‘It may be relatively easy for individual boats to slip back and forth across the Channel, but can you imagine the chaos of two or three hundred transports all sailing on the same tide—scattering, colliding and foundering in the unfamiliar waters along our coast? No, Napoleon may dream of marching on London, but I’m sure he’s putting more faith in the destructive power of the Decrees he issued at Berlin and Milan.’
He paused then, shooting a quick glance at Angelica out of the corner of his eye before allowing his attention to rest on the shoreline ahead, as if there was nothing more to say.
Angelica waited for him to explain what the Decrees were, realised he wasn’t going to do so without prompting, and drew in a deep, rather exasperated breath. It was not so much that she wasn’t interested in what he was saying, but she was slightly humiliated to discover how little she knew, and at how much of a disadvantage her ignorance placed her.
‘Ah, yes,’ she said brightly. ‘I remember hearing something about Napoleon’s Decrees, although I can’t quite remember…’
‘At Berlin he outlawed all trade between England and French-controlled lands, whether in English or neutral ships,’ said Benoît, only a slight twitch of his lips indicating that he was aware of her feelings. ‘That was in November of 1807, and it effectively cut us off from the European carrying trade. Then at Milan, about fourteen months ago, he issued a new set of Decrees which outlawed any neutral vessel which submitted to a British search or touched at a British port.’
‘But surely, if our navy is so superior…!’ Angelica protested, shocked. ‘How can he hope to enforce—?’
‘Ultimately, I don’t believe he can,’ Benoît replied grimly. ‘But the Decrees have certainly had serious consequences for British shipping and manufactories. The cotton weavers of Manchester rioted last year because the disruption of their industry had reduced them to starvation.’
Angelica stared blindly ahead, heedless of the increasing chill in the wind. Manchester was as remote from her experience as the Caribbean, but it was dawning on her that the war involved far more than the well-publicised battles fought on land or sea.
‘We have retaliated, of course,’ said Benoît, relenting from the black picture he had been painting as he saw her disturbed response to it. ‘After the Berlin Decrees, England blockaded all European ports from which she was excluded, and only allowed neutral ships to use them if they also touched at a British port and paid a reshipment duty on their cargo.
‘And don’t forget that the French are suffering from the effects of Napoleon’s blockade as well. All those goods they’ve come to rely on—sugar, coffee, cotton, spices, dyes, tobacco—are now in short supply. Unless they resort to accepting smuggled goods,’ he added blandly.
Angelica looked at him sharply.
‘Is that how you justify smuggling?’ she demanded, momentarily wondering if that was what all this information had been leading up to.
‘I’m not a smuggler,’ said Benoît flatly, his face expressionless.
Angelica bit her lip. There had been no hostility in his tone, but she felt as if a door had clanged shut in her face. It was quite clear that, however much general information he was prepared to volunteer, he wasn’t going to be provoked into revealing more personal details by such a clumsy sally.
‘You certainly seem to know a great deal about the subject,’ she said, forcing herself to smile unconcernedly.
‘Any man who reads the newspapers and keeps himself reasonably well informed would know as much,’ he replied, and she saw the gleam of his white teeth as he grinned.
She was reminded, once again, of his elusive resemblance to a great black wolf. He revealed only what he wanted to reveal, and his response was always unpredictable.
‘We will win, won’t we?’ she asked suddenly. It was the first time it had ever occurred to her to wonder.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said confidently.
‘How can you be so sure?’ she demanded.
‘Because however many markets Napoleon closes to us in the Old World, we will always be able to open up more in the New World,’ he replied, with absolute certainty. ‘It has already begun with the islands we’ve taken from our enemies in the West Indies. We will survive for as long as we maintain control of the sea—and we will win as soon as we can put an army on continental soil that’s capable of consistently defeating the French.’
‘And when will that be?’ Angelica asked curiously.
Benoît shrugged. ‘I’m not a soldier,’ he replied. ‘I cannot give an informed opinion on that. All I can say is that, although we took a beating last year in Spain and Portugal, we also won a couple of victories that prove once and for all that Napoleon’s army is not invincible. Further than that, we shall just have to wait and see.’
Angelica sighed. It wasn’t an entirely satisfactory answer, but there didn’t seem to be much she could say to it. She glanced around, noting, with mild surprise, that Benoît had turned inland before they’d reached the same track they had originally followed to the beach.
‘It’s quicker,’ he said, answering her unspoken question. ‘The day is losing its bloom and you must be getting cold, my lady. I wouldn’t want to be accused of giving you a chill. Besides, we mustn’t overtax your strength—you’ve got a long journey ahead of you tomorrow!’
Angelica swallowed a hasty retort, aware that she was being deliberately provoked and determined not to rise to it.
‘What do you mean, Thomas has taught Billy to count?’ she asked, remembering something he’d said earlier, although carefully blocking from her mind the context in which he’d said it. ‘Surely the most accomplished horse would have difficulty…?’
Benoît laughed. ‘When we get back, I will arrange a demonstration,’ he promised her. ‘I’m sure you’ll be impressed, my lady.’
It took a long time for Martha to restore Angelica’s hair to some kind of order, and she grumbled at her mistress throughout the ordeal.
‘How could you be so heedless…so lacking in common decency…to go stravaging around the countryside without a hat on your head and your hair looking like a bird’s nest?’ she exclaimed, as she tried to untangle the knots. ‘You’re not a gypsy, my lady! What would the Earl say if he knew about this?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Angelica, a hint of rebellion in her voice, ‘but since he’s never going to find out it doesn’t matter, does it?’
‘And how could it have happened?’ Martha persisted, ignoring Angelica’s words, although she had no intention of ever betraying her mistress’s lack of conduct to anyone, least of all the Earl. ‘Your hat blowing away I can understand—this wicked wind—but your hair! I always take care to fix it firmly. I know how you bounce about when you’re excited. You’ve never managed to achieve the elegant carriage suitable for a lady in your position. Who did it up again?’
‘Mr Faulkener,’ said Angelica, boldly meeting her maid’s eyes and desperately trying not to let a blush betray her.
‘Did he, indeed?’ said Martha dryly, her eyes resting thoughtfully on Angelica’s glowing cheeks. ‘I suppose letting your hair down was part of your ploy to discover more about him, was it? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, my lady!’
Angelica coloured uncomfortably; very little escaped Martha’s sharp gaze and Angelica wondered just how much her maid had guessed about her ride with Benoît.
‘So how have your investigations been going?’ she asked brightly, trying to change the subject. ‘Is this house a haven for smugglers, or is there an innocent explanation for what happened last night?’
Martha sniffed disapprovingly.
‘To think that a respectable woman like me should have to stoop to such devious behavior,’ she said sourly. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m not accustomed to playing the part of a spy, my lady. It’s not what I’m used to.’
‘Oh, Martha!’ Angelica exclaimed, caught between laughter and exasperation. ‘You’re used to doing whatever it takes to keep Harry and me out
of trouble. You know you are!’
Martha smiled austerely as she finally succeeded in dragging a comb through Angelica’s tangled hair.
‘There can’t be much regular smuggling organised from this house,’ she said, as disapprovingly as if she’d just announced it was a den of iniquity, ‘not by the master, at all accounts. He doesn’t spend enough time here.’
‘What do you mean?’ Angelica said quickly. ‘I know he’s recently returned from the West Indies, but—’
‘This is the first time he’s spent more than a few weeks at home since his father died, two years ago,’ Martha continued, as if she hadn’t heard Angelica’s interruption. ‘According to what I hear, he’s worked his way up from ship’s boy to junior partner in a shipowning business. Very proud of him below stairs, they are.’
Angelica stared at her maid, quite speechless for several moments. Martha smiled with grim satisfaction at her mistress’s astonishment.
‘It seems he went to sea when he was fourteen years old,’ she said. ‘By the time he was twenty-one he was master of a merchantman trading to the West Indies. He was employed by a man called Josiah Crabtree, who had a fleet of four ships. Very fond of Mr Faulkener the old man is, seemingly. Mind you, he has good reason to be—Mr Faulkener brought his ship safely through a hurricane after he’d only been in command a few months.’
‘He did?’ said Angelica breathlessly.
Her eyes were shining with excitement at Martha’s tale. It was easy to imagine Benoît on the bridge of his ship, waves crashing all around, the wind shrieking and timbers creaking as he fought the elements themselves in his determination to bring his vessel safely home.
‘So I’m told,’ said Martha dryly, her eyes on Angelica’s glowing face. ‘When he thought he’d learnt as much as he could, he left Mr Crabtree and bought a ship of his own—started up an independent business. He’s got three ships now—and last year Mr Crabtree suggested they go into partnership. From what I hear, Mr Crabtree’s still got a soft spot for Mr Faulkener—like as not he’ll make him his heir.’
‘Good heavens!’ said Angelica faintly.
In a matter of minutes, Benoît had been transformed in her eyes from little more than a pirate adventurer to a man of substance. It was true she had realised some time ago that he didn’t earn his living from smuggling, but her notions of what he had become instead had been extremely hazy.
She had taken it for granted that he had captained his own ship, but she hadn’t given much thought to the capacity in which he had done so. She had still tended towards the idea that he must be involved in some illegal or semi-legitimate business—perhaps as a privateer, licensed by letters of marque to prey upon enemy shipping. It was hard to believe he might really be as respectable as he had claimed to be yesterday evening.
‘How did you find out all this?’ she asked wonderingly, thinking about her own lack of success in discovering more about her host.
‘His people are very proud of him,’ said Martha repressively, as if she were revealing a discreditable secret. ‘It wasn’t hard to get them to boast about his achievements.’
‘What about last night?’ Angelica said. ‘Did you find out any more about that?’
‘No.’ Martha frowned with dissatisfaction. ‘Close as clams on that subject, they were,’ she said irritably.
‘Never mind,’ said Angelica, suddenly feeling very cheerful. ‘At least we’re making progress.’
‘And how do you work that out, my lady?’ said Martha dourly. ‘You came here in the hope he was a smuggler, and therefore in a good position to rescue Lord Lennard. We’ve just found out that he’s spent the best part of the last fifteen years at sea. Hardly the best news from your point of view, is it?’
‘I suppose not. On the other hand…’ Angelica’s words trailed off.
She was remembering that, although Benoît had refused to explain what had happened the previous night, he had as good as admitted that his visitor had been one of the men Sir William was searching for—men who had known and trusted Benoît all his life. He might not still be actively involved in smuggling, but he knew men who were.
‘Thank you, Martha,’ she said. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
Not long later, Angelica ran lightly downstairs and burst into the library. Benoît had been sitting at his desk, writing, but he looked up at her arrival and grinned.
‘So much energy, my lady,’ he teased her. ‘I was sure you would need to rest upon your bed for several hours before you would feel strong enough to rise for dinner.’
‘Oh!’ Angelica stopped short in confusion, suddenly remembering that she ought to make at least a pretence of being fatigued.
Benoît stood up and went behind her to close the door. She revolved on the spot so that she could keep him under observation. He made her nervous when she couldn’t see him.
‘Or perhaps you came to find a soothing text to lull you to sleep,’ he suggested, a familiar half-mocking, half-humorous gleam in his eyes.
She met his gaze and her heart skipped a beat. Until a few minutes ago she had been so sure that he was completely ineligible that she had done everything she could to suppress the attraction she felt for him. But now it turned out that he was, after all, relatively respectable—although obviously not a suitable match for her father’s daughter.
She tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter to her what he was; she would be gone tomorrow. But it did matter—and she was beginning to realise and accept that fact.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were a shipowner?’ she demanded impetuously.
Benoît grinned and she remembered the wolf in him.
‘Your maid obviously took the lesson about the persuasive powers of the sun and the wind more deeply to heart than you have done,’ he observed dryly, although the mockery in his eyes was quite gentle.
‘What do you mean?’ Angelica exclaimed breathlessly, confused by his words and disconcerted by the expression in his eyes.
‘Despite her forbidding appearance, I understand she can display a warm and charming nature when the occasion warrants it,’ Benoît explained helpfully. ‘She certainly seems to have made a favourable impression on Thomas. Apparently she even got him to show her some of the tricks he’s taught the horses. He’s very taken with her.’
‘Good heavens!’ Angelica’s attention was briefly seized by the incredible and fascinating picture of Martha sweet-talking the groom.
‘Alas, my lady,’ said Benoît, with laughing, teasing regret in his eyes. ‘If you’d only pursued the same technique with me, think how much you might know about me by now.’
‘What?’ Angelica stared up at him with enormous, startled eyes, her lips parted in genuine surprise.
She saw the expression in his dark eyes change, and threw up her hand instinctively to ward him off, taking a hasty step backwards as she did so.
‘No!’ she exclaimed.
He grinned.
‘You disappoint me, my lady,’ he taunted her gently. ‘With so much at stake, are you really not prepared to make a small sacrifice for your brother?’
Angelica swallowed. It was dangerous to keep looking into his eyes. What she saw there made her feel light-headed with excitement, and barely able to control her emotions. This wasn’t how Martha had done it, surely?
‘You mean if I…if I let you…’ Her voice failed her and she tried again. ‘If I…you’ll tell me how you’re going to rescue Harry.’
He smiled and her heart turned over.
‘You could always try to experiment,’ he suggested softly.
‘That’s…that’s blackmail!’ she protested breathlessly.
Benoît’s smile broadened.
‘But at least you’ll have the consolation of knowing you did it for Harry’s sake,’ he consoled her, the enticingly wicked gleam in his eyes almost irresistible.
‘Oh, dear!’ said Angelica faintly, as he took her in his arms. ‘Perhaps you ought to tell me first, sir.’ She made
one last attempt to remain in control. ‘Then I could decide whether…’
Benoît laughed softly.
‘You should have thought of that before, my lady,’ he advised her.
It was too late to protest, and perhaps she didn’t really want to. She lifted her face quite willingly to his, closing her eyes instinctively as his lips found hers. She’d believed that she was at least partially prepared for the experience, but she discovered almost instantly that she’d overestimated her new-found sophistication.
Last time he had kissed her they had been standing on a windswept beach and she had been dressed for the weather in a heavy cloth riding habit. This time she was wearing only a light muslin gown. She could feel every button on his waistcoat, every ridge of his clothes—and all the muscular strength in his body—in devastating intimacy.
She gasped, startled and a little disturbed, and pushed ineffectually against his shoulders. His hold on her relaxed slightly. He scattered gentle, feather-light kisses on her lips, her cheeks, and even her eyelids, until the tension ebbed from her body. Slowly, she began to feel more secure. Warm, billowing clouds of golden sunlight seemed to cocoon her in pleasure.
She slipped her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his crisp black hair in an unconsciously sensuous gesture. His lips became more insistent upon hers, tempting her with the promise of even greater delight to come if she allowed him the intimacy he demanded. She resisted briefly, half-afraid of what might happen if she capitulated. Then her lips parted beneath his and she surrendered completely to his kiss.
Instantly the spark of desire between them erupted into flames of scorching passion. The potent, surging energy within Benoît’s whipcord body was matched by an ardent, unfettered response from Angelica which was quite beyond her power to control. Her zest for life found a natural outlet in the arms of a man who commanded both her respect and admiration.
She responded to him with an innocent, unselfconscious eagerness which startled, then enthralled him.
Claire Thornton Page 9