Breakwater Beach

by Carole Ann Moleti

  Papa waved his hand and turned his back.

  Thornlea turned to her mother, accepted the proffered hand, and pressed it to his cheek. “Your Grace.”

  The butler came back into the room with a decanter and tray of glasses for another round of drinks.

  “Ah, good show, Hartman.” Baxter took two glasses and handed one to Thornlea. They raised them in tandem, sealing the agreement.

  Elisabeth stared at her mother so intently that the countess averted her eyes. The men laughed. Her cheeks burned.

  Glasses clinked. Thornlea looped his arm around Elisabeth’s and led her out the front door, making a big show of encircling her waist to help her down the steps she could have easily descended on her own. The heat of his hands on her body, even through the dress and undergarments, prickled her skin.

  “It’s quite a fine day for a stroll, Lady Elisabeth. Shall we go?” He waited, head cocked. A closed-lip smile spread across his face.

  She took time to steady herself, to steel herself, to take out her gloves and slip them on before taking his still extended arm. Elisabeth kept as much distance between them as she could when they entered the flower garden. Nary a bee alighted on the fragrant roses. Cherubic statues surrounding the fountain dribbled into a pond, the water a stagnant green, dotted with yellow algae. Tiny insects traversed the scum, too busy feeding to fly off and seek other prey.

  After passing through an aisle bordered on either side by tall trees, they turned back toward the house. The air was still, grass cushioned their footsteps, and not even the call of a bird broke the silence. Perhaps disdain and distance had saved her.

  The earl finally spoke. “Elisabeth, I’d like to propose you visit my estate where you might preside as Lady Stonehollow, Countess of Thornlea.”

  “Papa and Mama dearly want to be rid of me, but I’m not interested in marriage.” Elisabeth tried to walk back into the house.

  Thornlea blocked the way and pressed her against the stone façade. He chuckled and brought his face to hers. The smell of stale tobacco and alcohol brought bile to the back of her throat.

  “Come now, my lady. I’m offering you a fine life.” His lips brushed the same cheek her father had slapped.

  Thornlea, fueled by drink and arrogance, would be as rough as Papa once she belonged to him, even worse when he’d demand marital rights. He stepped even closer. His hands tightened around both arms until her fingertips tingled. The bulge in his trousers pressed against her. The thought of being in bed with him made her quake, and the forced intimacy was like being held underwater and unable to breathe. If he defiled her, she’d be force to marry to protect her honour. That could not happen.

  Elisabeth pushed him away with her knee. “Leave me alone.” Sickness, disgust, and terror washed over her. Her hat slipped, the pins dug into her scalp, and her hair loosened.

  “Stop acting like a child,” he growled as his smile turned into a leer. Thornlea’s eyes narrowed and stared into hers like a hungry hound as he bent to kiss her again.

  He’d have his way with her now, then over and over again. She’d rather die. Summoning every bit of strength, Elisabeth yanked away. Thornlea’s fingers tightened, dug into the skin, and held her still. She twisted to break free, but that only served to fuel the intensity of his grip, the pressure of his whiskey-laced lips against hers.

  “Excuse me, my lord.”

  Thornlea twitched and released his grasp. Elisabeth slumped, her knees so weak her bottom slid down the wall. She rubbed her arms to get the blood circulating and righted her hat, expecting to see a gardener whose complicity would be assured by the need for a job. Instead, the earl jumped to face the man, dressed in a merchant seaman’s tunic and trousers, holding a package in one hand and the reins of his horse in the other. No matter who it was, at least she’d been spared a second assault in less than an hour.

  “Who are you? How did you get onto the grounds?” Thornlea stared down his nose at the man who stood with a simpleton’s grin on his face.

  “Edward Barrett, my lord.” He tipped his hand to the brim of his cap. “I’ve instructions to personally deliver an important package to Lord Baxter of Apthorp, Earl of Camberley. I heard talking and assumed that would be you.”

  “You need to learn your place. Deliveries go to the side door. How dare you ride your horse right up to the house?” Thornlea snarled and lunged at him like an angry dog.

  Barrett didn’t move an inch. “My captain directed this be given to His Lordship. A gift from the Lord Timmons, Earl of Reigate, direct from the Orient.” Instead of the look of an idiot, or one ignorant of protocol, the mariner’s countenance now reflected quiet determination.

  By feigning idiocy, he seemed to have directed most of Thornlea’s anger toward a protocol violation rather than an impropriety. Elisabeth was almost certain he’d deliberately intervened.

  “Get that horse out of the garden and bring your parcel to the back entrance.” The veins in Thornlea’s neck bulge and his fists clenched.

  Lightheaded, her heart fluttering from shock and relief, Elisabeth seized the moment to slink away from the wall. “I’m Lady Elisabeth Baxter. I’ll take you to His Lordship.” She almost ran toward the front door.

  Thornlea hurried to catch up to her and offered his arm.

  “Get away from me,” Elisabeth whispered, emboldened enough to want to kick him. She turned and spoke to Barrett, who followed a few paces behind. “Follow me.” A smile was the only way she could think to show her appreciation.

  Barrett had a glint in his dark eyes and moved with ease, like he enjoyed having spoiled Thornlea’s fun. His tunic, tucked neatly into the trousers, was open at the neck showing off a broad chest. The novel, and yet not unwelcome sight of his bare skin, despite the absolute impropriety, offered a glimpse of daring, of freedom, of adventure, of escape.

  All the men paraded in front of her wore tailored, elegant clothing that accentuated their paunch, a result of too little work and too much leisure. She watched as Barrett handed the horse off to the groom, then came back. His clothes hung loose, yet underneath she imagined a trim waist and the ripple of sculpted muscles. Handsome, gallant—this was a man whose arm she’d gladly take and walk proudly beside .

  When the footman opened the double doors, Thornlea bounded up the stone steps past him and disappeared inside. Barrett removed his cap. Dark curls fell about his face, tanned by wind and weather, sporting a neatly trimmed black beard.

  “My captain insisted I give this to Lord Baxter of Apthorp, Earl of Camberley, personally.” He handed Elisabeth the package. Calloused hands brushed hers.

  “I’ll see that he gets it, Mr. Barrett.” His touch, despite the work-roughened skin was gentle, almost tender.

  “Are you hurt, my lady?” He handed back the bloodstained handkerchief she must have dropped when she and Thornlea left the house. Her heart, hardened against the idea of ever giving herself willingly to a man, softened.

  “No, thanks to you.” Elisabeth took the scrap of soiled linen from him. Barrett was the first man she’d ever met who had ever shown genuine concern for her well-being. So, hard work and adversity shaped a better character as well as a better body.

  The momentary romantic fantasy faded. Now she faced another confrontation with dear Papa. Edward Barrett wouldn’t be there the next time.

  Chapter 3

  Edward Barrett had learned long ago that coming between a man and a woman only earned him a punch in the mouth. And standing up to a nobleman, no matter what he was doing wrong, wasn’t likely to be taken well. But that bloodied handkerchief lying on the ground, and watching her struggle, had been impossible to ignore.

  This was no washerwoman grabbed off the street by a miscreant. Linen and lace like that only came from the best clothiers. Her skin was untouched by sunlight, her hands too delicate and m
anicured to have done any hard work. Even after the encounter, Lady Elisabeth’s first reflex was to adjust her hat and reposition hairpins.

  When Edward saw the mark on her face where she’d been struck, only clenching his fists kept him from grabbing the bloke by the collar and throttling him.

  This was a different world than the one Edward was accustomed to. But the captain had taken Edward under his tutelage, schooling him in the dual arts of social graces and piracy. Discretion and restraint had earned him the privilege of making important deliveries, and gratuities compensated for the travel and inconvenience. But this time he was stuck in mud up to the ankles and might never get it off his boots. Getting embroiled in an altercation would call unwanted attention not only to him, but also to the captain, and possibly betray below deck goings on upon the seas. There was a lot to lose here—and no reason to risk it for a silly flirtation.

  He returned the handkerchief and handed her the package. He had no idea what it was, supposedly a gift for the earl from a business associate, likely opium or some other contraband given the level of attention Captain Percy had lavished upon it. All he had to do was collect his money and flee. So why then were his feet rooted to the ground?

  Edward noted the momentary bow of her head. Embarrassment? Perhaps, but Elisabeth didn’t avert her gaze from his as she pushed the soiled linen into her reticule. She clutched the parcel against her chest and turned up her chin. Her eyes blazed with anger.

  “Mr. Barrett, I’ve a need to deal with some rather unpleasant matters and would sincerely like to avoid having you involved. I do appreciate your coming to my assistance, and your gallantry. I will deliver this to His Lordship.” White linen skirts swept the stone as she glided into the entryway like an angel—a considerate one, with a bruised cheek.

  The footman seemed unsure of what to do and held the door as she passed. The big tip he’d expected didn’t seem likely. But that wasn’t why he lingered.

  A booming voice projected from inside. “How many more eligible men are you going to insult?”

  “I suppose it is all right with you that Lord Thornlea assaulted me.”

  “He wouldn’t have approached without some signal you wanted his attention.”

  “If he speaks of this to anyone, consider your reputation.” A shrill, female voice rose above the others.

  “Of course he’ll blame the whole thing on me. If it wasn’t for that man who happened by—”

  “What man?” The female voice rose to a glass-shattering soprano. “Someone else saw this? My lord . . .”

  “A courier delivering this parcel. And a perfect gentleman.” Elisabeth’s voice modulated somewhat.

  Edward struggled to keep from smiling. The country boy from Berkshire had convinced her he was a gentleman? The captain would be proud.

  Lord Baxter glanced out the door at Edward and handed some notes to the footman. “Davis, compensate the chap for his . . . trouble.”

  The footman stepped out, cleared his throat, and handed Edward the money. “An expression of His Lordship’s appreciation for safe delivery of the parcel.”

  Edward counted quickly and hesitated. There was far too much here, and no one but he seemed to care about the poor lady who’d been manhandled. He normally stole whatever he could without a second thought. Surely, this incident wasn’t the worst thing he’d been party to. Strange, the grateful expression on Lady Elisabeth’s face seemed enough of a reward.

  “The customary gratuity. Please accept the earl’s generousity.” Davis retreated inside, and the door slammed shut.

  Edward wandered toward the stable where the groom had tethered the horse, mounted and glanced over his shoulder, intrigued by the pretty lady in white linen and lace with a bruise on her cheek. Her grace, spirit, and defiance interested him even more than her fortune.

  Edward had made the one-hour trip each day for seven. Today, the persistence paid off. He waited on his horse behind a hedge of thorn bushes. The tree-lined path to his left wound between two pillars with ‘Apthorp’ chiseled into the stone. An open black iron gate hung ready to receive the returning hunters.

  A pack of foxhounds, tongues dangling from the sides of their mouths, panted, drooled, and ambled in front. Horses’ hooves pounded the earth. The big black Edward had hired in order to appear more impressive tossed his head and danced side-to-side, wanting to join them.

  “Easy, old boy.” Edward reined in and patted the animal’s neck. “We’re both well out of our element.” Not even the new gentleman’s suit, which the gratuity had paid for, and his best behaviour could disguise his origins. If the earl caught sight of him hiding like a thief there would be no chance to see or speak to Elisabeth again.

  Edward watched the group go by, searching for her pretty auburn hair. His legs twitched with impatience. What if she wasn’t riding with them?

  A corpulent, red-faced man, a Pink barely buttoned over his middle, led the entourage. His legs were so long they seemed to almost wrap around the dappled grey. Lord Baxter bantered with the ladies and gentlemen around him.

  Elisabeth trailed behind on a red chestnut mare. Seated sidesaddle, her black jacket with a red collar was buttoned tight over a frilly blouse, and the red skirt billowed over the animal’s sides.

  Edward sighed with relief and nudged his horse out of the brush. Elisabeth’s gaze fell on him, and her startled expression bloomed into a delicious purse-lipped smile. She reined in the horse. Splotches of mud dotted her boots. Perspiration dampened the curls around her face. A red-feathered cap perched fashionably askew atop her upswept burnt cinnamon tresses.

  Merely looking at her sent a surge of desire through him, further dampening any mercenary aspirations. “How is the fox?”

  “The poor thing,” Elisabeth said. “I just go for an opportunity to ride freely.” Her horse snorted, pranced to one side, and reared before settling. Practised hands, clad in black leather riding gloves, showed the animal who was in charge. This woman appeared delicate, but she was strong-willed and competent.

  “There now, Copper. Trying to impress the gentlemen, are you?” Elisabeth rubbed the horse between the ears. The mare appeared to nod.

  They both laughed.

  “How do you stay in that saddle?”

  “Balance and practice, Mr. Barrett.”

  “Bravery and determination, Lady Baxter.”

  Edward drew near enough that her boot brushed his. A faint aroma of lavender rose above the odour of sweat and leather.

  “Are you from London, Mr. Barrett?”

  “Berkshire, originally. Now I live wherever my ship is. We’re just back from the Orient and in port for about a month before I sail again.”

  A smile spread over her face, and sparks of interest glinted in her eyes. “I’ve traveled on the Continent, but would love to see such exotic places.”

  “A sailing vessel is far from comfortable.” He left off the part about smuggling and the coercion of unwitting natives into the cargo hold. There were two ways of looking at everything. Indentured servitude was just another name for slavery.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Why do you persist then?”

  “I hope to command a ship of my own someday.” Never mind that piracy boosted his take. He’d never shared his aspirations to rise above his farm boy heritage with anyone. Why her?

  “No family?” She cocked her head to the side.

  “My parents are dead. I’ve one brother, whom I rarely see. Sailors don’t have many ties.” Precisely why he’d been so successful as a mercenary, but talking about it brought a sense of melancholy for what he’d given up. His parents would not have approved, and his brother wanted nothing to do with him because of it.

  “Where do you sail to next, Mr. Barrett?”

  “In a fortnight we’ll be bound for America, to the city of Boston.�
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  “I wish I could sail to America.” The longing in her voice sounded like a plea.

  “Being on a ship like mine is no life for a woman.” Every pleasure, even one as fleeting as this, was a reminder of the moral compromises he was making.

  The unfortunate females who trusted they were escaping to a better life found themselves subject to the whims of drunken seamen and ruthless captains. She had no conception of the struggles of commoners, let alone the realities of life at sea.

  “Perhaps, but this isn’t the kind of life I was born to have. I so enjoy being out among people, teaching the children. I want to see new things and have adventures. ‘Tis a pity I’m not a man.”

  “A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t deny a poor bloke the pleasure of your company, my lady.”

  “How kind of you, Mr. Barrett. I’ve seen you riding past this way much of this week. On business I assume.”

  The words tangled his tongue. “Ah, well, I was concerned and wanted to see if you were all right.”

  “I’ll be at a gathering in London at Hotel Kensington, Wednesday next.” Elisabeth swallowed hard. Her smile melted into a grimace and her eyes looked toward Apthorp, and the earl galloping toward them. When she looked back at Edward her expression softened, her eyes blinked. Her hands tightened on the reins.

  He’d expected a punch in the mouth for interfering, but instead won the favour of a woman the likes of whom he’d never imagined would give him more than a passing glance. Perhaps she just felt sorry for him, or was bored and seeking a way to rebel against her father.

  “I’ll pass by.” Edward couldn’t hold back a grin. His heart hammered in his chest. Nothing good could come of this, but yet this is just what he’d wished to happen. She flashed that demure, come-hither smile again and tossed her head back, obviously pleased.