself once again in the safe, if boring, details of running her father’s estate.
* * * *
‘She should ’ave been back long ago. Why ’ave you not sent Tom out looking for her?’
These were the words that Marianne overhead as she arrived back at the Hall, flowing out of the open door of the kitchen.
‘Why, bless you,’ came Trudie’s voice in answer to Henri’s worried questions, ‘Miss Marianne’s often gone an hour or more when she’s out for a walk. There’s no need to fret.’
‘But she may ’ave been attacked, or ’ad an accident.’
‘Marianne’s not the type to go round having accidents, and as for being attacked, why who would want to attack her on her own estate?’
‘There are bad people in the world,’ said Henri. ‘Me, I know it.’
‘The English aren’t like the French,’ said Trudie comfortably. ‘They don’t go round chopping people’s heads off. She’ll be back again soon, never . . . why, here she is now,’ she said as Marianne walked in at the door.
‘Alors! There you are!’ exclaimed Henri, neglecting to point out that the English had chopped off their own king’s head in the seventeenth century in his delight to see Marianne safely home again. He hobbled over to her and kissed her on both cheeks; a Gallic gesture which brought a look of horror to Trudie’s face.
‘There’s no call for that,’ she said.
Whereupon Marianne smiled. ‘It’s all right, Trudie.’
‘Oh, is it now?’ demanded Trudie. ‘You’re forgetting your place, my girl. Being kissed on the cheek by a servant indeed!’
‘A thousand apologies,’ said Henri. ‘I was just – ’ow you say? – overjoyed to see Miss Marianne safely ’ome again.’
‘I’ve only been down to the sea shore,’ said Marianne, taking off her damp cloak and hanging it on a chair in front of the fire.
‘And so I told him. But would he listen? He was all for me sending Tom out after you. As if Tom didn’t have enough to do!’
‘Even so,’ said Henri stubbornly, ‘you ’ave been gone a long time, Miss Marianne. I worry!’
‘Well, here I am, and in one piece,’ said Marianne, touched at Henri’s concern. Ever since he had discovered that her papa kept to his room he had seemed to take on the rôle of her protector, looking after her and trying to make life easier for her.
‘Now you are back, the butcher’s been pressing for his bill to be paid,’ said Trudie. ‘I don’t like to worry you but –’
‘No. You’re quite right to mention it, Trudie. I’ll deal with it at once.’
‘Non. Not until you ’ave ’ad something to eat. You are cold. Sit ’ere, and Henri will pour you some good ’ot soup.’
He was as good as his word, and placed a steaming hot bowl of soup in front of Marianne. She ate it gratefully, and the appetising bread that went with it, thinking again how fortunate they had been to find Henri: a piece of good fortune for all concerned.
‘How is your leg today?’ she asked, when she pushed the empty bowl away.
Henri pulled a face. ‘It gives me no trouble, but to walk far – non, it is not possible.’
‘Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to suggest you made the trip to London,’ said Marianne, adding teasingly, ‘I am beginning to think we will not be able to part with you when your leg finally mends.’
‘Ah!’ Henri gave a satisfied sigh. ‘The good chef, ’e is ’ard to replace, non? Mademoiselle, you make me proud.’
Marianne laughed and then, much refreshed, set about seeing to the accounts. But as she did so, Lord Ravensford was never far from her mind. What had been the meaning of his behaviour in the cave: half predatory, half protective? And what had he meant to say when he had stopped himself half way through the sentence: If I was trying to seduce you, you’d already be . . . ?
She didn’t know. But she had a feeling it would be exhilarating as well as dangerous to find out.
Chapter Five
The weather turned colder overnight.
Frost sparkled from the trees and ice glinted in the ditches. Marianne, having played her morning game of chess with her Papa, was busily cleaning the morning-room when she saw Jem Cosgrove riding up to the house. Hastily she took off her apron – although the neighbours knew the Travis's means were straitened, they did not know that Marianne often helped out with the cleaning – and ran upstairs, changing out of her plain woollen dress and into something more suitable for receiving guests.
‘A good thing you saw him coming, Miss Marianne,’ said Trudie, fastening the wide green sash that girdled Marianne’s trim waist and giving a last brush to the glossy ringlets that fell down her back. ‘It’s bad enough for the neighbours to see you go visiting in a horse and trap; you’ll never hold your head up again if they know you do the dusting as well.’
Slipping her feet into a pair of satin slippers – a dark green, to match the colour of her dress – Marianne ran downstairs, and was sitting elegantly on the chaise longue in the drawing-room when Jem was shown in, just as though she had been sitting there all morning, with nothing better to do than to browse through the latest edition of The Lady’s Magazine.
‘Raw weather!’ Jem greeted her cheerfully as he came stamping and blowing into the drawing-room. ‘Cold enough to . .. ‘ His face fell, as he remembered that he was in a lady’s drawing-room and not a gentleman’s club. ‘That is to say, cold enough to make a man feel cold,’ he ended rather lamely.
Marianne smiled. Jem, though good-hearted, had never had a way with words. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ she asked, indicating the sofa.
‘Yes. Rather. Raw weather,’ he said again. He looked round the room once he had planted himself on the sofa. ‘Trudie not about?’ he said.
Marianne shook her head. Trudie usually joined her when she had visitors, sitting and sewing discreetly in the background, but a problem with one of the maids had called her away and as Jem was such an old family friend, not likely to do Marianne or her reputation any harm, Trudie had been prepared to leave her alone with him for a few minutes.
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