by Jenna Kernan
‘I can’t say he was pleased, miss, but he ordered up the carriage.’
Mary wrapped her woollen cloak around her, tied on her bonnet and pulled on her gloves. ‘And I am ready. Now if you would be so good as to lead me to the front door, I can make sure I am not delaying his lordship any more than necessary.’
She followed Betsy along the corridors and realised she no longer needed a guide. She was becoming quite familiar with the old house’s twists and turns. But this morning it was better to be safe than sorry.
Losing her way and arriving late would be all the excuse his lordship needed to leave without her. And this would be a chance to survey the roads around the house. The next time she left, she intended to follow the road across the moors to Helston where his lordship had not warned the inhabitants they must not sell her a ticket for the stagecoach.
As much as she wanted to trust him when he was kissing her senseless, the answer had finally come to her just before she fell asleep. If she agreed to marry him, she would be wholly in his power. He would be able to do anything he wanted and she would not be able to object. A very bad idea while she had no idea why his grandfather had pushed them together.
The first order of business was to find Sally Ladbrook and find out what she knew. Then perhaps she could think about what to do in regard to the earl. Because the last thing she wanted was to be at the mercy of a vengeful husband in a damp and draughty house where ghosts seemed to roam at will and, according to legend, people could disappear without a trace.
Beresford was standing beside the carriage when she exited the house into the sunshine. His face was set in its usual grim lines as he looked up at her approach. There was no sign of his horse. ‘Good morning, my lord,’ she said brightly.
‘Good day, Miss Wilding.’
There was nothing of the passionate man he had been in her room last night in the icy gaze he bestowed on her. She half-wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. But she hadn’t. Nor had she imagined the scream that had awoken her from her horrible dream. ‘You knew I wished to go with you, my lord. You might have sent word.’
‘You weren’t at breakfast, Miss Wilding,’ he said, with a slight nod of his head, ‘or I would have told you of my plans.’
Oh, yes, she really believed that.
His raised a brow. ‘I thought you might prefer to wait until your ankle is perfectly well.’
By then it might be too late. By then she might have succumbed to his powers of seduction. ‘I prefer to go today. And here I am. Ready to go.’
Something hot flared in his eyes. Anger, no doubt. No man liked a woman with a will of her own. He bowed slightly. ‘Your carriage awaits, but time does not.’
One of the grooms leapt forwards to open the carriage door and she climbed inside and settled herself against the squabs. He climbed in after her.
Startled, she edged deeper into the corner. ‘I thought you planned to ride?’
‘I did.’
‘Don’t feel you must keep me company.’ Oh dear, that sounded rude.
‘I never do anything I don’t wish to do, Miss Wilding,’ he drawled and stretched out his legs, brushing against her skirts in a way that felt all too intimate. But what could she say? He was playing the perfect gentleman, sitting opposite her on the seat, facing backwards.
She winced inwardly. She had intended to make a note of any landmarks she saw as a means of finding her way—she’d brought along a notebook and pencil for the purpose. She could hardly do so with him sitting there watching her. She would just have to try to hold them in her memory.
She stared out of the window, trying to look as if her interest was idle curiosity. Here there was a large barn. There an oddly twisted tree, but they were moving so quickly it was hard to keep track.
‘What do you think of Cornwall?’ he asked.
Be quiet, I’m trying to follow our route, she wanted to snap. Instead, she pursed her lips as if giving consideration to his question. ‘It’s very different from the countryside in Wiltshire.’
‘How?’
She turned to face him. ‘The sea. The moors. The mining. Even the way the people speak. I can barely understand some of their words.’
‘It is not so very different from Wales,’ he murmured, as if remembering. ‘They also have their own language.’
‘Did you live in Wales?’
He nodded. ‘For a while. When I was young.’
His willingness to talk about the past surprised her. ‘Did you like it there?’
His eyes turned the colour of a winter sky. Bleak. Cold. Clearly she’d touched a nerve and she expected him to withdraw into his usual chilly distance.
‘No.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Not true. There were good times as well as bad.’ He turned his face to look out of the window as if he preferred to hide his thoughts, but the way the light shone on the window, she could make out his reflection. Not the detail, but enough to see him close his eyes as if shutting a lid on memories their conversation had evoked. ‘It was a hard life,’ he murmured. ‘But I learned about mining and the men who risk their lives below ground.’
‘Tin mining?’ she asked in the awkward silence.
He turned back, his expression once more under control. ‘Coal.’
‘Did you work in the mine?’
‘As a hewer?’ He shook his head. ‘I wasn’t strong enough, then. I did later. Alongside the men in my uncle’s
mine. My mother’s brother. He believed a man should learn every part of a business he intended to follow. The way he had.’
‘Even the heir to an earldom?’
He smiled a little, as if amused by a recollection. The atmosphere in the carriage lightened. His face looked younger, more boyish. ‘Especially the heir to an earldom. He is not a great respecter of nobility. He thinks they are all soft and idle.’
‘Is that what you think?’ she dared to ask.
He gave her question consideration. ‘I think there is good and bad in every class of society.’
As did she. Strange how they were in accord on some things and so at odds on others. Like the inheritance, for example, she thought grimly.
He leaned forwards, picked up her gloved hand from her lap and held it his. He massaged her palm with his thumb. The bleakness was entirely gone from his face, and now his expression was pure seduction. ‘Have you thought any more about our future?’
The stroke of his thumb was scrambling her thoughts. Her body was vibrating with longing, her pulse jumping. She swallowed. Forced her mind to focus. ‘Our future? I have certainly thought about my own.’
His eyes danced, as if she amused him. ‘You cannot think about one and not dwell on the other. Don’t take too long to come to a decision.’
‘Why?’
The caress ceased, though he did not release her hand. If anything, his fingers closed tighter around it. He fixed her with his inscrutable gaze. ‘It’s a matter of life and death, isn’t it?’
Dumbly she stared at him, taken aback by his frankness.
‘What is holding you back?’ He moved from his side of the carriage to hers and suddenly the seat felt a great deal smaller. The way his shoulders took up all the space and his thigh pressed against hers. He still had her hand, too. She gave it a gentle tug, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he eased down the leather at her wrist. ‘You can’t deny the spark of attraction between us.’ He raised her hand to his mouth and breathed on the sensitive skin where he had pulled the leather apart. She shivered.
He kissed the pulse that now raced beneath her skin. Traced the fine blue veins of her inner wrist with his tongue. ‘What can I do to persuade you?’
‘You didn’t want this marriage,’ she managed to gasp.
‘The benefits are becoming more and more apparent.’ His voice was deep and
dangerously seductive. Her eyelids drooped, her limbs felt heavy. She forced herself to straighten.
‘I would never be your choice of a wife, if your grandfather hadn’t drawn up his will this way. Would I?’ Breathlessly she waited for his answer, hope a small fragile thing in her breast.
He raised his gaze from her wrist to her face. His silver eyes glittered. ‘If we had met somewhere, you mean—in a ballroom in London?’ His mouth quirked downwards. ‘I will not do you a disservice and lie. I had no intention of marrying. Not yet. Not until the future was secure. But given the circumstances, it is not such a bad arrangement.’
Cold rippled across her skin. ‘And what of love, my lord?’
He chuckled then, deep and low. It was a surprisingly pleasant sound. And his face looked more handsome, less of a devil.
‘Miss Wilding. Mary. May I call you Mary?’
Breathless to hear his reply, she nodded her assent.
He tilted his head as if seeing her for the first time, then shook it. ‘My dear Mary, you will not convince me that a rational logical woman such as yourself believes in such romantic nonsense.’
Oh, but she did. She did not think she loved this man, though she knew she was attracted to him. Desired him. But was it enough on which to base a marriage? Others did. But she wasn’t others.
She gazed up into his dark features, searching those silver-grey eyes, and realised that this was not the sort of man she had ever imagined in her life. She’d dreamed of a scholarly man. A gentle man, who would listen to her thoughts. Who would respect her ideas. Not this dark dangerous man who set her pulse fluttering and her body longing for wicked things.
Her insides gave a tiny little pulse of pleasure at the thought of those wicked things.
But she should think with her mind. Her rational mind. Just as a man would.
‘What if at some time in the future you meet a woman you really wished to marry? Will not your resentment be great?’
He cupped her face in his hands, his large warm hands, and she felt the tremble in his fingers, as if he was struggling under some emotion as his gaze searched her face.
She could not help but look at his finely drawn lips before she raised her gaze to look at his face where she found the heat of desire in his eyes. ‘My lord,’ she whispered.
‘Bane,’ he rasped. ‘Call me Bane.’
But she couldn’t speak, because his mouth had taken hers in a ravening kiss and, lord help her, she was kissing him back, running her hands over his shoulders, tangling her fingers with his hair. He lifted her on to his lap and she felt his strong thighs beneath her bottom. The way he rocked lightly into her, and the deep groan from his throat, stirred her blood and made her heart beat too fast.
It felt as if his hot mouth was all over her and her skin was on fire from its touch.
‘Marry me, Mary,’ he whispered against her throat. ‘Marry me,’ he said, undoing the buttons of her coat and pressing his lips to her clavicle.
The carriage jolted, swaying over to one side, and he grabbed her around the shoulders to prevent her from falling. Then it came to a halt.
Bane cursed softly. ‘We will continue this conversation later.’ He lifted her off his lap and set her back on the seat.
The hard cold man was back. The man she recognised. And as she did up her buttons and straightened her hair, she could not help but wonder how much the passionate man was really him.
The groom opened the door. Bane picked up his gloves and his hat and stepped out. He reached up to help her down. His glance was swift and assessing. His brief nod assured her that she did not look as if she’d been ravished, though her lips still tingled from his kiss and her cheeks glowed from the scratch of his jaw.
And then the noises assaulted her ears.
A constant thumping she could feel vibrating under her feet and pounding through her head.
His lordship shook hands with Mr Trelawny, who was standing waiting for them. The poor man’s eyes widened when they rested on her, but he smiled manfully. ‘Miss Wilding,’ he said, shouting to be heard above the noise of the great machine some distance away. ‘I was not expecting you today, but welcome to Old Men’s Wheal, as it was called once. I hope your...’ He glanced down at her feet, then coloured. ‘I hope you are quite recovered from your unfortunate accident.’
She smiled at the young man. ‘But for you, Mr Trelawny, I doubt I would be here to tell the tale,’ she said, leaning close to his ear to make herself heard.
The young man’s colour deepened.
Bane surprised her by swiftly catching her hand, pulling her close and putting it on his arm. ‘Show us the workings, Trelawny.’ He did not raise his voice, but clearly the manager heard for he nodded and gestured for them to follow. He led them to the machine making all the noise.
‘Stampers,’ he yelled.
Bane’s gaze swept over the monstrous structure, a beam supported on legs. Heavy metal tubes hanging from the beam on chains, rising up and down alternately, each one crashing down to crush the rocks shoved beneath it by a couple of men.
Driving the whole was an enormous waterwheel that clanked and creaked, adding to the cacophony. Beyond it three large pools were being stirred by women with long rakes and shovels.
Compared to the beauty of the countryside through which they had passed, it was ugly and dirty. And the noise was horrendous. She could not imagine working with that sound all day.
As far as she could see there were no children.
She put her hands over her ears, but it did nothing to lessen the noise. ‘From here, the black tin is taken to the foundry at Hayle. You should visit it some time,’ Mr Trelawny shouted.
Bane nodded. ‘Where do they get the coal?’ This time even he had to raise his voice.
‘Wales.’
He grimaced.
‘The mine is this way,’ Mr Trelawny said. ‘Up the hill. The carriage will take you up to the entrance, Miss Wilding.’
‘We will all go in the carriage,’ Bane said when they reached it.
How strange. She let him help her back in. Mr Trelawny climbed up with the driver, citing the dust and dirt he had gathered from his visit to the workings earlier that morning. Getting ready for the new owner’s visit, no doubt.
Bane dropped the window and the noise of the stamper continued to assault their ears. ‘Imagine living with that din day after day,’ she said. ‘Those poor men. They must go home with a headache.’
He cast her a sharp glance. ‘They are paid well enough.’
She pressed her lips together. She had no wish to start an argument, but she had to be glad there had been no children working near that noisy machine.
As the carriage wound its way to the other side of the hill, the thumping faded to a bearable level. It was more like the sound of a heart beating loudly from this distance.
The carriage once more halted and they stepped down. The view of the surrounding countryside was breathtaking—open common, trees in the valley, sheep on the moor—but right here, on the side of the hill, industry was an ugly scar. Bare rock. Gravel. A horse walking steadily round and round a revolving drum. Every now and again, a bucket full of rocks would appear at the surface to be emptied into the back of a cart by a couple of workers. No doubt those rocks would end up at the stamper.
Another horse went round and round, pulling a chain, and beside it a strange-looking object spurted water into a ditch.
‘A rag-and-chain pump,’ Mr Trelawny explained, ‘to remove water from the shafts. Let us go down. The men are expecting us. Please be careful where you walk, Miss Wilding. The ground is rough and there are some disused shafts here and there from the ancient workings.’
At her nervous glance, he smiled. ‘If you stay close to me at all times, you will be fine.’
Bane shot him a g
lare and Trelawny flinched.
‘This way,’ he said, hustling them towards a stone structure. It looked a bit like a square Norman tower, without crenellations or arrow loops. He ducked inside and, after glancing around, Bane urged her to follow with his hand at the small of her back. The stone chamber was lit by candles.
Mary immediately recognised the greasy smell of melting tallow. They’d been forced to use tallow in the kitchens and working areas at the school when money was in short supply—or apparently in short supply. She felt a little trickle of resentment at the thought, but had no time to think about it, because Mr Trelawny was directing her to a wooden trestle around the wall. ‘You’ll need boots,’ he said, sorting through a small pile. ‘It is muddy down there.’
As she sat down and her eyes adjusted to the smoky light, she noticed the large gaping hole before her and the flimsy-looking rope ladder leading down into the depths.
‘You will need a hat, my lord,’ Trelawny said, handing him a battered-looking felt object with a candle stuck in a lump of something nasty-looking on the front of it. ‘You, too, Miss Wilding.’ He frowned. ‘You will have to remove your bonnet.’
She looked at him and looked at the ladder and looked back at him. ‘How far down does it go?’
‘The first adit is about twenty feet down. Not far at all, miss. Old Jem is waiting at the bottom for us. There’s other parts of the mine where the depth is close to one-hundred-and-eighty feet.’
She felt a little faint at the thought of going into the bowels of the earth a mere twenty feet. ‘Why don’t I wait up here for your return? I am not really dressed for climbing down ladders.’
‘I should have loaned you a pair of my breeches,’ Bane said and there was a teasing note to his voice.
When she looked at him, he was smiling. And looking quite at home. ‘Come now, Miss Wilding, I thought you had more gumption. It was your idea to come.’ He actually looked as if he was enjoying himself. And he seemed to want to include her. It was quite a revelation.
‘I didn’t know about the ladder,’ she said weakly. ‘I don’t think my ankle is up to it.’ It was the first thing that came into her mind.