She stared through the doorway of the barn, eager for distraction. It was dark inside, even though the sun cast occasional speckles of light on the floor through holes in the roof. A stale smell assaulted her nose—rotting straw, ancient chaff, and accumulated dust. A rustle from above revealed a little owl perched on a beam, and she tilted her head back to get a better view of it.
A large hand clapped over her mouth, and she was pulled back against a sturdy male body.
No, not again!
She hoped against hope she’d not accidentally stumbled into the clutches of one of Culverdale’s men.
A familiar voice against her ear exclaimed, “Charlotte!”
She shook the hand away from her mouth and spun round, staring up in astonishment. Eventually she found her voice.
“My God. Justin?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Justin lifted Charlotte off her feet and swung her round. “Yes, it’s me. How fortunate you should come here!” he exclaimed delightedly.
She couldn’t believe her eyes. “But— How did—?”
He laughed and swung her around again. “I’d been cudgeling my brain to work out how to let you know I was here. I’ve been lurking, hoping some small child might saunter past whom I could bribe to deliver a note.”
She pushed herself out of his arms and waited until the world stopped spinning. “Oh Justin, you’re safe!” For now at least. Oh, this was a disaster of the first order! “Have you lost your mind? Whatever possessed you to desert?”
His grin didn’t waver. “Did you not get my last letter? It explained everything.”
“Good heavens, I never thought you’d actually do it.”
“I’d risk anything for you, you know that. And God, I hate the army.”
He’d come for her? That was the last thing she wanted to happen, and also the last thing she felt able to talk about. “How did you manage to get here in once piece, all the way from Scotland?”
“It’s a long story, my angel, but you shall hear it in time. I confess I’m hungry and weary from the journey, but I daresay, seeing you is all the food I need. It’s like manna from heaven!”
This was not good. She didn’t want him to think of her in that way. “We’ve plenty of food at home,” she said.
“No, I daren’t come with you. Not yet, anyway. They may be looking for me.”
“Could you have been followed all the way from Scotland?”
“I doubt it—there aren’t the resources. But a letter or dispatch can be sent easily enough to the local militia with my description. I just hope there’s no bounty on my head. Or if there is, it’s not generous enough to tempt anyone.”
“Perhaps you should go to Dorchester. It’s a big place, and you can lose yourself in a crowd, whereas you’d soon be spotted in a small village like Fortuneswell.”
And Rafe would find out about Justin, which could cause any number of complications.
Justin seized her hand. “But I had to see you, my love. I couldn’t bear to wait. Don’t send me away when I’ve only just arrived.”
My love. The words clattered discordantly through her mind, and she pulled away. “Please don’t call me that, Justin. It’s been a long time.”
His smile wavered. He took her by the shoulders and turned her to look earnestly into her eyes. “It’s only been a few short months,” he said. “Though it felt like an eternity. Why can’t I call you my love?”
She looked away, dreading to see the pain in his eyes. “You know why,” she said. “All association between us is forbidden. I wasn’t allowed to leave the cottage for months after our plan to elope was discovered.”
“But we don’t care what our families say, do we? Nothing should be allowed to stand in the way of true love. I reach my majority next year—then no one can keep us apart.”
“Oh, Justin!” She buried her face in her hands. Had he really done this, deserted the army and put his very life at risk, just to be with her again? It was too much—she didn’t deserve it.
And she didn’t want it.
At what point her feelings had undergone such a sea change, she couldn’t be sure. But she didn’t love him now. She wasn’t certain she ever truly had.
How was she to break this news to him, when he’d come all this way, putting himself in mortal danger?
She looked up into the blue eyes she’d once likened to the sea on a cloudless summer’s day. Once, her heart would have sounded a loud tattoo in her chest when she saw those eyes.
It didn’t now.
Once, her lips would have ached for the touch of his.
They no longer did.
Once, her fingers would have yearned to be taken in his and clasped to his heart.
That time was past.
She had to face the fact her feelings had changed—and so had she. She was no longer a lovesick girl. She was now a woman who’d undergone hardships and overcome them, who’d experienced feelings she’d never before dreamed of, and known the intimate touch of a man who stirred her very soul.
Her one-time sweetheart stood before her, young, handsome, fresh-faced, and still with that poetic, romantic soul she’d once so admired. But now she felt no more for this youth than friendship, or the love a sister might have for a brother.
For, youth he still was, even though she could see that military life had hardened him, made him leaner, stronger, and more manly. The look in his eyes had changed—it was more penetrating, more determined than she remembered. But he still had the rounded, boyish cheeks she’d once pressed her lips against, the same full mouth that had uttered words so poetic they’d won her heart.
“What is it?” he demanded anxiously. “You’re so distant. What’s happened?”
God forbid he should find out! She said, “Nothing. I suppose I’ve grown up a little. There are some things I cannot countenance. Eloping is one thing, but deserting from the army is quite another.”
He gave her a gentle shake. “Don’t say you think me a coward!”
“No, of course not. No coward would have taken such a risk to return to their home and their former sweetheart.”
He frowned at the word “former,” then said, “You call me fool, then?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. It’s just…I’m desperately worried about the consequences of what you’ve done.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he replied. “I can change my appearance and my name, and go where no one knows me. I shall find myself a profession. I’ve learned some useful things in the army, like cooking, the use of powder, how to clean guns, make shot, draw and read maps, and care for horses. As soon as I’m well set up and safe, I’ll send for you, and we can be man and wife.”
No! This was getting worse and worse. She had to stop him, no matter what.
“But what if I don’t want to marry a criminal?” she said. “What if I don’t want to wed a man with a price on his head?”
He stiffened and released her, stepping away. It cut to the quick to know she was hurting him, but for weeks now she’d barely given him a thought. The fire of her love for him, which had once filled her world from horizon to horizon, had died.
No, another man’s attractions had eclipsed Justin’s. Rafe’s attentions, like a comet blazing a trail across the night sky, had dazzled her and filled her very being.
Clenching her fists, she strove to resurrect the feelings she’d once had. She knew Rafe could never be hers—she wasn’t sure she even wanted him after he’d used her as he had—so why couldn’t she accept what was being offered to her now? She’d once thought she loved Justin. It might take a little while, but surely she could rekindle that feeling?
Except…she feared that was impossible now. Having felt the touch of a real man, she would never again be satisfied with that of a boy.
“Forgive me,” Justin said. “My sudden appearance has quite overset you. I’m asking too much all at once. I must let you become used to me again. I know I’m no longer the same man that went away.
Please, just give me a little time, and I’m sure we shall deal as well as we did before.”
“But Justin, don’t you see? I can’t give you time! You must be gone from here at once. You’re in danger from the forces of both good and ill in this neighborhood.”
“What forces?” he asked with a frown.
“No, I cannot tell you, for another man’s life may depend upon it.”
“You don’t trust me?” His eyes shadowed with hurt.
“Of course I do. But the less you know, the less your peril will be. Besides, if the army’s looking for you, surely your sweetheart’s house will be one of the first places they look. You’d better stay here for now, and keep out of sight while I work out what to do.”
“I can look after myself,” he said staunchly. “I’ve been doing it long enough. Who’s this other man you mentioned?”
“Bear with me, for I think he might be able to help us. He’s very well connected, and he owes me a great favor. Please, just lie low, and as soon as I can, I’ll bring a basket of food for you.”
He made a move toward her, but she stepped briskly away and headed for the barn’s open doorway. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she called over her shoulder. “Speak to no one, not even the village children. Nobody can be trusted right now.”
As soon as she was out in the sunlight, she had to force herself not to race back to the path. When she reached it, she was shaking.
It had been an enormous shock to find Justin hiding out in the remote barn. It was an even greater shock to discover the drastic turn her feelings had taken.
After Rafe’s lack of trust in her, she was sure her opinion of him could sink no further. And yet, he still affected her more deeply than the man she’d once been head-over-heels in love with. If she could overlook Rafe’s faults to such a degree, there could surely be only one explanation.
She had fallen foolishly, hopelessly, utterly in love with Rafe Pomeroy, Earl of Beckport.
A man who didn’t trust her. And if he didn’t trust her, how could he ever love her back?
Not that it mattered. Even if he did care for her, they could never marry.
Because he was quite right not to put any faith in her. She was unworthy of his trust. She still hadn’t told him the ugly truth about herself.
Knowing Rafe, he was bound to find out, sooner or later.
Then he’d hate her.
And that would truly tear her apart.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rafe stared gloomily out of his study window at the bright October sunshine. The riot of overgrown greenery in the garden was starting to fade, dappled with yellowing leaves or the dark swell of berries. The days were getting shorter, the risk of a French invasion lessening—at least, he hoped it was. Though, he still hadn’t completed his task and caught the traitor in the act of treason.
However, the blackness of his mood had been lifted slightly by a small breakthrough in his assignment. A patrol on the heath had uncovered a large pile of kindling.
It might be nothing—or it might be the beginning of another of the beacons intended to signal Napoleon as to the best moment to attack the English coast. He’d already found one completed beacon a few weeks earlier. If this kindling was the beginnings of another, he was close to being able to extrapolate a pattern, which would help him find the rest. He just needed to watch carefully, to see if the beacon would be completed, and, if so, who was directing the work. Hopefully, it would be the traitor, Lord Culverdale.
They’d left the pile undisturbed, but he’d mapped it carefully and informed his superiors in London. The letter he’d received in response had granted him more time to uncover the rest of the beacons, thank Moses.
An additional letter had arrived in the same packet, written in response to his inquiry to the Customs and Excise Office. Unlike the first, this letter contained nothing that pleased him. In fact, it had devastated him.
Corporal Triggs’s assertions concerning Charlotte were true.
The letter gave him the whole story of Abraham Cutler’s life, his deeds, and his death. There was also mention of his family, which described Mrs. Allston and Charlotte so accurately, there could be no doubt in his mind.
Cutler was the youngest son of a noble family, was educated well, and trained to become a lawyer’s clerk. Having performed a special service for a wealthy client, he’d been rewarded with a legacy. The advent of so large a sum of money apparently turned his thoughts away from his respectable but low-paying profession in favor of purchasing a thriving tavern. He’d become an innkeeper.
So successful had Abraham Cutler been at this, he was soon able to employ others to run the inn, and rose to the status of a country gentleman. He was thus able to garner a wife from the lower echelons of the gentry. The only surviving child from this union was a daughter, sent away to be educated as a lady.
This fact, at least, eased Rafe’s mind. If Charlotte was away at school while Cutler was committing his crimes, she was only guilty by association, and not by actual involvement.
But she should still have told him.
As her father’s business prospered, he opened several taverns across Essex, along the route between London and the coast, as far as the Blackwater estuary. Suspicion increased over how he’d managed to make so much money so quickly in the brewing trade. Either he was a magician when it came to producing good quality liquor, or he had a superlative—and cheap—supplier.
Such as France.
Cutler’s inns were ideally placed to both store and disperse contraband cargoes that landed on the East Coast. The local revenue men had tried—and failed—to catch this mastermind red-handed. Rumors abounded about how he’d avoided capture, some of which even credited him with demonic powers of disguise and illusion.
On one occasion, he supposedly hid up a chimney during a raid, even though a fierce blaze burned in the hearth below. On another raid, the investigators arrived only to discover Cutler had died. They were shown his cold body, stiff and pale, in a coffin on the kitchen table of one of his inns. How he managed to fake his death convincingly enough to deter the king’s own customs men was a mystery that had followed him to his premature grave several years later.
Rafe’s correspondent confirmed that, after falling prey to a bout of lung fever, Cutler had sought out the king’s authorities and offered to give up the names of all his contacts in the world of smuggling, in exchange for a Royal Pardon.
It wasn’t known what had occasioned this change of heart. Perhaps he’d turned patriotic, in light of how seriously the situation was developing with France. Or the specter of imminent death whilst lying critically ill had made him reconsider his options with regard to the afterlife.
Cutler had divulged the names of some—but not all—of his contacts before his death but had not yet received the official pardon. They had hoped to get further information from his wife, but she and her daughter had literally vanished overnight.
With the blockade being put in place against France, no resources could be spared to track them down. It was no concern to the customs men that mother and daughter might be pursued by the betrayed smugglers with deadly intent, to ensure their silence.
Their continued survival was evidence they’d hidden their trail well.
Rafe watched a song thrush capture a snail and bang it gleefully on top of an old staddle stone to get at the tender flesh within. He felt as battered and bruised as the snail, as if his soul had been beaten between hammer and anvil.
So it was all true. The sister of Cutler’s wife must be Charlotte’s Aunt Flora. Her surname was Hartington, and the church register in Thaxted showed that Abe Cutler’s bride had also been born a Hartington.
Had Charlotte inherited her rebellious spirit from her papa? She certainly viewed free trading in an entirely different light from himself—as a way for poor folk to feed themselves and their families. He could see her point, but the law was the law, was it not? If he turned a blind eye to any crime, it was t
he thin end of the wedge.
If the authorities showed any weakness at all, in a heartbeat, both rural and urban poor could be rioting, bringing the threat of a revolution like that in France even closer.
Charlotte Allston stood for everything his own class detested. Except, of course, when they were being hypocritical and buying the cheap brandy, tobacco, and lace the free traders had to offer…
Rafe turned the letter over and over, then crumpled it up in his fist and threw it into the fireplace.
Damnation! He should have just left well alone and ignored his suspicions. But now that he had concrete proof of her smuggling connections, he felt duty bound to investigate her and her family further.
It was a cruel twist of Fate, considering how much they’d already done to help him.
As if to shame him, his thigh cramped painfully. He grasped the windowsill until his knuckles whitened, and the pain abated. Limping back to his desk, he shuffled his maps around pointlessly, then let out a string of curses.
If he were to investigate Charlotte, it would mean betraying her trust yet again. And if he found any direct evidence she was in league with the smugglers—such as that letter she’d been so keen to hide—he’d be forced to give her up to the authorities.
Which would break his heart in a million pieces.
Did he really have the stomach to betray the only woman he’d ever truly loved?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It hadn’t been as easy as Charlotte hoped to contrive a way to bring food to Justin. Flora, who’d been much distracted of late, let slip that she’d given Charlotte some time alone the previous day. Mama had accused her of failing in her duty as a chaperone. Now, every time Charlotte looked out the window, Flora would be there, too, anxious to see at what, or at whom, she was looking.
The only way Charlotte could think of to get provisions to Justin was to propose a picnic. After all, the weather was still passably warm, and it would be an excellent opportunity to see Hester and Thea.
A Perilous Passion Page 16