Killigrew Clay

by Killigrew Clay (retail) (epub)

  She would loosen her hair and be more like the girl she used to be before the disastrous thing that had happened to Celia. Despite her pain, Morwen was too young to grieve for ever, and she was fresh and pretty in the new dress, and glowing with health from the invigorating ride down from the moors.

  The neckline of the green dress was deep and rounded, its fabric caressing her curving shape. She felt the softness of her hair on her shoulders, and swept into the dining-room with a reckless feeling of belonging here. She had better hide it from Mr Killigrew, she thought, a mischievous smile on her lips, as the tall figure turned at her approach, and her heart leapt.

  Ben’s stormy eyes took in her changed appearance. He tossed back the drink in his hand in one gulp.

  ‘I’m sorry. I expected to find your father here—’ Morwen was furious to find herself stammering, gauche as a clayworker’s daughter in the presence of her betters. A world apart from the genteel manners of Miss Jane Carrick, Miss finelady…

  The silly name surged into her head, and the inverted snobbery of it seemed to separate Morwen from Ben Killigrew more widely than anything else at that moment. Her hands felt clammy as Ben slowly studied her, as though assessing this girl giving herself airs in his father’s house. Her face flooded with colour, but her chin tilted higher, and she saw the faint smile on his lips as he noted it. His voice was brusque.

  ‘My father is feeling tired, and will take his meal in his room. I fear I’ve angered him, and as my dear cousin has sent a message to say he’ll be missing dinner also, you’ll have to make do with my company this evening, Miss Tremayne. Will you take a glass of port with me? I apologise in advance for not being in the best of humours tonight.’

  He spoke with heavy sarcasm, not waiting for an answer, and Morwen guessed that it wasn’t his first drink of the evening. He handed her a glass of red liquid, and their fingers touched. The contact was enough to make Morwen shiver, and she took the drink too quickly, feeling her head swim as she did so.

  She wished herself anywhere but here, suddenly acutely embarrassed at this obviously unwelcome tête-à-tête. She wished herself back in her old cottage, safe and secure. She wished herself running wild with Celia on a soft summer night beneath the stars. She wished herself beside the Larnie Stone, in Ben Killigrew’s arms, wanting him, and willing him to want her… lying on a mossy, sun-warmed bed of turf, with his hands and mouth bringing her sleeping senses to life… such a different Ben from the cold young man standing beside her now.

  ‘We’ll go in to dinner,’ he said curtly. ‘There’s no point in waiting any longer.’

  Morwen swallowed, wondering if he could have read the swirling thoughts in her head at that moment, and encountering his steely eyes. There was nothing soft or gentle about him now. Morwen could see the echo of Charles Killigrew in his son, and guessed that there had been a crackling argument between them.

  In the dining-room, Mrs Horn told Fanny to serve the meal at once, then see to Mr Killigrew’s tray. She was clearly ruffled at such a haphazard household, but later she told the housemaids it was a pleasure to see the new housekeeper transformed from a plain little duckling into a beautiful swan.

  Morwen could barely touch the succulent food. Ben made her so nervous, and his attempts to be civil were so forced she wished he’d eat in silence. When they left the table to sit in comfort in the drawing-room with coffee and turkish delights, her exasperation finally overcame her embarrassment.

  ‘You don’t have to talk to me,’ she said tensely. ‘I know I’m only the housekeeper, and a fine dress doesn’t turn a bal maiden into a lady—’

  ‘What in God’s name are you talking about?’ Ben said roughly. ‘It takes more than clothes to make people what they are, and it’s not you that’s angering me.’

  ‘What is it then?’ She spoke before she could think. It wasn’t her place to question him like this, but Ben gave a short laugh as he poured more wine.

  ‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t know. You’re a champion for the cause, after all.’

  ‘Now you’re talking in riddles,’ Morwen snapped, thinking he made fun of her. He looked directly into her eyes, and Morwen was filled with sudden warmth at the look. Her heart beat erratically, and the port wine still made her head spin.

  ‘Not at all. Don’t you remember the night you came here with your family, when you spoke up so forcefully in favour of rail tracks from the clay works to the quay? Have you forgotten it already?’

  ‘Of course I haven’t.’ She had forgotten nothing of that night, especially that it was the first time she had seen Ben Killigrew with Jane Carrick, and seen how impossible it was for a clayworker’s daughter to dream of a young man out of her class. Her face burned at the memory.

  ‘Then you may as well know that my father and I have reached deadlock over it,’ he said tersely. ‘I agree with you entirely, Morwen. Killigrew Clay is big enough to do as other pits have done, and we’re lagging behind, but Father won’t see it. He’s as damnably stubborn as a mule—’

  ‘And so are you,’ Morwen couldn’t resist a smile at the thought of the two of them warring over this. Nor a certain uplifting feeling that she and Ben were united over the necessity for rail tracks.

  ‘He says there’s no money,’ Ben went on, scowling as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘He says he’ll be obliged to stop the wage rises to the men if we consider rail tracks, and he’s so disgruntled it wouldn’t surprise me if he delays them anyway. He can be contrary when he chooses. But there’s money in stocks and shares, mine as well as his, and it’s time he came down from his pedestal and put his pits to rights—’

  Morwen heard nothing but that one phrase. Stop the wage rises to the men… they had already been delayed longer than the men expected, and there was unrest among them now… she got to her feet, the breath tight in her chest, her eyes blazing as she glared across the candlelit table at Ben Killigrew.

  ‘You can’t mean it! He wouldn’t stop the wage rises. It would mean a strike, sure as night follows day, Ben! I know these men, better than you do. They trusted your father, and if he lets them down over this, he’ll get no work out of them ever again. They’ll go elsewhere, and Killigrew Clay will rot in hell as far as they’re concerned. No boss should act like God one minute and the devil the next—’

  Ben stood up too. He came round the table to her side as she swayed a little on her feet. He caught her hands tightly, seeing how her young breasts heaved in her agitation. In an instant he remembered their softness on that moonlit night on the moors. He remembered more, and wanted more.

  How beautiful she looked, Ben thought. So stiff and unyielding, as though she would break in two in her anger… and yet she wasn’t a woman who would break easily. She was strong, in a different way from his aunt’s caustic strength. Morwen was a survivor, and he could feel it in every pore of her. Could see it in the luminous depths of her eyes, blue as the sea. Her cheeks glowed in the firelight’s leaping flames. He almost envied the clayworkers at having such a champion… the thought reminded him of his indiscretion in telling her of his argument with his father. He still held her. He pulled her close.

  The scent of her was in his nostrils, fragrant and young and fresh. She didn’t move, and he felt a spark of anger at getting no response whatever from her. Ben Killigrew was unused to holding a frigid statue of a woman in his arms, and he wondered suddenly about the clayworker up on the moors…

  ‘You visited home today, I believe,’ he said abruptly. ‘Did you visit John Penry as well?’

  ‘Should I have done so?’ she asked, her heart still drumming at his closeness, and hardly able to think it was jealousy that prompted the question.

  ‘Why not? It would have been a courtesy to your friend’s brother. But that’s not why I asked, and you know it—’

  ‘I know nothing, sir. I’m merely a clayworker’s daughter.’ She was deliberately wooden, and to Ben’s own astonishment, he found himself shaking her.

  ‘Dammit, Morwen, wi
ll you marry him?’ he said arrogantly, and saw her chin tilt upwards again in that defensive way of hers.

  ‘It’s none of your business – sir. But if you must know, I’m not thinking of marrying John Penry nor anyone else. I’m not that fond of any man at the moment, so don’t concern yourself that I’ll be leaving Killigrew House the minute I’ve stepped into it. And – I’m sure Miss Carrick need have no worries on a young woman being in this house!’

  ‘Why should she worry? And for God’s sake stop calling me sir!’ Ben said angrily. ‘My name’s Ben. You’ll call me so.’

  ‘Is that an order – Sir Ben?’ Morwen mocked him, uncaring.

  ‘Yes, it’s an order,’ he snapped. ‘If you will persist in this ridiculous playacting, then I order it. And I order that you kiss me, this minute!’

  Morwen gasped with fury. How dare he do this? She saw his eyes sparkle with the power he had over her. She hated him. She didn’t want his touch or his kiss, or the treacherous way she knew her body would behave if he held her. Her mind would resist, but her body would betray her…

  When she didn’t move, he pulled her into his embrace, his mouth covering hers in a kiss that was almost brutal. And at once, Morwen knew that she had been out of his arms too long. It was where she had ached to be, and the glory of love swamped every other sensation as she felt his rough-textured cheeks against her velvety ones, and their two heartbeats felt as one. Her arms, that had stayed so rigidly by her sides, held him, and needed him.

  His body was hard against hers, and she could no longer deny that wherever he touched her, it was like being caressed by a flame. He touched her and she was lost.

  ‘Did you really expect to stay in this house and not continue what we’ve already begun?’ Ben’s voice was harsh against her mouth. She tasted his breath, breathed him, loved him with a passion to match his, delirious in the feelings he awoke in her. If this was a fever, then there was no hope of recovery, Morwen thought in ecstasy…

  ‘What a pretty little scene, cuz!’

  A new voice broke into the intimate atmosphere of the room, and Morwen jerked out of Ben’s arms as though stung by a hornet as Jude Pascoe’s crowing tones filled the air.

  ‘So this is why you wanted to replace my mother with this baggage, is it, cuz? I congratulate you!’

  In an instant, all the warm, beautiful feelings evaporated from Morwen’s mind. In their place was humiliation, hate, shame, and more… there was guilt too, because she had sworn to despise Ben Killigrew as much as Jude for his part in the Larnie Stone disaster. She could just about forgive herself for swooning in his arms at that time, drunk by old Zillah’s magic potion… she couldn’t forgive herself for this sweet seduction in which she would have been so willing a partner, but for Jude’s untimely arrival. Or perhaps it was fortuitous, she thought in a rage, as Ben turned on his cousin.

  ‘Get out, you filthy-mouthed bastard!’ he swore expressively. ‘But you’ll apologise to Morwen before you go—’

  Jude laughed coarsely, his eyes on the taut nipples beneath the silky green dress. A look that made Morwen want to fling her arms defensively around her body.

  ‘Apologise to a wench? I’ll see hell freeze before that happens, cuz. But I’ll not disturb you any more tonight. I just came to collect a few items. Carry on where you left off…’ He grinned lewdly, backing quickly as Ben lunged across the room towards him.

  Before anything happened, Morwen whirled away from them both, sickened at this scene by two so-called gentlemen. She fled upstairs to her own room, her throat tight with unshed tears. She should never have come here, knowing she was so uncontrolled by her own body. It had been for her family’s sake… yet how could she leave, with all the implications of such a move? Explanations to Charles Killigrew that were impossible to make… no new home for her family, the shame of it all, the shadow over Sam’s wedding…

  She heard the click of her door-handle. She hadn’t had time to light her candle, nor draw her cutrains. She turned swiftly, to see Ben there. Was it his turn now, to do as Jude had tried to do? Morwen thought bitterly. She backed towards the bed, fear drying her mouth. She had thought so much more of Ben. Disillusion made her throat ache anew.

  He reached her and caught her up in his arms. Fury made her beat her hands against his chest. She was no milk-sop to give in without a fight, as Ben Killigrew would discover. He had scratched her cheek… she would do more than scratch his… it was a few moments before she realised that Ben’s actions weren’t those of seduction…

  ‘Hush, darling, no one will harm you while I’m here. Calm yourself, Morwen, breathe softly, love. You’re safe now—’

  Safe? In the place she most wanted to be, here in his arms? Suddenly she was weeping silently against his chest, clinging to him as if to a lifeline. They sank to the bed together as her legs gave way, and he was smoothing her hair and rocking her as though she was a child. Then, without warning, all the secrets were spilling out of her, all the hurt and the anguish. And Ben Killigrew was the only person in the world that she could bear to tell.

  ‘Dear God, is this true?’ Ben said raggedly. ‘My cousin raped your friend?’

  ‘I swear it,’ Morwen sobbed. ‘Celia was too ashamed to tell anyone. But she couldn’t forget, because there would have been a baby—’ she rushed on, telling him everything.

  ‘We didn’t know what to do,’ her voice shook. ‘Old Zillah tried to help, but Celia did everything wrong. It began to turn her mind, and she called the baby a growth, because she wouldn’t admit it was anything else. ’Twas how I came by the idea of telling the doctor so, Ben, and how the tale got around.’

  ‘What of the child?’ The tale was horrifying enough, but he knew there was more to hear yet. Morwen drew a shuddering breath.

  ‘The potion worked,’ she said jerkily. ‘She had so much pain while it – it happened. Next day she was found floating in the clay pool. I swore to keep her memory unsullied. I swore never to tell, and now I’ve told you!’

  He felt helpless as he heard her bitter tears. It was too late for recriminations now, though he’d dearly like to make his bastard cousin pay… he said as much, and was startled at the fierceness in Morwen’s voice as she looked feverishly into his eyes.

  ‘No! He mustn’t know. I couldn’t bear it if he had that satisfaction. Promise me you won’t reveal any of this. I’ll deny everything if you do—’

  He touched his mouth to hers to stop the words. He longed to crush her to him, but knew that she was in too fragile a state at that moment. She was brittle as parchment, and he guessed what a weight she had borne on her slender shoulders all these weeks.

  ‘None shall hear of it, Morwen. It’s our secret now. Just as long as my cousin makes no attempt to touch you—’

  She was sure that he wouldn’t, and related the happenings of her first evening in the house, leaving out her indelicate words to Jude Pascoe. Ben smiled gently.

  ‘You’re a girl after my own heart, Morwen Tremayne,’ he said softly, and a sudden shivering ran through her. She knew how dangerously susceptible she was to his nearness, and he had been here long enough. She had tried to hate him, but the hate had been short-lived, and the love would last for always. But he wasn’t hers to love…

  ‘Would you please leave me now, Ben?’ she said in a low voice. She was acutely aware that he had said nothing about love to her. He hadn’t really commented on her remark that Jane Carrick needn’t worry about Morwen being in Killigrew House.

  Why should he? Jane was his true love, while Morwen would be merely a dalliance, and she did not choose to be that! She would be all or nothing to the man she loved. If Ben had already chosen his Miss finelady, then she would be nothing, and make very sure that he knew it. If she must act the prude and it broke her heart, then break it must.

  ‘You’re sure you’ll be all right now?’ He spoke with such tenderness her spirit faltered for a minute, but she gave a tight little smile as she nodded.

  ‘Of course. You’
re all very kind, Ben. Your father treats me almost like a daughter, though it’s presumptuous of me to say so. And if that makes you a kind of brother, then I’m doubly blessed and protected here.’

  Ben gave a slow harsh laugh. He didn’t believe for an instant that Morwen Tremayne thought of him as a brother. No woman could respond to him the way she had, and think only sisterly thoughts. He was about to speak angrily to her until he saw the desperation in her eyes, and knew that she was still wrapped up in the sad tale of her friend. For the moment, he must leave it at that, and he squeezed her hand gently before he left her.

  He went downstairs to drink the cold coffee, and hardly tasted it. He stared into the dying fire, and knew he was far from averse to the girl with the dramatic hair and eyes and the body that seemed meant for his. She held an attraction that went far beyond the heady delights of the moment. He knew well enough how to sort the dross from the gold. And Morwen was pure gold, pure and lovely, and his thoughts were a mixture of sheer Cornish belief in destiny, and the impossibility of it all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sleep didn’t come easily to Ben that night. As well as the disturbing things Morwen had told him, and his even more disturbing feelings for the girl, the scene with his father earlier that evening went round and round in his head.

  ‘Where d’you think I’ve got money to spend on rail tracks, boy?’ Charles had roared at him, when Ben had said bluntly that if they didn’t move with the times, then Killigrew Clay was doomed. ‘You’re reacting like a hysterical female, Ben. Use your sense, and leave the thinking to those who understand clay business—’

  ‘I thought that was what you wanted me to do, Father,’ Ben said edgily, knowing he mustn’t raise Charles’s blood pressure too much. ‘I’ve been trying to understand it for some time now. Even your precious little Tremayne girl made a case for rail tracks, didn’t she? She riled my aunt on the subject if I remember rightly!’