Caught in a Cornish Scandal

by Eleanor Webster

  ‘You do not have to look after everyone,’ he said.

  A lock of hair had fallen forward into her face. He stepped forward, gently reaching to tuck it behind her ear. His finger grazed the soft skin of her cheek. He felt her start at his touch. He heard her gasp and saw her eyes widen.

  He should leave.

  Slowly, and with deliberation, he stepped even closer to her, so that there were mere inches between them. He ran his fingers along her jawline. He touched her chin, tipping it upwards. He bent forward to kiss her pert, upturned nose, her high forehead, soft cheek, the delightfully stubborn chin and, at last, her lips. Her response was instant and spontaneous. Her hand reached up, touching his chin and the nape of his neck, winding her fingers through his hair to pull him closer to her.

  He heard the rustle of her clothes as she shifted towards him. The kiss deepened. His grip tightened, his fingers splayed against her back, pulling her tighter. He could feel her pressed against him, swaying into him. A need, a desire, like a primal life force, engulfed. He wanted this woman. Her eager innocence threatened all self-control. Everything intensified the feeling: the tentative touch of her tongue against his, the instinctive, unschooled arch of her body, her muted groans of need and the soft husky breathiness as she whispered his name.

  His fingers ran up her spine. He felt the fine cloth, the soft skin of her neck and the silk of her hair. The muslin slipped from her shoulder, exposing the creaminess of her skin. He ran kisses down her neck and her collarbone. They inched backwards towards the sofa and she sank into it, half lying. He knelt beside her, undoing the top button of her gown so that her bodice loosened. He pushed it lower, revealing the chemise. Through the thin cotton, he could see the darker outline of her nipples.

  ‘Sam,’ she breathed.

  The need, the desire pulsed through him. He stared down at her flushed countenance, her huge magical dark blue eyes and parted pink lips.

  ‘Millie,’ he groaned. ‘I—We...cannot.’

  She smiled, as always her expression slow to build, but then transformative. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You are an innocent.’

  ‘Maybe I do not wish to remain so.’

  The calm, husky words were more arousing than anything he had ever heard. Shock mixed with a tidal wave of lust.

  He cupped her face with his hands. ‘You are entirely different than anyone I have ever met.’

  With exploratory fingers, she reached up to his face. She touched his chin. She ran her fingers along his jaw, her movement unschooled and spontaneous. He touched her lips and she teased his tongue. His kiss was no longer tentative. He plundered her mouth, his hand pushing up the fabric of her skirts, feeling the shape of her legs through the cotton pantaloons. Then he kissed the smooth line of her jaw, her neck and the sweet spot on her collarbone where he could feel the beat of her pulse. Her skin had a dewy softness. He slipped his hand under the thin cotton fabric of her chemise, exposing her breast. He kissed the rosy tip while his hands bunched at the fabric of her skirts.

  * * *

  Millie felt beautiful. She felt wanted. She had never felt like this before. She felt like a woman—a woman who was desired. Instinctively, she pressed herself closer so that she could feel every inch of him. She revelled in the strong, hard lines of his body, his quickened breath and the urgency of his movements. She revelled in the intoxicating power that she could make this tall beautiful man murmur her name and pull at her gown with a driving need.

  His touch ignited her skin with a heat that connected to the very core of her. Her fingers moved under his jacket. She could feel his skin through the fine cotton of his shirt. The muscles were hard, but their movement fluid. His hair fell forward across his forehead. She reached up, pushing it away, allowing her fingers to trace across his jawbone, feeling the slight roughness of stubble on her skin.

  Her own pulse drummed against her ears. Her body became molten, no longer composed of bone and muscle, but rather she was liquid, sensuous and fluid. She moved without thought, instinctively responding to the driving heat, pulsing throughout her body. She arched against him. Her hands gripped at his shoulders. Exaltation, sensation and primal need dwarfed all other thoughts.

  The rattle of carriage wheels on the drive outside sounded loud and discordant in the quiet room. Millie and Sam froze in the tumbling return of reality.

  He jerked away from her. ‘Millie—My God—I am sorry. I—I apologise.’

  Millie sat upright, gripping her clothes about her. Confusion, hurt, loss and a raw vulnerability flooded her. He turned away from her, adjusting his jacket as she hurriedly straightened her clothes. Her nipples felt painful against her chemise as she quickly did up the buttons with trembling fingers. Her cheeks burned. Her lips felt swollen by his kisses and her hair fell about her face in long tangles.

  ‘Who would be visiting us at this hour?’ she gasped.

  ‘Whoever they are, thank goodness they are here. I am so sorry. That should never have happened.’

  She stiffened. The words struck a chill in her. She felt the hurt, that raw neediness morphing to anger. Her confused thoughts circled about that one phrase: That should never have happened.

  Of course, it should never have happened. She was not destined for desire or love or happily-ever-afters. Did he think she did not know that? Except she’d wanted to feel something before she dutifully married Mr Edmunds. Did that make her a fallen woman? Or just stupid? She supposed it was yet more proof of the family failing—to risk without thought of consequence.

  That should never have happened.

  Somewhere outside, a carriage door slammed.

  With efficiency verging on viciousness, she twisted her hair into a bun, jamming pins into it. Then she smoothed down her skirts, staring at the parlour door with apparent fascination, if only to avoid his gaze.

  ‘Again, I apologise,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘I would not worry about it, Mr Garrett. We all make mistakes.’

  ‘I was irresponsible.’

  She paused at the door, her fingers resting on the knob. ‘Then it is fortunate that we both returned to our senses. Doubtless the foolishness was brought about by our misadventures and the danger we experienced. Indeed, I do not know what came over me given that I anticipate a proposal of marriage in the near future.’

  ‘What?’ She heard his movement behind her and felt the clasp of his hand on her shoulder as though to swing her around. ‘You are to be married?’

  She glanced back at him and saw an expression of his face which was not anger. She wished she could pull back her words or, at least, say them better and less harshly. ‘Sam, I—It is not—’

  A loud knocking reverberated through the house. Flora’s hurried footsteps sounded in the hallway outside.

  ‘Why did not you say something?’ His tone was hard with anger, his expression closed and jaw tight.

  ‘Perhaps we were too busy running from pirates.’ She turned, walking into the outer hall, forcing her expression to be calm.

  * * *

  Married.

  The word had struck him with an almost physical force, leaving him feeling winded. How could she have let him kiss her and hold her and lust after her if she was promised to another?

  For a moment, he could not follow her. He was not a man of emotional extremes and yet in the last thirty minutes he’d swung like a weather vane in a storm. Had it happened again? Had he again missed the truth staring him in the face? He thought of Miss Whistler with her vows of eternal love until the advent of the wealthy duke with his land and title.

  Married!

  So much for Miss Lansdowne’s blunt talk about honesty. He’d thought her different. She’d seemed different. Did all women hide the truth? His own mother could not admit she was dying. Annie could not admit she was on sale to the highest bidder and Millicent Lansdowne could not admit she was enga
ged.

  Loud voices from the hallway stirred him into action. Forcibly squashing down the muddle of emotion, he opened the parlour door. The entrance way was surprisingly crowded. Sir Anthony and Mrs Ludlow stood within the hallway while Flora was on one side of the front door with Millie at the base of the staircase, blocking access to the upper storey.

  ‘Miss Lansdowne,’ Sir Anthony was speaking to Millie, his face puckered with concern. ‘I am sorry to intrude. This is Mrs Ludlow. I am sure you are acquainted.’

  ‘I understand that my dear daughter-in-law is staying here,’ Mrs Ludlow said, interrupting any response Millie might have made. ‘I wish to speak to her.’

  ‘She has retired for the evening,’ Millie said.

  Sam stepped into hallway, facing Mrs Ludlow. ‘Why are you here? How did you even know to come here? Did you have me followed?’

  ‘I am so sorry, Mr Garrett. I did not want to do it.’ Mrs Ludlow clutched her long grey cloak about her, as though needing to keep herself together, crossing her arms more tightly. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have done so, but when I learned that Frances had left Sir Anthony’s I had to know where she was. You see, I am so worried for my son and, now, my grandson. She is not well. You must see that.’

  ‘I—’ Sam paused, momentarily uncertain, the image of Frances’s face and darting gaze flickering in front of his inner eye.

  Millie spoke, stepping into his confused silence. ‘Mrs Ludlow, I quite understand your worry. However, both Noah and your daughter-in-law are quite safe under this roof.’

  Mrs Ludlow’s worried gaze shifted to the younger woman. ‘Please, Miss Lansdowne, I only want what is best for the baby. Mrs Ludlow may have...may have hurt my son. I hope not, but it is possible. I would like to take the child home.’

  ‘The child’s home is with his mother and I am not waking my guest and her child at this late hour and in such inclement weather. It would hardly improve Mrs Ludlow’s health or that of the child.’

  Mrs Ludlow’s gaze focused on Millie with sudden intent, as though she had not properly studied her until this moment. She straightened, her aspect suddenly more closely resembling the woman Sam remembered from London. ‘I must insist that you allow us to remove the child.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Millie’s firm tone and air of command was at odds with her small stature. ‘That will not occur unless Sir Anthony has a warrant for Frances Ludlow’s arrest. Do you have such a thing?’ Millie turned towards that gentleman.

  ‘No, Miss Lansdowne,’ he said, looking very much as though he hoped the floor would open and provide him some escape. Or, failing this, a bolt of lightning would not be unwelcome.

  ‘Then it will be best for everyone if we allow Mrs Ludlow to rest,’ Millie said.

  ‘Miss Lansdowne, I may have lost my son, but I will not lose my grandchild. I will proceed with a warrant, tomorrow, as you give me no other choice.’

  ‘You won’t,’ Sam said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You will not get a warrant or disturb my sister tomorrow,’ Sam said.

  ‘I cannot see how you can prevent me. I am quite certain that Sir Anthony would agree there is sufficient evidence to suggest that your sister has some involvement in my son’s disappearance. They fought and she was the last person to see him alive.’

  ‘She was not,’ he said.

  ‘How would you know?’

  ‘Because I was.’

  Chapter Ten

  Everyone turned and stared at Garrett, the movement happening almost in unison. There was a moment of stunned silence when Millie thought she could hear each person’s breath and even the blinking of their eyes.

  ‘That—that is ludicrous,’ Mrs Ludlow said, her jaw slackened. Her hair was threaded with grey and dark shadows ringed her eyes. For a moment, she shifted from middle-aged to old.

  ‘It isn’t. I fought with Mr Ludlow and we both fell into the sea. My sister was nowhere in sight.’

  ‘You are confessing to my son’s murder?’

  ‘I am confessing to a fight and to the fact that my sister was in no way involved.’

  Sir Anthony stepped forward, belatedly attempting to take control of the situation. Millie had known him for all her life and he was seldom able to control anything, even his household staff. This level of absurdity would be totally beyond his ability, she thought, oddly dispassionate.

  ‘Right, well, indeed,’ Sir Anthony said, as though by throwing out enough exclamations he might pretend some command. ‘Indeed, in this event, Mr...um...um...’

  ‘Garrett,’ Sam provided helpfully.

  ‘Yes, I... I feel I should question you on the specifics, don’t you know.’

  ‘I quite agree,’ Sam said. ‘I will accompany you now. You have your own carriage? I can direct my groom to take Mrs Ludlow back to Manton Hall while I travel with you for any interrogation you would like, if that is convenient to all.’

  Millie felt her own jaw slacken. Good lord, the man had just confessed to murder or manslaughter...and he was organising transportation as though co-ordinating an excursion to a village fête.

  ‘This cannot be true,’ Mrs Ludlow said, her tone almost accusatory. ‘You said you had no memory of that night.’

  ‘A temporary disability.’

  At that moment, with the timing a playwright might have envied, Millie’s mother appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a candle. This low flickering light oddly shadowed her features while her voluminous white dressing gown and nightcap provided a sharp contrast to the dim corridor. Rather like a poorly dressed ghost, Millie thought. She felt a giggle bubble in her throat and wondered if she was slipping towards hysteria.

  ‘Flora? Millie? Dear Sir Anthony, is that you? And Mr Garrett? Good gracious, what is happening? Is there an emergency? An accident? My poor nerves!’

  ‘Mother.’ Millie stepped forward, shaking off the numbness and pushing away her rising hysteria. ‘I will explain everything tomorrow. Everyone will leave as soon as the vehicles are brought to the front, so you have no need to worry.’

  Her mother descended the stairs, still somewhat dazed. ‘But what happened? I am sorry to be in dishabille.’

  ‘A risk people must take if they visit at odd hours,’ Millie said. ‘Let us invite Sir Anthony and Mrs Ludlow into the parlour while they wait for the horses? Flora, if you could ensure that the carriages are requested?’

  Flora nodded and hurried towards the back of the house while Millie’s mother, surprisingly rising to the occasion, stepped down the stairs, ushering her guests into the parlour.

  ‘Would anyone like tea? I am sure it could be arranged,’ she said with admirable aplomb.

  ‘A brandy would be most welcome,’ Sir Anthony muttered, following in his hostess.

  As quickly as possible, Millie shut the door behind them, grabbing Sam’s arm and urging him down the narrow, dingy hallway so that they were positioned midway between the parlour and kitchen.

  ‘You remember that night? Your memory has come back?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  She stared at him, stunned into silence. ‘You just confessed to murder for a lark?’

  ‘I confessed to a fight which is not the same as murder and is, indeed, the most likely explanation of events.’

  ‘Most likely explanation? But you do not know what happened? You still cannot remember?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You cannot confess to something you do not remember. I mean, if you do that, the die is cast. It becomes fact and no one will believe you even if you later recall events,’ she hissed in a harsh whisper.

  ‘Very theatrical.’

  ‘Except it isn’t theatre. It is real life and could get you hanged,’ Millie retorted.

  ‘And what if they’d returned with a warrant for Frances?’ he asked with sudden intensity. He stood close to
her, his dark greenish-grey gaze catching her own. The limited lamplight somehow emphasised the squareness of his jaw and the angry determination of his countenance.

  Millie took an involuntary step back. ‘She would be questioned again and you could still investigate and help—’

  ‘Do not you see? There would be no help for Frances. Separation from her child, even for a moment, would destroy her. You can see how vulnerable she is. She would likely confess to a murder she did not commit.’

  ‘A characteristic which seems to run in the family,’ Millie said.

  ‘Millie, I let her down. I stayed away too long. I am afraid for her.’ He took a step nearer, again standing so close that she could hear his breathing and the rustle of his shirt.

  ‘I understand, but you cannot pretend to remember something you do not.’

  ‘And I cannot let her take responsibility for something I may have done. Isn’t it more likely that I physically fought with Jason than that Frances did?’

  ‘Or neither of you fought and you are obscuring the truth,’ she said.

  ‘Since when have you been so keen on the truth?’

  Millie stepped away from him. ‘I have always adhered to the truth. Are you referring to my possible engagement? Nothing is official. And the situation is entirely different.’

  ‘Really? How can you claim to adhere to the truth when you went on some crazy smuggling expedition without telling your family and kissed me without telling your fiancé?’

  ‘He isn’t my fiancé yet. And as for kissing you, that mistake will not happen again,’ she snapped.

  ‘I am relieved to hear it. However, I would suggest that you are still not in a position to lecture me on the truth.’

  The door of the parlour opened and Millie and Sam swung quickly about as light spilled into the front entrance way. Her mother exited, followed by Mrs Ludlow and Sir Anthony.