Capturing Sir Dunnicliffe (The Star Elite Series)

by Rebecca King

  He was shocked to realise just how much he knew about his daughter. It had taken only one look into her garden for him to realise that she was annoyed, angry and wary and that her meeting with her guest wasn’t an amiable one. The man wasn’t anyone Simon recognised either, and that disturbed him. Just what was going on? He sensed that Harriett wasn’t telling him everything, but hesitated to probe further.

  “Was he wanting medicines from you, or something?” He hated to ask if the man was pestering Harriett for anything untoward. It wouldn’t be unusual for a man to notice someone of Harriett’s beauty and try to take advantage of the fact that she was a single woman living alone.

  “No, he just wanted to find his friend, or so he claimed,” her voice dropped at the last, clearly dismissing the notion that the man had been looking for anyone for any good purpose.

  “You don’t believe him,” Simon replied, not really asking a question.

  Harriett shook her head and shot Simon a warning look. “Whatever he wants, it isn’t good.”

  “I’ll ask around about him, and warn the villagers that he is on the loose.”

  “Don’t annoy the man; he is dangerous I do know that much,” Harriett replied. “I don’t want you putting yourself in any danger.” The words were out before Harriett could analyse them, and she had turned away to gather her basket of herbs before she realised what she had revealed, but she couldn’t take the words back now even if she wanted to.

  Simon couldn’t speak. It was the first time Harriett had shown any affection, or concern, toward him, and he was deeply touched by it. He wondered what had happened during her time with Jemima and Eliza to have such a profound effect on her, and cause such a change in her attitude toward him. Whatever it was, he was grateful for it. He struggled to control his emotions as he followed her to the door of her cottage.

  “Are you making some more potions?” he asked, nodding toward the heavily laden basket.

  Harriett glanced down at the oregano and sage she would need for the poultice. “Yes, I ran out of a few things when I was treating Mrs Partridge and need to replenish my supplies.”

  “Mrs Partridge asked me to offer her thanks. She is feeling considerably better now and says when she is able to leave the house she will come to visit you.”

  Harriett’s brows rose and she looked askance at Simon, who shrugged. “That’s what she said,” he added, knowing it was highly unusual for any of the villagers to visit Harriett unless they needed her services.

  It irked him that they could continue to be so wary of her, especially when she had done nothing but good for all of them. If there was one thing he wanted to achieve before he left this mortal coil, it would be to ensure that Harriett was warmly accepted and welcomed by the villagers, who would actively seek her out for her companionship rather than just her medicinal skills. If his plans for her ran to course, then they would also respect her for her status in life. She was a de Mattingley after all, whether she liked it or not and would at some point inherit everything; the Manor, the tin mines, his vast fortune, and at some point would have to acknowledge the Lady Holcombe title.

  “Would you like some tea?” Harriett asked, reluctant to invite him in for no other reason than he might learn of Hugo’s presence in her house, but feeling obliged to do so anyway. Simon was the last person she wanted to know that she had spent a night alone in her cottage with a man, even if the man had been shot and was bleeding profusely, and she had slept in a separate bedroom on the opposite side of the house.

  “I won’t on this occasion if you don’t mind Harriett. I have to go and see Mr Copeland about some sheep.” He nodded to the farm buildings clearly visible further down the lane. “I’ll drop by later if that is convenient with you, but may I make a suggestion?” His eyes met and held hers meaningfully. “Don’t answer any knocks on the door. Just in case your guest comes back. I’ll make a few enquiries in the village and see what I can find out about him. Until then, stay safely inside and keep your door bolted.”

  He wanted to offer her a room at the Manor, but something held him back. Over the past two days he had gained more ground with her than he had ever dreamed possible. He daren’t do anything that would eradicate that in any way, and pushing her for more too soon could make her withdraw again. He walked toward her and stood in front of her, looking down into her wonderful green eyes, so like her mother’s that it made his heart ache.

  “Promise me you will take care, Harriett,” Simon whispered softly. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.” He was unable to keep the emotion from his voice as he looked down at her. Unable to deny himself, he ignored her startled gasp and swooped down to peck her cheek with a brief kiss before taking his leave of her.

  Harriett stared after him, stunned by his brief display of affection. It was the first time that any man had kissed her, even if it was only a peck on the cheek. She had never been in close enough contact in all of her life to any man to receive such affection. She was shocked, and didn’t know what to make of it.

  Gently touching her cheek, she turned dazedly back toward her cottage, completely forgetting her basket of herbs.

  Hugo was furious. Through a thin gap in the shutters, his view of Harriett carefully tending her garden had been interrupted by the new arrival; undoubtedly his assailant from the night before. He recognised the small, wiry man as one of the spies who had clambered off the boat, and realised that they must have followed him to Harriett’s house. Hugo had seen the smaller man’s interest in his horse standing in the field next door, and was glad he had taken a moment to find his gun that Harriett had hidden under the bed.

  Whether or not she realised the danger she had been in, he wasn’t sure, but he had watched the interplay with growing respect for Harriett, who had seemingly been unperturbed by the dangerous intruder and had stood her ground admirably.

  Clearly unable to disconcert her, Hugo had watched the French assassin’s anger grow in the rigidity of his shoulders, and the blatantly intimidating pressure he had tried to put on Harriett by invading her personal space. He had felt proud of her, only for that pride to turn to shock when the man grabbed her arm in a painful grip. Hugo had seen the wince she had been unable to hide, and had begun to turn toward the door when the arrival of a second, older man had stopped him.

  The surge of jealousy that swept through Hugo shocked him. He was disturbed by watching the seemingly reclusive Harriett stand beside the gentleman, who was protective of her, apparently willing to allow the almost proprietary way the man behaved. His hand tightened on his gun; his eyes locked on Harriett’s almost intimate conversation with the tall and distinguished man when they were alone. His stomach churned with anger. Manners dictated that he should turn away and give them some privacy, but he felt driven to keep watching. Was he Harriett’s lover?

  After all, he needed to know if she intended to bring her lover back to the cottage, he reasoned silently to himself, staring in disbelief at the couple now deep in conversation outside. He cursed softly when he heard Harriett ask the man in to tea, and wondered if she had forgotten him.

  Heaving a sigh of relief, Hugo watched as the man refused and then affectionately kissed Harriett before taking his leave.

  “At least he didn’t sweep her into his arms for a long kiss,” Hugo whispered, shaking his head at his own stupidity. She was a spinster, with no protector. What she did was nothing to do with him, he berated himself. He had no reason to feel jealous of any man touching her. After all, she was pretty – beautiful to some. It was inevitable that she would take a lover at some point in her life. He briefly wondered if Jemima and Eliza knew about this side of their not-so-innocent friend, and somehow doubted it.

  Still, it was none of his business what she did, he chided himself and abruptly turned away from the window just as Harriett pushed open the door to the cottage.

  “Looks like you forgot something,” he said conversationally as she entered the small cottage. His eyes were hard as he w
atched her gasp and swing around to shoot him a startled look.

  Harriett was shocked to find Hugo standing only a couple of feet away, glaring angrily at her. Her eyes swept up and down him, to land squarely on the wicked-looking pistol that hung loosely from his hand. She wanted to ask him to put it away, only for the memory of the stranger’s demeanour outside to surge forth, keeping her quiet. Instead she frowned down at the weapon for a moment before her eyes met and held his.

  “I didn’t know you were up already. Did you sleep well?” she asked, trying to ignore the dark scowl on his face.

  “Who were they?” Hugo nodded briskly toward the door, his voice harsh with raging emotion he dare not name.

  “How much did you see?” Harriett asked, ignoring his frown as she put a pot of water on the fire to boil.

  “All of it,” Hugo snapped, unwilling to relent just yet. He felt a fierce need to know all about the man – men – outside.

  She sighed and turned toward him, wondering why he was so angry. She had been the one who had been threatened in her own garden. She had been the one who had faced the man who had shot him, by herself. By rights, she should be angry at him for bringing such danger to her door.

  “The first arrival was, I think, the man who shot you the other night,” she said almost conversationally, in stark contrast the shiver of fear that swept through her.

  “The second?” Hugo knew he should ask her a few more questions; whether the man had any accent; what type of questions he asked, that sort of thing. At that moment though, nothing seemed more important than finding out who the second man was - the man who had kissed her with such familiarity and, more importantly, whether he was her lover or not.

  “Just someone I know,” Harriett replied evasively, glancing around the kitchen in search of her basket for a moment before Hugo’s first comment reminded her that she had left her herbs outside.

  With a sigh she made to walk toward the door only to find her arm captured in Hugo’s large hand. In contrast to the smaller man outside, Hugo’s hold was gentle but firm; gentle enough to give her no pain but firm enough to warn her that she was going nowhere until he had answers.

  “Does it matter? If it wasn’t for Simon, the stranger could have posed a problem, but he didn’t.”

  “Tell me who he is, Harriett,” Hugo demanded, unwilling to relent. He couldn’t say what was pushing him to get the answers he needed, but felt he had to get her to tell him.

  “He is a friend, that’s all,” Harriett snapped, trying to twist her arm out of his hold only to find that squirming brought her in closer contact with him.

  It was only when her shoulder brushed against the solid wall of his chest that she paused and finally stood still, staring openly up at him in defiance. Nobody had ever managed to get her to do anything she didn’t want her to do, and she didn’t see why Hugo should be the first. She had no intention of telling Hugo about Simon. It was none of his business.

  “What kind of a friend?” Hugo persisted, fighting the urge to shake her. He knew from the stubborn tilt of her chin that she was not going to tell him what he wanted to know without an argument, but he was a determined man and always managed to get what he wanted. He wasn’t above a little sensual persuasion to get the information he needed.

  “Let me go, Hugo,” Harriett gasped, suddenly uncomfortable with his nearness. It wasn’t that his hold on her hurt. If she was honest, exactly the opposite was true. But his hold was too distracting, and brought about feelings in her she had no business thinking about. It made her squirm just that little bit harder in an attempt to get him to let her go, but he would not.

  “Tell me who he is Harriett,” Hugo urged, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Tell me,” he persisted when she stubbornly remained silent.

  “It is nothing to do with you. He is my friend,” Harriett whispered, trying to draw away, but finding herself being drawn slowly closer instead.

  “Give me his name,” he whispered. His eyes caught and held hers, urging her to trust him, to tell him what he wanted to know. For the life of him he couldn’t explain what was pushing him to be so persistent with her, except that the jealousy he had felt when he had witnessed the man kiss her kept stabbing at him. He had to know the truth.

  “Hugo,” Harriett pleaded, not sure what she was asking for. She tried to pull away again, but was no match for his strength. Even weakened by his gunshot wound, he was considerably taller and stronger than her slighter, more feminine stature.

  Hugo could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek as she stared up at him, and tightened his hold on her, drawing her closer to him until she was standing flush against him.

  She gasped as her chest met the solid wall of his chest. Her head tipped back so she could stare up at him. For one heartbeat she wondered if he was going to kiss her, and watched with a mixture of frozen horror and wondrous delight when his head began to lower. His green eyes glinted with masculine intent as his gaze met and held hers meaningfully before dropping down to her parted lips and eyeing the moistened flesh hungrily.

  “Unhand my daughter!” The stern growl made Hugo’s head snap up, all traces of passion gone in an instant.

  Slowly relinquishing his hold on her, his gaze swept from Harriett’s beautiful face to the man beside the door. The family resemblance that he had missed before was there in the same hair colour, but the same moss-green eyes of the man beside the door confirmed it. His eyes, which were now shooting warning sparks across the room, were identical to Harriett’s and enough to confirm the man’s statement. He was indeed Harriett’s father.

  The man stood tense and watchful as Hugo carefully released Harriett and took several steps away from her. Simon studied the flushed, awkward look on his daughter’s face and knew that she wasn’t embarrassed as much as uncomfortable at being found in a compromising position, before turning his stare to Hugo’s arm. His gaze locked on the tight binding surrounding what appeared to be a wound.

  “I don’t believe we have met,” Simon declared, closing the door behind him with a firm click. The sound of the latch closing made the statement that he wasn’t going anywhere until he had the answers he wanted. The first and most important question was, who the hell was the man who had been about to kiss his daughter?

  “Sir Hugo Dunnicliffe,” Hugo replied, making no attempt to skirt around the table to offer the man his good hand. He would probably snap it off and club me with it, Hugo thought ruefully, understanding the man’s anger. After all, he himself felt quite protective of the woman now standing between them. “You are Harriett’s father?”

  Simon nodded, his eyes hard as they met Hugo’s in warning. “Yes. Simon de Mattingley, Lord Holcombe,” he added, announcing his title to show that his status was higher than Hugo’s, and Hugo needed to keep that in mind before he considered crossing him.

  Aghast, Hugo turned to stare at Harriett. She was a Lady? Keeping his face carefully blank, he turned back to de Mattingley and met the man’s gaze for several moments. He knew nothing about Harriett’s background, but the last thing he had expected was this.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Hugo murmured, mentally running through his encounters with Harriett in case he had missed something.

  “Are you all right, Harriett?” Simon asked, ignoring Hugo’s attempt at civility.

  Harriett jerked and snapped out of her daze. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” she replied softly, not sure whether Hugo had been about to kiss her, or if it had been her imagination. He certainly seemed unperturbed by what had just happened, leaving her doubtful about her own emotions. Was it down to her curiosity? Had she just imagined he was going to kiss her, because that was what she wanted?

  Shaken by how close she had come to humiliating herself, Harriett glanced at her father, who was still standing, tense and watchful, beside the door. “Did you want something, Simon?” she asked. She daren’t glance at Hugo as she skirted past him, but could feel his eyes on her back.

 
; “I wanted to check you were all right, and the stranger outside hadn’t come back,” Simon replied, not sure whether he was glad he had interrupted them or not. Harriett had far more colour in her cheeks than she usually had, but he didn’t like the idea of the man taking advantage of her. “I didn’t realise you were already entertaining,” he added, his voice almost chiding.

  Harriett immediately felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. Although a tiny voice warned her that she didn’t have anything to apologise for - after all, it wasn’t Simon’s house - she was stymied by the sudden need to explain what happened.

  “Hugo has been injured, Father.” Harriett’s voice became crisp and starchy. Her chin lifted defiantly, and she stared almost haughtily at her father for a moment. “He came to me for my help,” she added.

  “Yes, I can see that,” Simon replied, removing his jacket and moving deeper into the room. He was going nowhere until he knew what was going on between these two. Dropping his jacket on the table, he turned to Harriett.

  “I take it the man outside, the other stranger-” he added pointedly, flicking a dismissive glance at Hugo, “-was after him?” He jerked his head across the room to where Hugo was still standing motionless.

  “Yes, he was,” Hugo replied, knowing that Simon de Mattingley wasn’t a man to be fobbed off. It would help Hugo tremendously to know that when he left, in a couple of days’ time, Harriett would have someone watching over her. “He was the man who shot me.” He was aware of Simon’s piercing stare, and the concerned look he flicked his daughter.

  “So, by being here, you have placed Harriett in danger?” Simon’s voice was matter-of-fact, but the look on his face warned that he was not happy about the situation.

  “Yes, it rather looks like I have,” Hugo admitted with a sigh. Hugo had the feeling that his assailant would be back to check for himself whether Hugo was in the area. That left Hugo with a problem.