Knowing the centre of the road was muddy and slippery, she tried to keep to the sides, ignoring the twigs and brambles that slashed at her and snagged on her clothes. Several times she stumbled and nearly went down, but fear kept her going. She could no longer hear the sounds of pursuit, but knew better than to stop, for any minute now the coach would be following in her wake and much more quickly, too.
She was perhaps half a mile up the road when her parched lungs and pounding heart forced her to pause. The night was very still, the cold, damp air carrying every sound. For a second or two she could hear nothing. Then her ears caught the muffled thud of hoofbeats that could only be a carriage driven at speed. It was coming her way. In desperation she looked wildly around and then plunged off the road into the bushes at the side. Half a dozen paces later she hit a stone wall. Stifling a cry, she stumbled along it, turning her ankles on the uneven ground. Then her foot met something big and solid, and she half fell across the fallen tree. Behind her the sound of hoofbeats grew louder. A few more seconds and the carriage would be on her. Claire threw herself flat along the length of the tree trunk so that she was between it and the wall.
The carriage thundered past. Claire remained quite still, listening to the sound diminishing in the distance. Then, cautiously she raised herself on one elbow and peered over the top of the tree trunk. The night was still again, but she knew she couldn’t leave her hiding place yet. When her uncle found no trace of her in the next mile or so he would return and cover the ground again, more slowly this time. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to think. Her uncle couldn’t search properly in the darkness and this stretch of road was lined with trees and undergrowth. If she held her nerve, she might evade him yet. And so she waited. For the first time she began to feel cold, for the damp had soaked through her clothes and shoes and the chill was biting. She had never felt so alone in her life.
For the first time since her escape she had time to think about Marcus and her throat tightened. She knew now that he was the reason she could never submit to an arranged marriage with another man. There could never be another man. The thought of their last meeting weighed doubly heavy on her heart. How much she regretted the angry words she had flung at him and how much she would have given to have felt his arms around her again.
The sound of hooves and wheels invaded her consciousness and she stiffened, listening. There could be no mistake; the carriage was returning as she had guessed it would. Her uncle knew full well the sort of distance she would be able to cover on foot in the time available and, having found no trace of her further along the road, was now going over the ground again. For one brief moment she felt a surge of pleasure at the thought of having foiled his plans yet again. His rage and frustration must be at boiling point and she was glad of it. What she felt for him now was hatred and that was stronger than fear.
The vehicle drew nearer, but now it was moving at a walking pace. Peering over the fallen tree, she glimpsed the light of the carriage lamps through the trees. The window was down and her uncle was leaning out, his gaze scanning the darkness, his face a mask of cold fury. Claire dropped low again, listening intently. The carriage drew level with her position and stopped. She held her breath. Her heart beat so loudly she was certain her uncle must hear it. For fully half a minute nothing moved and the night was silent. Then the vehicle began to move forwards again at the same pace. Claire remained still. Fifty yards further on, the carriage stopped again. She could visualise her uncle’s angry gaze peering into the undergrowth, looking for any trace of movement, listening for any sound that might reveal the presence of his quarry. How long before he realised there was little chance of finding her in the darkness? Trying to anticipate his next move, she suspected it would be to wait until first light. How far would she be able to get? She was alone, penniless and on foot. He must rate his chances of recapturing her very highly.
At last the carriage moved on and was lost to view. When she was sure it was out of earshot she stood up and with infinite care made her way through the bushes to the road. Then she was off and running again, determined to put as much distance as possible between herself and that awful house.
*
After two more miles the trees and bushes died away and only stone walls bounded the highway. No wonder her uncle had turned back so quickly. There was no place to hide here and the walls were too high to be climbed easily. On either side was only yawning darkness. There was a pain in her side now and her wet dress clung round her legs, impeding her progress. Yet she couldn’t stay here. She had to find somewhere to take shelter if need be.
The stitch got worse and forced her to a walk, but she kept moving nevertheless. However, the road was climbing and beyond isolated trees there was still no sign of any kind of cover. Then her ears caught a sound. She paused, listening intently, and her heart missed a beat. There could be no mistaking the sound of hoof falls. In a moment of terror she froze, unable to go forwards or back. Her uncle had not given up after all!
It was several seconds before she realised that the vehicle was coming towards her, not from behind. The relief was almost overwhelming, so much so that she remained where she was in the middle of the road. The driver was almost on her before he saw the pale figure looming out of the darkness. He reined in hard. She heard a muffled expletive and then there was a confusion of flying hooves as he brought the startled and plunging horses under control.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, walking in the middle of the road like that?’ demanded a furious voice. ‘I might have killed you, you bloody idiot!’
Claire’s heart leapt for she recognised the voice instantly.
‘Marcus!’
The driver of the vehicle stared at the filthy and dishevelled figure now pooled in the lamplight at the side of the vehicle.
‘Christ! Claire?’
The relief of hearing his voice was so great that she began to shake. Then he was beside her and she was being swathed in the warm folds of a huge cloak and held very close to a broad chest.
‘Oh, my love, my sweet Claire, I thought I’d lost you.’
‘He came for me, Marcus. He made me go with him.’
‘My poor darling. My dearest love.’
At the sound of those endearments her throat tightened, making speech impossible, and she began to shiver violently with cold and reaction. Wasting no time on further speech, he swept her into his arms and lifted her onto the seat of the curricle before climbing up himself. Then, with the practised ease of a skilled whip, he turned the vehicle round and began to retrace his route.
*
Afterwards Claire had only a hazy memory of that part of the affair. Some time later she was carried into what appeared to be an inn, and there followed a confused impression of voices and hurrying footsteps. Then she was put down gently in a chair by a cheerful fire and two large warm hands were chafing her cold ones.
‘Drink this.’
A mug of hot and fragrant liquid was held to her lips. She took a sip and felt it carve a path to her stomach. As the spiced wine warmed her she became aware of a familiar figure seated on the stool at her side.
‘I was afraid you’d been killed,’ she said. ‘But you’re all right. You’re all right.’
His jaw tightened. ‘Never mind me. It’s you I’m concerned about just now.’
In truth he was appalled by the sight of her physical condition, revealed in ghastly detail by the lit room. Appalled and deeply angered. To judge by appearances she had been confined in a coal cellar. What the hell had happened in the time before he found her? What kind of a brute was that uncle of hers? He fought down the vengeful feelings rising in his breast, knowing he’d have to wait to learn the truth. What mattered now was to get her warm and clean again and safely tucked up in bed.
A few minutes later the landlord appeared to say that the room was ready. Hearing that, Claire got shakily to her feet, feeling both the effects of fatigue and spiced wine and wondering if there was suffic
ient strength in her legs to get her up the stairs. The answer was never known because Marcus had no intention of putting the matter to the test. Lifting her with casual ease, he carried her to an upper room and set her down before a cheerful fire. Glancing round, she was aware of a large bed and, blessedly, a tub of hot water.
She was vaguely aware of the door closing, but when she looked over her shoulder it was to see that Marcus was still this side of it. Surely that couldn’t be? Before she could say a word he moved closer.
‘Come here. We need to get you out of those wet things.’
Her eyes widened a little. ‘We?’
‘That’s right.’
Under her astonished gaze he shrugged off his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. The implications sent a rush of warmth from her neck to the roots of her hair.
‘But, Marcus, you can’t…’
It seemed however that he could, for a moment later the cloak was plucked from her shoulders and tossed aside. Then his hands were on her shoulders again, this time turning her gently round. Their warmth through the damp fabric sent a shiver along her skin. The voice of her conscience said this was wrong. That he should not be here doing this. And yet perversely it felt right. His touch should have frightened or disgusted her, but it did not. The feeling it aroused was quite different. He drew the torn and filthy gown off her shoulders and down over her breasts, freeing her arms from the sleeves, and let it fall. Then he undid her petticoat and stays with the practised ease of a man completely at home with female clothing. Moments later she was standing in her shift. The grey gaze warmed. Following its downward glance she was suddenly aware that the sodden fabric was clinging to her flesh and revealing a great deal more than it concealed. She saw him smile and then reach for a chair, pushing her gently down into it. Then he knelt and lifting her feet in turn, removed her shoes. She felt his hand brush her leg as he unfastened the garters that held her stockings and rolled them down, drawing them off her feet.
‘Come,’ he said.
He led her to the tub, and paused a moment to remove the pins from her hair. It tumbled in disordered curls about her shoulders. Finally he reached for the fastening of her chemise. When she was completely naked he lifted her into the tub. In an instant she was enveloped in delicious warmth.
Kneeling beside her, he took a cloth and soaped it thoroughly. Then he wiped her face, cleansing away the dirt. Claire winced. For the first time he noticed the dark bruise along her cheekbone. His brows drew together. Immediately his gaze looked for further evidence of abuse, but mercifully found none. He rinsed the skin clean and then washed her hair, vigorously at first to remove the dirt, then gently the second time, massaging her scalp with his fingers, loosening the tension in her neck. Then he rinsed her hair with clean water from the jug. Soaping the cloth again, he moved on to her arms and hands, cleansing away the mud and grime, and thence to the smooth, soft skin of her neck and shoulders and back. Her body was beautiful, he thought, more so than he had envisaged, and he had thought about it often.
Under the soothing strokes of the cloth and the pervading warmth of the water Claire, at first as tense as a bow, began insensibly to relax. The spiced wine, taken on an empty stomach, made her feel pleasantly light-headed. In one part of her mind the voice told her this was shocking and deeply immoral, but another, stronger voice, replied that she didn’t care. All that mattered now was to be here with him, to feel his hands on her skin and to revel in the new and wonderful sensations they aroused. Every particle of her body felt deliciously alive, as though she had been asleep before and was only now awakening to a dimension hitherto un-guessed at.
A firm hand closed round her ankle and, lifting her leg, drew it straight. The cloth soaped its length, beginning at her foot and moving slowly along her calf to her knee and thence to her thigh, repeating the exercise with the other leg. Laying the cloth aside, he soaped his hands and began to massage the skin of her neck and shoulders. Gradually, as the skilful fingers continued their work, the knotted muscle relaxed and became pliant. Claire sighed in contentment. It felt blissfully good.
His hands moved down, gently stroking her breasts, brushing the nipples to tautness. Claire drew in a sharp breath for the touch sent a shiver of pleasure rippling through her entire being. Deep within, a familiar spark rekindled and glowed into life and became flame. The shiver along her flesh intensified. And then his mouth was on hers in a soft kiss, gentle and tender, offering only itself, demanding nothing. Her lips parted beneath that soft pressure, her mouth yielding itself to his.
Then he drew away and took the cloth again and rinsed the soap off her. When it was done he drew her to her feet and lifted her from the tub, wrapping her in a warm towel. Without any evidence of haste he dried her hair and then moved on to the rest, moving his hands over her body with slow and deliberate thoroughness. Her flesh, warm from the bath, burned beneath his touch. He turned her to face him, drawing her against him in a warm and gentle embrace, and kissed her again. Her arms stole around his neck and then she was kissing him back, pressing closer, drawing his face down to hers.
Marcus felt the flaring warmth in his groin, instantly aroused, wanting her. A week ago, a day even, and he would have lain her down on the rug by the fire and followed his desire to its conclusion. It was still very tempting, but he knew now it wasn’t enough. With a supreme effort of will he drew back a little and looked into her face.
‘Are you sure, Claire? I cannot pretend I don’t want you, but nothing is going to happen without your consent.’
‘I love you, Marcus.’
His heart leapt, for he had never thought to hear those words from her.
‘And I you,’ he replied. ‘I think I did not know how much until I had almost lost you. Yet when I remember some of the things I said before, I feel only shame.’ He paused, looking into her eyes. ‘Can you ever forgive me for doubting you?’
She put a finger to his lips to silence him. ‘I told you, there is nothing to forgive. Besides, my own angry pride was much at fault.’
‘You had every right to be angry after the way I have behaved. I cannot think of it now without abhorrence.’
‘We both said things in haste that we did not mean.’
‘Do you really want to leave Netherclough, Claire? If you do, I’ll not prevent you or blame you, even though losing you would be like losing a part of myself.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to leave. I never did.’
‘Then stay, I beg you, and for good this time.’ He looked down into her face. ‘Marry me, Claire.’
Her heart performed an erratic manoeuvre in her breast that was followed a moment later by flooding happiness.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Oh, yes.’
For a while after that no speech was possible. Afterwards it was unnecessary. He carried her to the bed and, stripping off the remainder of his clothing, joined her there. Then he made love to her, continuing what he had begun before, fanning the embers of the banked fire, restraining his own desire to increase hers, wanting it to be perfect for both of them. He wanted her, but he wanted all of her, not out of fear or compulsion but of her own free will, and so he was gentle and infinitely patient, exploring her anew, making his ultimate possession an act of homage.
No longer afraid of the feelings she had hidden for so long, Claire returned his passion, knowing that this was what she had both desired and refused to acknowledge. Now she yielded herself up to his lovemaking with every part of herself, holding nothing back, wanting to be part of him. Her lips sought his now, teasing, provocative, and passionate by turns, her arms twined about him, her entire being revelling in the nearness of the body pressed against hers. She quivered, feeling his lips travel from her mouth to cheek and temple, ear and throat and breast, kindling her flesh until it seemed that every part of her glowed like a brand. Awareness became a fusion of different sensations: the coarse linen sheet beneath her back, the smell of woollen blankets and tallow candles mingled with wood smoke an
d the warmth of flesh on flesh, the hardness of the muscles in his arms and shoulders, the erotic, musky scent of sweat on his skin.
She felt his hand slide from her waist along her hip to her thigh and thence to the hidden cleft between, gently stroking. The movement sent a delicious shudder through her body. As he continued stroking, sensation intensified and she gasped, feeling a sudden shockwave of pleasure. Then his weight was pressing her down into the bed, his knee parting her thighs and he entered her, gently at first until the initial resistance was past and then more strongly, the rhythmic strokes thrusting deeper, sending pleasure coursing through every fibre of her being, her body arching against him in ecstasy. She felt him shudder and heard him cry out and then the sudden exhalation of breath as the tension left him afterwards.
And then she lay in his arms, feeling his body curled around hers, both of them drowsing and deliciously sated, protected by a cocoon of warmth. Here with him there was no fear or disgust, only delight, for this was where she belonged. With him she had found the love she had dreamed of for so long.
*
Claire woke the following morning with a delicious sense of well being. She yawned and stretched lazily, opening her eyes to the new day. As memory returned her heart leapt. He had come for her. Against all the odds he had found her. Just knowing he was near made her feel absurdly happy and all the adventures of the previous evening seemed like an evil dream now from which she had awoken. Recalling too the wonderful sensations of his lovemaking, she reached out for him.
Her hand found only empty space. Coming to full wakefulness, she sat up and looked around. He had gone. Her heart began to beat a little more quickly. Climbing out of bed, she realised suddenly that she had no clothes. The ones she had been wearing yesterday were good for nothing but rags now and the rest of her things were at Netherclough. She reached for a blanket and wrapped it around herself.
The Wayward Governess Page 23