Just the same old set of lips she had lived with for nine and twenty years...except now they had been kissed.
Not that she had never been kissed before, for the fisherman who had wanted to marry her, and a rather amorous customer in an inn she had worked in, had already seen to that. But her lips had never been kissed in the same way as James had kissed them.
Had kissed her.
Polly flushed at the memory of it still, and her reaction most of all. She—the daughter of a boxer—had not put up any kind of fight. She had simply allowed James Black to take liberties...and had enjoyed every second of it. His strong arms wrapped around her, his masculine scent, the feeling of his powerful, muscular body pressed against her own; their kiss was positively one of the most overwhelmingly sensuous moments of her life.
So overwhelming, that she had not trusted herself to be alone with him since.
"Good morning, Polly," James said with a bow, as she opened the door of the boarding house to him a few days later. She had agreed to go for a ride with him, in a barouche borrowed from Pemberton Hall.
"Good morning Captain Black," a trio of voices called in reply, from behind Polly's shoulder.
Alexandra, Poppy and Emily all stood in the entrance hall, wearing bonnets, shawls, and looks of excitement.
"It was so kind of you to invite us for a drive, Captain," Poppy said, without a hint of awareness to the actual circumstances of her invitation.
To James' credit, he did not even blink at her words.
"What would a ride be without the delightful company of my favourite set of twins —and of course, Lady Emily."
Emily flushed pink with pleasure as James gave a florid bow, designed to elicit a giggle, which of course it did. Polly hid a smile behind her hand, as she watched her sister's delighted reaction. Emily adored James, who in turn doted on her. Their friendship was such, that in unreasonable moments, Polly sometimes felt a little excluded by them.
Which was ridiculous, but when it came to James, Polly had begun to understand that all her feelings were ridiculous, unpredictable, and, worse, completely beyond her control.
"Your carriage, ladies," James gestured to the barouche, which gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, its driver dressed in a sombre, black uniform.
As Poppy, Alexandra and Emily hurried forward, James caught Polly by the elbow.
"I have only packed lunch for two, you'll have to perform some sort of miracle to stretch the picnic to feed your extra trio."
"Well, if it's loaves and fish that you've packed, I'll try my best for a miracle. Though I make no promises," Polly replied tartly, secretly delighted that he had shown a little chagrin at their private drive becoming an outing for five. She was still so unsure of him; yes he was here, yes he showed no intention of leaving, but still she wondered of his sincerity...
James still held vestiges of the boy he had once been, but his time in London and at sea had changed him utterly. His accent was no longer steeped in the Tyne, like her own, and he appeared so confident--nothing at all seemed to unsettle his outwardly composed veneer, except perhaps Polly herself. He had the look and clothing of the aristocracy, and because of his status as a Captain, he had a tendency to be rather overbearing and commanding.
In fact, he could verge on frustrating some days, but then he would catch himself with a laugh, or wink at her, his blue eyes dancing, and she knew that he was still the same boy he had been.
"Where to, Captain?" Poppy asked, as Polly and James took the seats opposite the three young women. Technically, a barouche only sat four people vis-à-vis, but Emily and the twins had squeezed themselves onto the second bench. Polly suppressed a sigh of relief; she had not wished to sit opposite James, who she knew would spend the entire journey sending smouldering looks her way. Her relief was short lived however, when James sat down beside her on the narrow seat.
She had not appreciated before just how big her friend now was. He was well over six foot, with broad shoulders that seemed to take up an obscene amount of room and his muscular thighs occupied so much space that they pressed against her own. She was quite as squashed seated beside him, as the three girls were opposite her--with the added discomfort of her every nerve tingling with desire for the man beside her.
"I thought that a drive along the cliff road, followed by a stroll down to Smuggler's Cove might be nice?" James replied to Poppy, who wrinkled her nose at the dull plan, before catching herself and giving a smile.
"Wonderful," she said firmly, with the polite manners of any society Miss, "What fun."
It was a rather tame adventure by the twin's standards, though they could not have known that James' wishes for the quiet stroll had originally only been intended for two. Polly blushed as she imagined what might have transpired between them down on the secluded cove, had she trusted herself to be alone with him.
They travelled along the coast road, chatting amiably between themselves. Poppy and Alexandra, who spent most afternoons roaming the countryside around St Jarvis, knew every hedgerow, stone and fence, and were quick to point out areas of interest for James, the newcomer amongst them.
To Polly's surprise, James already knew a lot of the stories behind the twin's tales, and she realised for the first time that James had no other occupation in St Jarvis, bar his perusal of her. How was he surviving, she wondered, feeling suddenly nervous for her friend.
When the barouche halted to allow its passengers clamber down the steep path to Smuggler's Cove, Polly lagged a little behind her sister and the twins, so that she might speak privately with James.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, raising a dark eyebrow. He had slowed down to allow her catch up with him, and once she had fallen into step beside him, the others were a suitable enough distance away for her to speak freely.
"It is a lovely afternoon for a walk," Polly conceded, nervously placing her hand on the arm that James gallantly held out for her. "Though I am a little troubled..."
"Has someone done something?" James came to a dead halt, a dark frown upon his handsome face. He looked quite fierce, and Polly was glad that there was no person to blame for her troubles, for she sensed that that person would be in imminent danger.
"No," she laughed, squeezing his arm in order to draw him back from his anger. "And if there were, I'm perfectly capable of managing my own affairs--though I thank you for your concern."
"Your concerns are my concern now, Polly," James replied seriously, once more halting so that he could turn to look her in the eye.
Polly gave a gulp at his determined expression; this was not how she had anticipated their conversation would go.
"Thank you," was all that she could manage to say in reply, before she began to walk again. "In truth, what is troubling me dear Captain, is that you make your living at sea, yet here you are on land these past few weeks. I am worried for your purse."
"My purse?"
She could hear the note of amusement in his tone, though she ignored it and ploughed on.
"Yes, I should hate to think that you will bankrupt yourself for the sake of my friendship--it is not worth that, James."
"Your friendship is worth more to me than anything else in this world, and I'll be damned before I leave you again." James replied fiercely. The expression on his handsome face was almost angry, though he relaxed a little upon seeing Polly's own startled reaction to his words.
"If it is my purse you are concerned of, have no fear," he continued, in a lighter tone. "I was given an assignment toward the latter years of the war to weed out spies crossing the channel. My men and I sailed as privateers, sanctioned by Whitehall, and for our efforts we were given a letter of marque."
"Was that not very dangerous?" Polly questioned, biting her lip with latent nerves for him.
"It was," James shrugged and gave a lazy smile. "That's why they gave us the letter. The government knew that we would risk anything for the money we might make, though I think they thought that we would not live to collect it."
"Yes, and I am now a very wealthy man," he replied, his eyes distant and disinterested in the wealth he spoke of. "So, please, do not upset yourself over my finances Polly. You'll find that they are quite in order."
They had begun walking again, in order to catch up with Emily and the twins, who were busy examining a rock pool on the pebbled beach. Polly's mind was awhirl with all this new information; James had been a privateer, James had risked his life for his country, James was exceedingly wealthy.
"Why did you return to sea?" she questioned, "If you had made a fortune during the war, why did you not just retire?"
"I realised that I had no home," again James shrugged, but the lazy ease was gone from him and he looked almost wretched. "All I knew was the sea. I thought that one day I might find you, in some far-flung port, and that thought was all that kept me going at times."
Polly held her breath, wondering if this was true. His expression was sincere, his blue eyes clouded with emotion, giving her no cause to doubt him.
"What would you have done if you had found me married?" she whispered, thinking of the fisherman whose hand she had almost accepted.
"I would have begged for your forgiveness, begged for your friendship and cursed your husband with every swear word known to man," James laughed.
They had nearly reached their companions, so Polly dawdled a little, not wishing to break the spell between them. As if sensing what she felt, James reached for her hand and turned it upward so that he could examine her palm.
"It's still there," he said with satisfaction as he traced his finger along the thin scar on her palm. Polly shivered, despite the warmth; his touch held a power over her, no matter how light or innocent.
"We are one, Polly Jenkins," he said solemnly, "Even though you are still a little uncertain of me, you know that we are joined forever."
"I'm not uncertain..." Polly began to reply, then trailed off quietly. He was right; she was unsure of him, unsure of his intentions and unsure of the way that he made her feel. As though reading her mind, James gave a bark of laughter, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin.
"You are," he countered, his eyes narrowed as he looked at her. His gaze seemed to burn her skin, and a flush crept up her chest. She looked away, but he cupped her chin with his hand and turned her face back toward him.
"I will not leave you Polly," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I will never leave you. I love you, and I will wait until we are both old and grey to hear you say that back to me."
She was so overcome that she could not reply, she merely blinked back the tears that threatened and gave a nod. Thankfully, they were spotted by Emily, who ran over to grab James' hand to lead him toward the rock pool. Polly stayed where she was, half listening to her sister's chatter of crabs and crustaceans, though mostly lost in a world of her own.
Was she being too cautious in her dealings with James? She knew that he was true, honest and sincere, but her heart--her stubborn heart--held on to its reserve. With just one sentence, all those years ago, he had smashed her heart into a million tiny, little pieces, and she was reluctant to hand it back over to him, lest he was careless with it again.
The twins shouted across to her, begging her to come look, and with some relief she cast aside her worries and joined them. Once they were finished exploring the cove, with its pools and deep, dark cave where smugglers had hidden their loot many years ago, they settled down for the picnic that James had brought.
"You didn't pack much," Emily observed as the luncheon was spread out upon the blanket. There were cold meats, salad and strawberries, which would have been more than enough for two, but seemed a bit pitiful for five hungry people.
"I am skipping luncheon today, Lady Emily," James replied gravely, "For I am running to fat since I left my posting."
He patted his stomach, which was flat as a washboard, causing Emily to giggle.
"It's almost as if you didn't expect to feed five people," Emily observed as she picked up a plate and began heaping it with cucumbers and tomatoes. Polly bit her lip to keep from smiling; her sister could be most observant--even when she did not realise she was being so.
The group munched silently on what food there was, passing remarks on the meat--delicious--and the strawberries--perfectly ripe. Once they were finished, and they had packed the plates and cutlery back into the basket, the group headed back up the cliff path, to the waiting carriage.
Polly paused as she reached the top of the cliffs, turning her face out to the sea, which glimmered in the afternoon sun. The beauty of Cornwall never failed to take her breath away; there was an untamed wildness to the coastline and the sea was endless, stretching all the way to America. She turned, as Poppy or Alexandra called her name, and as she did so, she caught sight of a figure on horseback making their way down the cliff path.
"It's Lord Keyford," she said to James, forgetting that he would not know who Lord Keyford was. At his confused look, she explained that Keyford was the father of the late Duchess of Everleigh and that, for a time, Polly had acted as her companion.
She did not have a chance to explain anything else, before the older man was upon them, giving greetings in his usual, stiff manner.
"Beautiful weather, my Lord," Polly responded, hoping that he would soon be on his way; she had yet to prepare supper and Lord Keyford was inclined toward long, rambling conversations that had no point or purpose.
"Indeed, it is," Keyford said, looking at the cloudless sky. "It reminds me of the summer of 1802, when half the crops nearly failed because of the drought. I was with one of my farmers this morning and—"
Polly was not to learn what had transpired between Keyford and his tenant farmer, for the older man became dumbstruck at the sight of James.
"Have we met?" Keyford asked, his brow creasing in a frown. From his seat atop his stallion, Lord Keyford looked rather rude and imperious as he stared down at James and Polly hoped that her friend would not take insult.
"I don't believe we have, my Lord," James shook his head, bemused by Keyford's stares.
"As I live and breathe, you remind me so much of an old friend," Keyford continued, leaning forward on his saddle so that he could closer inspect James. "Have you any relation to the late Earl of Ludlow? It's uncanny how much you resemble poor Horace."
It was all that Polly could do not to gasp at the mention of James' late father's name--was it true that father and son were so similar in appearance? She saw that James' stance had changed from one of casual insouciance to one far more guarded. His jaw was clenched and there was a glint of anger in his eyes as he gazed defiantly back at Lord Keyford.
"We are distantly related," James conceded with a bow of his head, giving nothing away to Keyford. If he had hoped that his curt answer would curb the Viscount's interest, he was much mistaken, for Keyford gave a chuckle of delight at James' answer.
"I knew it, the moment I looked at you, I knew it," Lord Keyford said with a smile, rubbing the neck of his stallion, who had begun to whinny with impatience. "Old Horace, Lord rest him, was a great friend of mine. He spent many a summer here with me at Aylesbury. I was heartbroken when he died, for he was a good man. Tell me, how is it you are related?"
"I am his bastard."
James delivered this statement with cool manner that one might say they were a fishmonger or a baker. Polly bit back a groan, knowing that when James adopted an overly calm exterior, it meant that within he was filled with fiery anger. She placed a calming hand on his arm, noting that his fists were clenched, despite his air of nonchalance. Keyford seemed to note this too, for he gave an appreciative chuckle.
"You've the same temper as old Horace, boy," the Viscount said with a wry grin. "Any son of Ludlow's is alright in my books, bastard or no. Come call on me, lad, if you'd like to know any more about him."
Keyford doffed his hat in the ladies' direction, before urging his steed along, back home toward Aylesbury, his estate which lay a few
miles west of St Jarvis. Polly held her breath as she waited for James to speak; she had never seen him so affected in all her life. His face was pale, his jaw clenched and his brow was creased into a deep frown. Again, she placed her hand upon his arm, and this time it seemed to draw him back from wherever it was he had gone.
"My apologies, ladies," James gave the twins and Emily a light smile. "I was not expecting that. Come, let us return to St Jarvis, for I know Polly is anxious to get started on supper."
The group clambered into the barouche and the journey back to St Jarvis was far quieter than when they set out. Polly caught the glances that passed between the twins; no doubt they were shocked by the revelation of the genteel Captain Black's parentage, though she paid them no heed. It was James she was worried about, her friend's face now wore a closed expression and when they arrived back at the boarding house, he declined her invitation to dine with them.
"I must return this old thing to Pemberton," he said, by way of excuse, gesturing at the barouche. Polly rather thought that the driver would return the carriage alone, but did not question him. If he wished to be alone, she could not force her company upon him.
"Take care," she said in reply, trying to inflict as much meaning as she could into those two words. She stayed in the doorway and watched as he elegantly hopped up beside the driver. The barouche made its way back down Shop Street, with Polly waiting at the door until it disappeared from view.
The afternoon had been wonderful, but it had brought with it more questions than had been answered. What had happened between James and his father's family? And what was happening between the two of them?
Knowing that she would not learn the answer any time soon, Polly turned and retreated into the kitchen--she had a supper to prepare.
CHAPTER TWELVE
There was only one thing that James needed after his encounter with Lord Keyford, and that was ale. By the barrelful preferably, though he knew that Mr Lawless in The Fisherman's Friend would balk if he requested more than one tankard at a time.
The Captain of Betrayal Page 9
