Damn the man! No, he wasn’t mysterious or interesting at all. He was utterly infuriating.
“I shall. As soon as you return my lace.”
His expression turned uneasy. “Not so loud. Come further up the beach where we can’t be overheard.”
Grudgingly, she fell in beside him and trotted along, trying to keep up with his long stride. What did he have to say that required such privacy, anyway?
He came to a halt not far from the first tumble of rocks that marked the end of the beach. “Tell me again how you came to find the lace,” he demanded.
She blinked at his tone. “It was just bobbing about—”
He raised a hand. “Wait. Are they following us?”
“Who?”
Charlotte peeked behind her. Two men were heading purposefully in their direction. Neither looked familiar, but with the arrival of the garrison, there’d been a significant influx of newcomers in the village to provide services to the soldiers, so that was nothing unusual.
Her companion watched the men from the corner of his eye. The intensity in his expression raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
“Why do you look so grim? You’re frightening me!”
“Come,” he growled at her. “Do exactly as I say, or your life could be in danger. Take off your shoes and stockings. Quickly! Don’t appear nervous—try to look like you’ve just decided to climb over the rocks with me.”
There was an authority in his tone she couldn’t ignore. Clearly, he was used to giving orders. She followed his instructions and let him hoist her up onto a shelf of limestone. His boots slipped beneath him as he scrambled up after her, so she offered him her hand.
“Good,” he said. “We must smile and laugh like we’re lovers.”
The two men were approaching rapidly, and even at this distance, she sensed their enmity. Why? Her pulse sped. Had her father’s killers found her and Mama? Or were the men in pursuit of the stranger, and she was merely tainted by association?
He was drawing her higher up into the craggy cliffs, and she could see the sea ebbing and thrashing in the deep crevices below their feet. Pausing for breath, she spotted that the two men had halted at the edge of the rocks.
“We must go on,” her companion urged her. “Do try to look as if you’re enjoying yourself.” He reached out to steady her elbow, then leaned in and placed a kiss to her cheek.
She opened her mouth to protest heartily.
“Don’t!” he warned. “Just play along. Imagine yourself the heroine of one of your Gothic novels, and pretend I’m your sweetheart come to rescue you.”
She frowned. “You expect me to trust you when I don’t even know your name?”
He looked irritated, but nevertheless said, “Rafe Seabourne, at your service.”
“Miss Charlotte Allston,” she responded as he took her hand and assisted her over a large boulder. Once behind it, they were out of sight of their pursuers, but Mr. Seabourne didn’t slacken his pace.
“I know who you are,” he said.
Before she could query what he meant by that, a deep fissure appeared in the cliff ahead of them, wide enough to admit four men abreast. He hurried her into its concealing darkness.
They stopped, and she struggled to catch her breath, her heart hammering in her ears. Then, beyond the booming of the sea, came another sound. A scrabbling, sliding noise, which gradually increased in volume.
“They’re still following us,” Seabourne hissed. “Get down!”
When he threw himself on top of her and dragged her skirts up over her hips, she knew she had been entirely wrong to trust him.
Chapter Four
There was nothing Charlotte could do. Mr. Seabourne’s thighs were between hers, pushing them apart as he rocked his hips above her. His mouth fastened on hers, stealing her speech. Stealing her very breath.
She tried to tip him off, but against his superior strength, her struggles were hopeless. She went limp, fearing she’d run out of air altogether. His movements changed then, becoming more rhythmical, accompanied by a series of exaggerated grunts, which sounded more animal than human.
Then he released her mouth and rested his forehead against hers. She took in a great gulp of air and realized nothing had actually happened. Despite the intimate position of his body, he was still fully clothed, as was she, and he hadn’t intruded on her. Well, other than her mouth.
As her fevered mind tried to make sense of his shocking but essentially harmless behavior, he raised his head. And in the faint light from the cave’s mouth, she saw him wink.
That’s when it dawned on her. This wasn’t an assault. It was a ploy!
A shadow eclipsed the light, and she knew they were no longer alone in the cave. Their pursuers were watching them—she must help him make their charade look like the real thing.
Which…wasn’t easy because she had no idea what the real thing entailed. Justin had never, ever taken such bold liberties with her person.
Forcing her hands to stop shaking, she eased them out of Seabourne’s grip and ran them over his broad shoulders, down his back, and back up to tangle in his abundant dark hair.
Unexpectedly, a flame of need sprang to life in her belly. She’d felt something akin to it before when Justin kissed her, but this was of a completely different intensity—sharper, deeper.
Hotter.
A sigh shuddered out of her, and she trembled beneath Seabourne’s body, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar feeling.
“Are they gone yet?” he whispered in her ear.
The amount of daylight had increased again, so she croaked, “I think so.”
Withdrawing from her, he gave a leisurely stretch and glanced behind him to the cave’s opening. “Thank Moses. I’m so sorry I had to resort to such a ruse, Miss Allston.”
What did one say in such circumstances? The etiquette books at finishing school had not prepared her for this eventuality. “Apology…accepted,” she somehow managed.
“Believe me,” he went on, “I’d never have subjected you to such humiliation had it not been a matter of the utmost importance.”
It was almost laughable to be so politely addressed after what had just happened. This man’s body had rested against hers in places Justin had never dared look at, let alone touch. Seabourne had seen her bare legs—a sight most stringently denied to Justin—and taken liberties way beyond proper.
He helped her up, but his eyes never left the cave mouth. Apparently, her own body didn’t merit his particular notice. Which was a good thing, she told herself when she was tempted to feel slightly insulted.
But the fact that the men were somehow known to Seabourne, and weren’t out to kill her, had the relief pushing through her pique.
“Who were they?” she asked, accepting his helping hand. “Why did they panic you so?”
“I did not panic. The men who followed us may well be blockade runners, and this cave makes an excellent hiding spot for contraband. Slipping away to make love would be the most plausible excuse for us to be here. I’d be obliged if you’d stand watch by the entrance while I scout around. Try not to look too obvious.”
He’d said “make love” as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He was clearly no gentleman. Mama would be shocked if she knew what Mr. Seabourne had said—and done—to her. Charlotte was shocked.
Shocked that she’d enjoyed it so much.
She swallowed. “If they are smugglers, we shouldn’t interfere. They won’t like it.”
“Felons cannot go unpunished,” was his terse reply as he headed deeper into the cave. “Go keep watch as I asked.”
Definitely not a gentleman. Quite rude, in fact. Was it any business of his what the free traders did?
Most folk just turned their backs or closed their shutters if they got word a run was in progress. Their temporary obliviousness was usually rewarded with whatever small luxury the smugglers could spare.
What was so bad with smuggling, anyway? Papa had always said the duties just wen
t into greedy officials’ pockets. What was right and just about that?
With a sigh, she left the cave, stepping out onto the jumble of broken limestone beyond. Curling her bare toes over a thick shelf of rock, she gazed lazily around her and raised a hand to smooth her hair into place, looking as nonchalant as she could. Good lord. How was a woman supposed to behave after a man had made love to her? It would have helped if Seabourne had given her some clues.
She scanned the area. No one appeared to be nearby. Far down the beach, the children were tiny dots dashing around the sand like ants from a disturbed nest. People waded in the shallows and the rock pools at the distant edge of the beach, collecting shellfish. Just in front of her, a gull balanced on the wind, keening.
When she ducked back inside to say the coast was clear, Seabourne was examining the walls where the cave narrowed at the back, a squat stump of lighted candle in his hand.
The candle jerked up as she made a slight noise, and she got the distinct feeling he would have wrestled her to the ground again, had she been one of the free traders. Did he carry a weapon? She hoped not.
“There’s a tunnel back here,” he told her. “There have been ponies in here, too.”
“How can you know that?”
“I’m…sensitive to the presence of horses.”
“So, this place is used by smugglers?” How exciting! Had she met any of them in the village without knowing?
In an instant he was before her, thrusting his candle in her face. “What do you know of such things?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” she said, taken aback. “Why?”
“For your own safety, you must say not a word of what’s happened today. Forget you ever saw this cave, forget seeing the smugglers. And most important, forget seeing me.”
What on earth was he on about? But he looked so intent, she felt compelled to nod her agreement instead of demanding an explanation.
“Come, I’ll escort you home.”
The man was relentless. About all the wrong things. “There’s no need,” she assured him.
“I’ll be the judge of that. We were seen to enter the cave as lovers, so it would be advisable to keep up the pretense.”
She shook her head. His peremptory attitude was gnawing at her patience. “If you have any care at all for a lady’s reputation, Mr. Seabourne, you’ll understand why I cannot let you take me home.”
This gave him pause. After a hesitation, he rammed his low-crowned hat on his head, blew out his candle, and said, “I can well appreciate that. But under the circumstances, your safety, not your name—good or otherwise—is my main concern. If you won’t walk with me, I’ll follow behind you like a pet spaniel. You shan’t shake me off.”
More like a rat-catcher’s terrier.
She rolled her eyes, but he remained implacable. Turning her back, she put on her shoes and stockings, heaved a heavy sigh to let him know she was displeased, and accepted his arm. He helped her over the angled and slippery rocks, and pressed her hand close against his body as they walked back down the beach toward the rill.
He said nothing as they crunched over the sand but smiled at her warmly, still playing the part of her besotted lover. Yet she sensed anger behind the smile. Though, she felt it wasn’t directed at her.
She made no attempt at conversation, either. How could they chat about the weather or comment on the children’s games after they’d just shared such primal intimacy?
An intimacy that made a nagging yearning persist deep within her, a stirring of feelings that had awakened a physical curiosity to find out more about the act of making love.
Had the mysterious Mr. Seabourne made love to other women? Had he a wife, or a mistress? Perhaps several mistresses…
A sideways look confirmed that his dashing dark looks, fierce brows, and sculpted mouth were enough to attract the attention of the fairer sex, and that his superior physique could hold that attention, once given. Had any of them ever given him her heart? Charlotte might not know much about the physical expression of love, but she knew a great deal about the emotion.
When she’d chosen Justin to be the recipient of her heart, she had chosen the only man she could ever truly love.
A sigh escaped her. Exhilarating and intriguing as this little escapade had been, it was too brief a distraction from the issue of her broken heart. A heart that would never be mended, because she’d been forbidden from seeing Justin ever again.
She was still in a somber mood when they reached the cottage. Slipping her hand from Seabourne’s elbow, she said, “You’d best be off before my mama sees you.”
“I have no fear of anyone’s mama,” he stated as he held the gate open for her. When she stepped through, he remained where he was, gazing around, taking in every detail of the house, the garden, and their surroundings. “I’ll see you safely to your door,” he said, and then asked, “Are there any men-folk in the house?”
She frowned at the question, but he appeared genuinely concerned rather than impertinent. “We have an elderly manservant, Adam, but he doesn’t live in. Otherwise, it’s just Mama, Aunt Flora, and our maid Jenny. Why?”
“Unsatisfactory. Women should not dwell unprotected.”
She resisted the urge to tell him that compared to the kind of company Papa had kept, no one in Fortuneswell made her feel the least bit threatened. Indeed, until her meeting with Seabourne, no one but Justin had made her feel much of anything, at all.
“I assure you, we’re in no danger,” she said.
“You’re too young to know much of the world beyond your portals. Trust me, there is considerable danger.”
They reached the front doorstep. She turned to face him and snapped, “I wish you’d stop calling me young, sir. I’m already in my nineteenth year. It’s most provoking, as is your reluctance to explain to me why you are so interested in smugglers.”
“I’m afraid I cannot tell you that.”
He’d just reached for her hand, presumably to give it a parting shake, when the door was flung open, and her mother’s astonished voice said, “Great heavens, girl, whatever are you doing with Lord Beckport?”
Chapter Five
The next fifteen minutes were conceivably the most embarrassing of Rafe Pomeroy’s life. Worse, even, than the notorious Sneezing Incident.
Initially, he tried to deny his identity. But Miss Allston’s terrier of a mother insisted she’d seen his likeness in an issue of The Gentleman’s Magazine.
Having finally confessed to being himself, he was promptly lectured for gallivanting about with her daughter. Mrs. Allston said she’d no idea what he’d been up to since his abrupt disappearance from Society, but it had doubtless been something shocking, involving impressionable young women and their unwary mothers.
Fortunately, Miss Allston didn’t witness the tongue lashing he received. A matronly-looking woman—who’d evidently just returned from an outing—exchanged gloves and bonnet for a bunch of keys and escorted Miss Allston upstairs. Once satisfied her prisoner was secure, the lady—who bore a close resemblance to Mrs. Allston—returned to enjoy his set-down.
He was a proud man and objected strongly to the accusations being made against him, but it was well-nigh impossible to deny them without revealing his real purpose in the village, so he said very little. He sincerely pitied Miss Allston for the misfortune of having such a mother and hoped the traces of acerbity she, herself, had exhibited did not hint at more awful tendencies to come. If a sweet, beautiful girl like Charlotte one day became a harridan like her parent, it would be a tragedy, indeed.
As he did his best to defend her by taking all the blame upon himself, he became aware of an undercurrent to Mrs. Allston’s lecturing. She kept making oblique mention of a Regrettable Event in Charlotte’s past, which she couldn’t possibly let happen again.
Interesting. Had there really been scandalous goings-on with Miss Allston? Or was her mother simply exaggerating? Nothing in the young woman’s demeanor had suggested she’d ever
been intimate with a man. His own behavior in the cave had come as a shock and a revelation to her, though she’d tried to hide it.
Like a mill without wind, Mrs. Allston eventually ground to a halt. Seizing the moment, he rose, tipped his hat, and said, “Once again, madam, you have my apologies. I meant well—I was unhappy to see your daughter had lost her companions and was wandering about alone. One can’t be too careful when we live in such dangerous times.”
He’d invented the companions. He was certain Miss Allston must have some friends in the village she could have been out with and subsequently become separated from. He thought it a stroke of genius on his part…until he realized she wouldn’t know the lie he’d used to protect her. If he were found out, he’d look even more of an ass than he did already.
Mrs. Allston asked brusquely, “Exactly what danger do you believe us to be in, my lord?”
“The French and the footpad on the heath, for a start. And in areas like this, there is always the risk of—” He broke off. It wouldn’t do to talk about the smuggling with the mother, too. He’d already revealed to her delectable daughter rather more than he’d intended.
Mrs. Allston seemed to make up her mind, and said graciously, “As you are a gentleman, I can only hope you speak the truth. Since you knew nothing of her recent scandal, you weren’t to know that being seen with Charlotte might give grist to the gossip mills.”
Gods, how he yearned to know what that scandal was! There had to be a way to find out.
He offered Mrs. Allston a low bow. “I appreciate your sufferance. If you would be so kind as not to mention my presence here, I’d be most grateful. For reasons I can’t divulge, I wish to remain incognito for the present. Farewell, Mrs. Allston, Miss—”
The younger lady leaped to her feet and gave him an encouraging smile, bobbed politely, and said, “Miss Hartington, your lordship.”
“Miss Hartington. Let me again offer my apologies for this misunderstanding.”
He felt a huge sense of relief as the cottage door closed behind him. But that feeling was short-lived. He needed to find a way to silence the three ladies concerning his true identity for certain. They’d given him assurances, but he knew how enticing a good bit of gossip could be to those with little else to occupy themselves.
A Perilous Passion Page 3