She flattened herself against the wall of the house, hardly daring to breathe as she heard hooves striking on the cobblestones. Benoît exchanged a couple of words with his groom, and then she saw him ride past, less than twenty feet away, his dark shape silhouetted against the paler night sky. He was riding one horse and leading another, and Angelica was sure her instinctive suspicions had been correct. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation for why he should need to take a spare horse to Sir William, but she couldn’t think of one.
‘Come on!’ she whispered to Martha.
‘What’s going on?’ Martha whispered back.
‘I don’t know, but I’m going to find out!’ Angelica declared in a low voice. ‘You keep Thomas occupied while I saddle the mare!’
‘My lady!’ Martha’s protest was no less vehement for being uttered in a tone that wouldn’t have been audible from two feet away.
‘Are you telling me you can’t do it?’ Angelica challenged her.
‘Of course I can, but…’ Martha realised she was voicing her protests to empty air and abandoned her attempt to make Angelica see reason.
‘Wait here,’ she said as she caught up with her mistress.
‘You’ll have to get the saddle out of the tackroom while I distract Thomas. Be careful how you lead the mare over the cobbles or he’ll hear her.’
Angelica huddled in the shadows and watched as her maid sauntered out into the stableyard. There was something subtly different about Martha, she even moved differently from the grim, sour-faced woman Angelica was so familiar with.
Even in the grip of the urgent excitement which filled her, Angelica was reminded of how much she had taken for granted before she came to Sussex. The world around her was changing shape before her eyes. Was that Benoît’s influence?
‘Good evening, Thomas,’ said Martha.
‘Miss Farley!’ The groom turned as she spoke to him, unmistakable pleasure in his voice. ‘Doesn’t her ladyship need you?’
‘She’s asleep in bed,’ Martha replied, a hint of laughter in her voice. ‘She hasn’t been riding for nearly a year—the exercise fairly tired her out.’
‘I’d never have known. She looks good in the saddle,’ said Thomas appreciatively.
‘She should—the Earl spent hours teaching her,’ said Martha indulgently.
She was standing very close to Thomas, and Angelica was sure she heard the groom’s quick intake of breath as he looked down at her.
‘I’d like to see you in the saddle,’ said Thomas hoarsely. ‘Are you really leaving tomorrow?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Martha regretfully. ‘Unless I can think of a way to persuade her ladyship to stay. Do you have any suggestions?’ She smiled up at Thomas, moving slightly so that to look at her he had to turn his back on Angelica.
Angelica stared at Martha in disbelief for a moment. Then she collected her wits and darted silently behind Thomas.
The tackroom was lit by a single lantern and Angelica spotted the lady’s saddle immediately. She found a bridle, lifted the saddle down, careful not to let the tack jingle together, and slipped out of the tackroom and into the stables.
By the time she found the mare her arms were tense with the strain of carrying the saddle in complete silence. She’d had no choice but to allow her skirts to drag on the ground. Fortunately, Thomas had hung a lantern on a hook when he’d saddled the horses for Benoît, and there was enough light for Angelica to see what she was doing.
She heard voices outside, and knew that Martha had led her eager suitor into the tackroom. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the missing saddle, then decided he was too entranced by Martha to notice anything else.
She spoke softly to Dorcas and slipped the bridle neatly over her head. It occurred to her briefly, and incongruously, that she had less trouble dressing the mare than she did herself.
As a child, she had spent far more time in the stables than her mother had thought suitable, and she had been fascinated by all aspects of horsemanship. Now she was grateful for that early training. She saddled the mare as quickly as she could and led her out of the stables. Dorcas’s hooves seemed to ring loudly on the cobblestones and Angelica’s heart leapt in her mouth at the possibility that someone might surprise her—but the tackroom door remained firmly closed.
She paused by the mounting block and clambered into the saddle, hoping she had tightened the girths sufficiently to hold it firmly in place. The mare tossed her head, but made no other protest to the eccentric behaviour of her rider, and Angelica followed in the direction she had seen Benoît take.
He’d had several minutes’ head start over her, but he hadn’t been hurrying, and she was almost certain he was going towards the sea. Where else could he be going? She had a good sense of direction, and it wasn’t too difficult for her to retrace their steps of that morning, but she was anxious in case she missed him—or overtook him unexpectedly.
She tied the shawl firmly under her chin and looked around at the dark, shadowy landscape. In this flat country surely she ought to be able to see him in the distance—but she might have been alone beneath the lofty stars.
It was very cold. The wind which had seemed almost invigorating that morning was now icy and hostile, cutting through her riding habit and chilling her bones. It sliced through the dank, winter grass beneath the mare’s hooves and snatched Angelica’s breath from her mouth.
She began to wonder if she was crazy. How could she hope to find Benoît in strange country in the middle of the night when, in truth, she had no idea where he was going? She only assumed he was heading towards the sea. And if she did find him, what was she going to do? Spy on him? Why?
She had acted without thinking, her pent-up and confused emotions finding release in a flurry of furious activity. At best she had made herself look foolish; at worst she might seriously jeopardise her friendship with Benoît—but she was desperately curious to know more about him.
Was he smuggling? Or was he involved in something else? She looked around at the dark, shadowy landscape. Her eyes were unable to pierce the gloom for more than a few yards, and she suddenly felt afraid.
She remembered their talk of a French invasion earlier that day—and all the stories Sir William had told of smugglers terrorising or murdering people who had inadvertently surprised them at their work. Her heart began to beat faster as she realised she might have done a great deal more than simply make herself look foolish with this impulsive escapade.
She almost turned the mare for home then and there, but a tiny core of stubbornness within her refused to give up.
She rode on cautiously, glancing nervously around at the shadows. The sound of the mare’s hooves suddenly seemed very loud, and she was uncomfortably conscious of how conspicuous she was perched on top of a tall horse in such flat countryside.
She had been a fool. It was time to turn back and hope no one would ever be the wiser—
Suddenly a dark shape loomed out of a nearby thicket, and a man lunged towards her.
Shocked, icy fear clutched at Angelica’s stomach. Images of smugglers and wild-eyed French invaders filled her mind. She dragged on the reins, putting her heel to the mare’s side in an unthinking, desperate attempt to get away—but the man seized the bridle and Dorcas submitted to his low-voiced command.
Angelica clung to the saddle like a panic-stricken limpet. Terrified thoughts of rape and murder drove every other consideration from her mind. She was determined not to let him haul her down. As long as she remained on Dorcas’s back she should be able to get away—if only he’d let go of the bridle!
She slashed fiercely at her assailant with her riding crop, her actions made vicious by desperation. The mare snorted and tried to shy away—Angelica was jolted and bruised against the saddle pommel. The man moved fast in the darkness. She could hardly see him, and she’d had no warning of his intentions when he grabbed the crop and wrenched it out of her hand. Pain speared up her arm, startling her into an unwary cry of dis
tress. Panic threatened to overwhelm her as she realised she was now almost defenceless.
‘Angelica! Get down!’ Benoît commanded in a furious undertone, barely controlled anger throbbing in his words.
She gasped in sobbing relief as his voice penetrated her terror and slid down into his arms, her legs all but giving way as her feet touched the ground. He half lifted, half dragged her into the shadows of the thicket, leading Dorcas with them. The other two horses were already there, standing like statues, though Angelica was in no condition to notice that fact.
‘Quiet!’ he whispered urgently in her ear.
He was holding her tightly from behind, one arm locked around her waist. As she drew breath to speak he clamped his other hand over her mouth. She was already thoroughly alarmed and now she experienced an irrational fear that he was going to suffocate her. Her heart hammered with fright. She’d known he was strong, but his strength had never been used against her before, and she was terrifyingly aware of how helpless she was in his arms. She struggled desperately, trying to kick back at his shin, but her long skirts impeded her.
‘Quiet!’ he commanded again, in the same imperative undertone, but his hold on her relaxed slightly, and Angelica’s panic began to subside.
She became aware of the silence of the horses, and the tense expectancy in Benoît’s body. Then she heard the muffled sound of hooves and realised that a sunken lane passed by on the other side of the thicket.
Benoît lifted her slightly in his arms and turned so that he could look in the direction from which the sounds were coming. Hidden in the shadows, staring out at an oblique angle towards the lane, Angelica could just see the dim silhouettes of ponies and men pass by.
There were more than fifty men in the gang, some of them carrying staves across their shoulders. They marched through the dark night in confident silence, as if they had an inalienable right to do so. Angelica knew that if they were surprised by Sir William they would fight; at least one of the magistrate’s men had been seriously injured in a battle against smugglers—and another had been killed.
She closed her eyes, chill with horror as she realised that, if Benoît hadn’t intercepted her, she would have ridden straight across the smugglers’ path. What would they have done to her?
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Benoît demanded furiously, when there was no longer any danger of them being overheard.
‘I… You were wearing a black cravat,’ said Angelica lamely, in a small voice.
She was still badly shaken by the realisation of how stupid she had been and in no condition to deal with his fury.
‘For God’s sake!’ he exploded, his anger no less potent because it was so quiet and so controlled. ‘What the devil did you think you were going to achieve? Do you know what might have happened to you if I hadn’t been here? That gang has at least two murders to its credit already!’
Angelica bit her lip, tears filling her eyes. It was hard to defend herself because she knew she was in the wrong, but it was equally hard to apologise when he was so angry with her. The situation was made even worse because she couldn’t see his face—all she could feel was his rigid, furious grip on his arm.
‘I can take care of myself,’ she declared, trying to put a spark of spirit into her voice and dismally failing.
‘Not out here,’ said Benoît categorically. ‘What the hell am I going to do with you?’
‘I was right, you aren’t visiting Sir William, are you?’ Angelica accused him, instinctively deciding attack was the best form of defence. ‘You have no business scolding others when you make such a habit of lying yourself!’
‘You little vixen!’ said Benoît tautly. ‘That’s the last pert answer I’m prepared to take from you—lady or not! If you’re going to trail around the countryside after me like a bitch in heat, then it’s time you learnt to take the consequences!’
‘How dare you?’ Angelica struck out blindly at him, infuriated and bitterly insulted by his words.
She landed a glancing blow on the side of his face, then he dragged her into his arms. She struggled, pummelling at his chest and shoulders, and his hold on her tightened until she could barely move. She couldn’t see his face, and she felt trapped by the black shadows of the thicket and the unyielding force of his arms.
‘Let me go!’ she commanded in a low, throbbing voice.
‘No.’
She tried to wrench herself out of his arms, but it was impossible. She tried to kick him, but her long skirts and his well-made leather boots protected him from any harm.
‘Let me go! You have no right—’
‘Haven’t I?’ he interrupted harshly. ‘It’s too late to play the part of an aloof noblewoman, Angelica. I’ve made allowances for your innocence and your loneliness. But if you want to be treated like a lady, then you shouldn’t act like a trollop following an army!’
‘I didn’t…!’ she gasped, more shocked and hurt by his words than offended.
‘For God’s sake!’ he ground out. ‘Is this what you came looking for? Because if it is—by God you can have it!’
She caught her breath in protest as his lips found hers with ruthless efficiency in the darkness. Her arms were still trapped against his chest. He was holding her so tightly that she couldn’t move and she could barely breathe. Shadows encircled them and the wind tugged at their clothes. His kiss was rough and almost punishing and offered her no escape. She struggled to resist him, appalled at the overwhelming surge of passion and anger she has unwittingly aroused in him.
She could feel the rigid tension in his body. She was dimly aware that his fury had very little to do with the fact that she had been trying to spy on him—or even that she’d accused him of lying to her.
Then, somehow, the nature of his kiss seemed to change. From being fierce and unforgiving on hers, his lips become warm and passionate. He was still holding her in a hard embrace, but one hand slipped up to cup the back of her head, and she felt her heightened, aroused senses begin to respond to him.
His lips were demanding as he claimed her open mouth, but he was no longer trying to punish her, and she felt a familiar, insistent tempo begin to pulse through her body. She clutched at the lapels of his coat, no longer struggling in his embrace.
Then he let her go—so suddenly that she stumbled back and fell, landing in a heap on the wet grass.
She drew in a gasping breath and dragged a shaking hand over her mouth, more confused than ever by his unexpected action. He was standing over her, and she looked up at him, sensing rather than seeing his presence in the darkness. She could heard his rapid breathing, but she was almost beyond coherent thought or feeling.
At last he crouched down beside her. She felt his hand near her face and flinched away, unsure of what he intended.
‘Ne vous inquiétez pas,’ he murmured reassuringly, and his touch was gentle on her cheek. ‘I’m sorry, mon ange. I was angry, but I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
‘I…’ Angelica began, but she couldn’t continue; she simply didn’t know what to say.
‘Get up.’ Benoît gripped her arms and lifted her to his feet. ‘You mustn’t sit on the grass,’ he said, wry amusement in his voice. ‘You’re going to be cold enough before this night is over without being wet through as well.’
‘Why?’ Angelica asked vaguely.
She was less interested in the implication of his words, than she was in what had just happened between them. How could he be so furious one minute and so gentle the next? Then she remembered what he’d said about her acting like a bitch in heat—or an army trollop—and her whole body burned with embarrassment and distress. Was that how he thought of her?
‘I can’t send you back on your own,’ said Benoît reasonably, apparently unaware of her inner turmoil.
‘Not with both the Gentlemen out and Sir William and his men no doubt playing their dangerous game of hide and seek. And I don’t have time to take you home myself—you’ll just have to stay with me.’
‘No. I meant why did you…?’ she began uncertainly.
‘There isn’t time,’ he replied, briskly but not unkindly. ‘Not now. I’m already running late. And with so many others apparently heading for the same beaches things may turn out to be more complicated that I’d anticipated. Dammit! Perhaps I ought to send you back. Dorcas knows her way home—’
‘No!’ Angelica protested instinctively. ‘Please…’
‘All right. Come on.’ He made up his mind quickly and threw her up into the saddle almost before she was ready.
She fumbled for the reins as he mounted his own horse.
‘Pull your shawl back over your head,’ he said quietly. ‘At least you had the sense to hide your hair,’ he added with mild amusement. ‘You might turn into a useful companion-at-arms yet!’
Chapter Six
They arrived at the beach not far from the place Benoît had brought Angelica to that morning—although he avoided the lane they had used before.
He travelled quickly but cautiously, and Angelica was aware that he was alert for the slightest unusual or potentially threatening disturbance. She didn’t try to talk to him. She kept Dorcas close by his side, determined not to do anything more to anger him. She desperately wanted time to think about what had happened in the shadows of the thicket, but at the moment it was better not to let her attention be distracted.
The open fields ran almost down to the beach. Only a line of trees at right angles to the sea offered any shelter. Benoît paused in the lee of the trees, where the dense confusion of brambles provided some shelter from both the wind and prying eyes, and swung down from his saddle. Angelica hesitated, then dropped down to join him. He’d soon put her back on the mare if that’s where he wanted her.
The wind had momentarily dropped, but Angelica could hear the sea, crashing on the sands not far away. The tide was in, just as it had been nearly twelve hours ago when she had first come to the beach. She could feel the damp air on her cheeks and taste the salt on her lips, but her vision was limited by the lack of moonlight. Only the cold, pale stars twinkled in the distant heavens. She wondered if this was how it had been for her father, when he’d tracked and found Benoît so many years ago. She was suddenly glad she had come.
Claire Thornton Page 12