Swept Away

by Marsha Canham

  A harsh cry broke from her throat and she twisted frantically out of his arms. Her knees buckled even as she grabbed at the length of velvet draperies to prevent herself from stumbling. She knocked against the edge of the table in her haste, jarring it enough to tip the glass and startle the candlestick. Quickly, she scrambled further into the corner, hauling the thickness of the velvet drapery with her to use as a shield. She stood there, gasping and panting, staring in utter horror at the pale outline of Emory Althorpe, who had used his cat like reflexes to catch the wine glass before it toppled onto the floor and shattered.

  When it was righted, he searched out the figure cowering in the corner.

  “Anna--”

  “Don’t come near me!” she cried, cringing even further and raising the clutched velvet panel higher when he took a step toward her.

  Emory stopped. “Anna, I’m sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”

  “No, you only meant to ravish me? To...to take advantage of me so that you might carry the blissful memory to your grave?”

  Her sarcasm stung, but the shot was not entirely off the mark and he admitted it. “You are right. Of course you are absolutely right, and I can only say again: I am sorry. I am a cad and a miscreant, and I would not blame you for calling me every filthy name your brother ever thought to devise, although you must also believe that I would do nothing to hurt you or compromise you in any way.”

  “A n-noble declaration,” she stammered, “having done just that.”

  Not knowing what else to do with his hands, he raked them angrily through his hair and paced to the foot of the bed and back.

  Anna watched him, still trembling from the strength of the pulsations between her thighs. Her skin felt as if it had been rubbed raw everywhere by a coarse towel and the slightest touch might cause her to faint.

  “I will admit,” he said finally, “to the present circumstances being somewhat more compromising than a couple of misguided kisses.”

  “Somewhat more compromising?”

  “All right, yes. Significantly more so. But still not enough to emblazon your breast with the mark of a harlot and pillory yourself on a stockade.”

  “Not in your opinion, perhaps. Not in the opinion of a self- proclaimed cad and miscreant who, although he cannot even remember if he has a w-wife, blithely attempts to seduce his way into another woman’s bed anyway.”

  He looked away for a moment and when he turned back, he shook his head. “I am not married.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I cannot swear it unequivocally on a bible of course, but if there was a woman in my life that I loved enough to marry--” he paused to expel a small gust of air-- “I doubt very much I would be damn near coming out of my skin every time I was close to you.”

  Anna was not sure if that was meant as a compliment or a means of excusing his behavior. In any case, she did not want him coming out of anything. In the past week she had broken more rules, flaunted more conventions, found herself asking more questions about who she was and what she wanted out of life than she was likely ever meant to ask. She had deceived her brother, lied to the authorities, actively conspired to conceal a criminal and destroyed her chances for a potentially brilliant marriage. Yet here she stood, trembling with an incomprehensible lust--and it was lust, she was not deceiving herself by calling it anything else--for the last man on earth for whom she should be feeling such urges.

  The knowledge that he had been fighting a similar attraction was hardly reassuring. On the contrary, it was frightening and unsettling.

  “The timing and circumstances are no better than they were ten minutes ago,” he added, misinterpreting her silence. “But if it will set your mind at ease and bring you out of that damned corner, we can go down the hall now and waken my brother.”

  “Waken your brother?”

  “He is a vicar, is he not? Licensed to perform marriages. I am sure we could persuade him to forgo the standard formalities.”

  “Is that your idea of an apology? A proposal of marriage? Or is it just another means of getting what you wanted in the first place?”

  Emory’s eyes narrowed with the first hint of a threat. “Madam, if I truly wanted what you are protecting so valiantly with your velvet shield and your pride, I could take it in a heartbeat and there would be nothing you could do to prevent it or stop me. I do not offer marriage for the mere convenience of taking you to bed. Indeed, I would not be offering it at all if I thought there was the slightest possibility it might hinder my speedy departure from these premises.”

  “Nothing is hindering you from leaving now, this instant,” she gasped, the indignation flooding her cheeks

  He stared at her through the darkness for a long moment, then offered a curt bow. “No indeed, there is not. Again, I thank you for your solicitude these past few days and beg your forgiveness at my unwanted intrusion here tonight. I would also wish you the very best of luck for the future, whatever it may bring.”

  She watched him stride across the room and disappear into the darkness of the dressing room. A few seconds later she heard the muted click as the door to the outer hallway was shut firmly behind him, and she knew he was gone. He was gone and she was left with only her draperies and her pride for comfort.

  CHAPTER 12

  Annaleah discovered the loss in the morning. She had deliberately remained in bed much later than her normal hour and for added insurance, ordered a tub to be filled that she might steam away the chill that had settled in her flesh since Emory Althorpe’s brusque departure. It was when she was removing her nightrail that she noticed the key was gone. The chain had been around her neck since Althorpe had put it there on the beach, and although she searched the floor in front of the window and in the corner, she did not find it. Nor did she find the key to the gun case that she had left beside the wine decanter last night.

  When Broom came to the door she sent him lumbering--and grumbling--back to the kitchens with his unwanted buckets of hot water. She dressed unaided in a simple high waisted gown and gave her hair a rudimentary brush before twisting it into a tight coil and pinning it haphazardly on the crown of her head. She left her room and hurried along the hallway, heading straight for the library when she descended to the second floor.

  The key was in the gun cabinet, jutting out of the lock as it had been the previous afternoon. But instead of five pistols seated in nests of baize on the shelf, there were only three. And of the compartments designed to hold flints, shot and powder flasks, half were empty. A further, panicked thought sent her to the huge cherrywood desk where she knew her great aunt kept her household records and accounts. She yanked open the top drawer and lifted the lid of the handsome enamelled box where Florence had placed a hundred pounds in rents and sales from her cider at the beginning of the week, and was stunned to see that it too was empty.

  “Dear God, he robbed us,” she whispered.

  “Borrowed a few pence, more’s the truth,” Florence said from the doorway. “And even then I had to force him to accept it.”

  “Auntie! He has taken guns and--”

  “A horse, a saddle, and a haversack full of Mildred’s biscuits and cold chicken. Willerkins contributed a compass and supplied the name of a posting house along the Exeter turnpike whose proprietor would not ask too many questions of a stranger. That, of course, proved to be a gauntlet thrown in Broom’s face, whereupon he spilled forth a veritable list of inns, taverns, and brothels of various repute where a coin or two would guarantee anonymity.”

  “But...where will he go?” she asked softly.

  “Anywhere but here, in Torbay. The Bellerophon slipped into the harbor sometime during the night. Napoleon Bonaparte has arrived on our humble shores and the crowds will be pouring in like herds of sheep and cattle though frankly, I cannot see the attraction. I always thought him an unctuous little snipe in too-tight breeches, and knew that eventually the bad blood would out. Just because a pig knows how to root out truffles, it does n
ot change the fact that it is still a pig.

  “Speaking of refined snouts,” Florence added. “Your Lord Barrimore is in the parlor with your brother. I have been suffering genuine bouts of concern, seeking to intercept you before you barged into the room unawares.”

  Anna’s head took another terrible spin and she sat down heavily in the desk chair.

  She had not even considered the possibility of facing Barrimore so soon after humiliating him. Nor did she want to speculate what form of greeting he might extend, how sharp the daggers in his eyes or how thick the frost on his tongue. She could deal with her brother’s anger, even his contempt, but the thought of being upbraided for her hoydenish behavior while Barrimore stood witness was enough to drain the blood from her face with the speed of an opened vein.

  “We could always say you were so stricken with guilt, you threw yourself off the cliff and are too distraught to receive visitors,” Florence suggested dryly. “But I dare say that would only delay the inevitable a day or two. And besides, it could be much worse.”

  Annaleah shook her head. “I cannot imagine how.”

  “Well for one thing, the vicar and his annoying little wagtail could still be here, and Willerkins would have had to fetch the constables to arrest me on a charge of murder. As it was, having to listen to her incessant natter over breakfast, I came perilously close to striking my own head with my cane just to give myself something more painful to contemplate.”

  Anna’s eyes were silvery with tears as she looked up at her aunt. “Oh Auntie, I wish I could stay here with you forever.”

  Florence clutched her hands together. “I wish you could too, dear, but...” She braced up and attempted a smile. “Good God, child, in a month you would be as addled as the rest of us. We have had a bit of an adventure together, though, have we not? And you have discovered--I trust--that I am not nearly as frightening or as peculiar as your mother would make me out to be.”

  “You are sweet and kind and generous to a fault.”

  Florence trembled and looked down at her hands, trying to remain constant, but failing miserably. “I’ll thank you not to repeat that anywhere, young lady, for it would seriously dent my reputation as a dotty old witch. Now come along. Let us square off against the Philistines together.” She stiffened her shoulders and thrust out her chin. “They would not dare cast stones, verbal or otherwise, in the presence of a feeble old woman and her cane.”

  Anna blew out a resigned breath and pushed to her feet. Arm in arm they walked out of the library and turned in the direction of the day parlor.

  “By the by, Rory's face was as long as a pike this morning too,” Florence murmured. “Not that it is any of my business, of course, but I had the distinct impression his mind was not on guns or horses or mad flights into peril. And dear Lucille, in her earnest zeal to be helpful, was only too eager to expound on what occurred after I retired last night.”

  “Auntie, I’m sorry, I--”

  “Do not be sorry, dear.” Florence patted her hand. “I only wish you would do your kissing where I might judge the attributes for myself, first hand. Lucille was quite breathless in her recounting.”

  Anna was too startled to do more than glance sidelong at her aunt as they walked through the doorway and into the parlor. Nor did she have a chance to fully recover her wits before her brother and Lord Barrimore marked their entrance and ceased their murmured conversation to turn and offer polite bows. They were both standing by the fireplace, Barrimore in his usual staid funereal black from head to toe. Anthony displayed a fashionably more colorful splash of green satin in his waistcoat and buff trousers, and oddly enough, wore a cheerful expression.

  “Dash it, Anna m’dear, if you have not cost me half a crown in a trifling wager with Barrimore.” He pointed to the clock on the mantlepiece. “ I was convinced you would sleep until noon. In truth, I must say, if it were not for the clamor of the hoards outside our window this morning, I should still be abed myself. All this sea air. The sun bursting rudely through the curtains before anything remotely resembling a civilized hour...” He waved a hand to disparage the injustice of it all. “Far too countrified for me, I am afraid. Too many bumpkins hawking apples and wanting to haul you by wagons to the seaside. Frankly I cannot see why the regent would find the place the least bit endearing, since he is never off his pillows until late afternoon. As for him paddling out with codfish, well, I just cannot see the charm.”

  “No doubt he has heard that a swim in the salt water is extremely beneficial for his health,” Barrimore explained. “That it enriches the blood and clears the mind.”

  “Not to mention dampening any interest he might take in the daughters of the local gentry, what?”

  Anthony laughed at his own jest, but Barrimore’s dark eyes did not betray the slightest flicker of humor as they fastened on Annaleah. “I am exceedingly sorry I could not keep our appointment yesterday, Miss Fairchilde. As I explained in my note... I was detained somewhat longer on business matters than I had anticipated.”

  Anna saw the warning in his eyes and although she had seen no such note, nor had he sent one, it was apparent he had not said anything to Anthony about what he had seen on the cliffs. He had not betrayed her indiscretion and was relying on her to reciprocate by not making him the laughingstock of the ton. In this way, they could both return to London unscathed and cheat the gossips of a delicious scandalum magnatum.

  Her relief was almost as draining as her approbation.

  “Thank you,” she breathed. “And yes, the delay was perfectly understandable.”

  For the first time ever, she thought she saw a visible easing of the tightness around his formidable jaw. With a further start, she realized that Winston Perry, Marquis of Barrimore probably never found himself in the position of having to depend upon the charitable acts of others.

  “As it happens, I also find I must start back today. The Bellerophon, having run ahead of the same storm that struck us last night, has arrived in port two days early and no doubt the debates in the House will accelerate accordingly.”

  Florence settled into her chair with a scowl. “Surely there are enough soldiers garrisoned at Berry Head to form a firing squad.”

  Barrimore held Anna’s gaze a moment longer before addressing her aunt’s remark. “Undoubtedly there are, Madam, and I would be among the first in line to pass out the powder cartridges and shot. Unfortunately there are those of a more lenient nature who feel he would pay a higher price if we returned him to exile and made him eke out his days knowing he was roundly defeated.”

  “You sound as if you do not believe he would accept it.”

  “He escaped from prison once; he can do it again. Especially with the proper help.”

  “Are you still on about this renegade Bonapartist Ramsey seems bent on resurrecting from the dead?” Anthony arched his brow as he inspected the small platter of cheese, paté, and toasted bread triangles Mildred had brought in earlier. “In truth, he is probably in the right place to do so, for there have been sightings of ghosts in the caves hereabout for centuries.”

  “Really? Then perhaps I was not just imagining that I saw such an apparition on these very cliffs.” Barrimore’s cool green eyes settled on Florence. “A man presumed to have died long ago of a shrunken head in Borneo.”

  To her credit, Florence did not even blink. She held Barrimore’s gaze and though they both knew he was making an oblique reference to Emory Althorpe, they might have been discussing something as trivial as the weather.

  “Ghosts are quite prevalent in the area,” she said. “They come and go, and harm no one.”

  “Then I trust this one has gone?”

  “Oh yes. I doubt you would see him again if you waited a month of Sundays.”

  Barrimore’s eyes narrowed and he looked directly at Annaleah. “Once was quite enough, thank you.”

  It took a massive effort for Anna to refrain from clutching her aunt’s hand. She had no idea what the penalty was for harboring
a traitor to the crown, much less kissing one.

  Anthony, who had been busy spreading fois gras on a piece of toast, missed the innuendo altogether and chuckled. “As I recall, I had Annaleah thoroughly convinced there were ghosts in every room here at Widdicombe House. Do you remember the incident, Anna, when we were children and came for a visit? You annoyed me to such an extent during the day that by night I had you screaming and running out of the room in terror of your life?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I remember.”

  “God a-mighty!” He pinched his face around a sour pucker and looked at his aunt. “What the devil do you feed your barn fowl? This goose liver tastes like bog moss.”

  Florence did not take her eyes away from the marquis as she answered. “We do not have any geese, Nephew. It is probably yesterday’s kidneys from a rather old ewe.”

  Anthony swallowed with obvious difficulty and wiped his mouth on a hastily produced handkerchief. “Yes, well. I expect my palate has been spoiled by Whites. Which reminds me, Anna dear, I am much relieved to see Auntie’s ankle is improved, for I must insist we leave for London today as well. Mother will have received my note by now and has likely dispatched one back in the next mail coach, and it would be best if neither one of us were here to accept it. Quite apart from the overcrowding in town--we could not even hire a hackney this morning to bring us out; we had to use the berline in all this mud!-- Barrimore has reminded me the regent’s Masquerade ball is Friday next and we would both be flayed alive if we were not in attendance.”

  This time Anna did reach out and grip her aunt’s hand for courage. It was one thing to avoid Barrimore’s cold stare in a cluttered parlor, it was entirely another to endure it for three days within the tight confines of a travelling coach.