The Captain and His Innocent

by Lucy Ashford

  ‘I think it’s time for you to go,’ he said. ‘Joseph should be nearby. I’ll check with him that it’s all right for you to return to the house.’

  ‘There’s no need to check. Let me go now. I often go out walking in the garden—the staff won’t be at all surprised to see me going back in. They’re used to me...’

  Her voice trailed away as she felt his eyes raking her. ‘Not looking like that, they’re not,’ he said softly.

  Her hands flew to her long hair, which fell in disarray around her face and shoulders.

  Without another word, Luke left her, heading out beyond the pavilion. Ellie realised that though it was scarcely five o’clock, darkness had engulfed the garden and it had started to snow again heavily. She sat on the stone bench in the shelter of the pavilion and gave way to sheer, raw hurt.

  Her cheeks burned from the memory of his kiss. From the warmth of his lips on hers, the strength of his lean, hard-muscled body pressed against hers. All a joke, a cruel joke on his part, because it was absolutely clear now that he never intended to give way on anything. He’d been pretending that he desired her, coaxing her sweetly with his touch and his caresses—all the better to make it quite clear that he despised her.

  She hated him. So why, then, did the heat flare in her blood and an ache of need squeeze at her chest when, a few moments later, she realised that her tormentor was on his way back?

  His dark hair and his shoulders were covered with snow. His face, as he entered the pavilion, was expressionless. She rose to her feet and drew her cloak around her like armour, meeting his gaze defiantly. ‘So can I go?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ He was knocking snow off his coat and boots. ‘The dogs are out.’

  ‘No!’ She couldn’t hold back her obvious dismay. ‘No, it’s too early...’

  ‘Perhaps they’ve scented an interloper. You’ll have to stay here for a while, I’m afraid—’ He broke off, because the dogs were barking closer now, drowning his words. He, like her, listened in silence to the blood-

  chilling baying.

  ‘Might they find us, Luke?’ she whispered.

  His name. She’d used his name, he realised, for the first time. He sat down on the stone bench beside her and said calmly, ‘I doubt it, because this fresh snow will mask our scent and our footprints.’

  She nodded. She’d clasped her hands together and he saw something else.

  She was terrified.

  She’d been so full of defiance on the day she’d travelled to Bircham Hall, when she’d wandered from the coach and he’d waylaid her by the roadside. It had been the same again on the night Sam Snaith had brought her to him, in that tavern by the harbour—he remembered with fresh incredulity how she’d insisted she was going to make the journey back to France, alone. But now he saw that she was shaking. ‘Are you afraid of dogs?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘Of dogs like them. Yes. Yes...’

  And suddenly he guessed. He knew. ‘You’ve been hunted by dogs, haven’t you? Some time in your past?’

  Again, she whispered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ll be safe,’ he said. ‘I give you my word.’

  She nodded, but her skin was paper-white. The dogs were still howling in the distance and he saw how, as she listened to them, every inch of her conveyed her battle with overwhelming terror. Hunting dogs had been set after her? For pity’s sake, what other secrets did her past life hold? What other terrors? Talk to her, Luke, for God’s sake, he urged himself angrily. Take pity on her. Distract her. She’s only a girl, after all. You must stop her listening to those damned great brutes...

  He lifted his hand, to point to the falling snow. ‘It’s lethal. But it’s beautiful, too, isn’t it?’ he said quietly. ‘It reminds me of the Spanish Pyrenees, the winter that we crossed the mountains with Wellington in the snow.’

  She gazed up at him, her eyes wide with wonder. ‘So you were in the army? I heard your men call you “Captain”, but I wondered if it was—if it was...’

  ‘A joke?’ He met her gaze steadily. ‘No joke—it’s true that I was an officer.’

  Her eyes widened a little, then travelled to his gloved hand. ‘But you were injured.’

  He exhaled sharply. ‘Put it like this. One way and another, the army didn’t have much use for me any more.’

  She sat very still. Good. He had her attention now. Which was as well, because confident as he’d tried to sound about the dogs, they were damnable beasts and even this snow might not be sufficient to put them off the scent of humans lurking in the garden.

  ‘Luke...’ He saw that she was struggling for the right words. ‘I’m sorry about your hand. But you were an officer. You must have held responsibility. People must have trusted you. Yet you...’

  ‘Became a wastrel.’ He kept his voice light. ‘An outcast from society. That’s what you think, isn’t it?’

  She got to her feet and started walking to and fro. ‘I don’t understand why you live as you do. Can’t you lead a life more worthy of yourself somehow?’

  Well, thought Luke drily, this was certainly better. The colour had come back to her cheeks, and she was back to insulting him as normal. He gave her a cool smile. ‘You think that I got up to no good after leaving the army. That I’m a free trader—a smuggler—at the very least. Don’t you?’

  She drew a deep breath, then she said, very quietly, ‘Perhaps. Luke, why are you so desperate for me to get those papers? Are you facing some kind of prosecution—prison, even? Are those papers some kind of evidence against you?’

  He rose to tower over her. Saw the fear flicker in her eyes again, even though she stood firm. ‘Ellie,’ he said, ‘I cannot give you any reasons. Not yet. All I can tell you is I have a brother. He was in the army, too. Whether he’s alive or dead, no one’s sure. And I need you to find those papers.’

  ‘They’re something to do with your brother?’ She was struggling to understand. ‘And yet they’re in Lord Franklin’s house?’

  ‘I can’t tell you any more,’ he said. ‘But I will have to insist on your obedience in this matter, I’m afraid—’

  He broke off, because outside the pavilion a figure emerged from the whirling snow. Luke’s hand was on her arm, reassuring her. ‘It’s Joseph. No need to be afraid.’ He was already stepping forward to exchange a few words with his henchman.

  Then he turned back to her. ‘The dogs have been returned to their kennels. So you’re safe to go back to the house now.’

  Safe? She almost laughed. Wrapping her cloak around herself, she stepped out into the wintry darkness, holding her head high, and Luke followed her. At the last minute, she whirled round on him, the fast-falling flakes whitening her shoulders and hair.

  ‘You ask too much of me, Capitaine,’ she whispered, ‘in many ways. In fact, in most ways.’ She clutched at his arm. ‘Please let me have my father’s compass back. I beg you—’

  Again, the emotions rolled through him—waves of bitter regret and of self-loathing. He had no option. He’d never had any option. Anthony, I’m doing this for you.

  He pulled his hand away almost sharply, and said, at last, ‘You will have the compass back once you’ve done exactly as I asked. You’re quite clearly a resourceful person, mam’selle. I’ll give you a week to complete the task. No more.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The big clock in the hallway was striking six by the time Ellie reached her room. She heard it reverberating all around the great, proud house that was packed with priceless art treasures.

  She would be late for dinner. She didn’t care.

  Slowly she took off her cloak and boots, which were damp from the snow. Then she sat on the bed and put her hands to her cheeks.

  She’d known from the very first time she met Luke—the captain—that she ought to be afraid of him. She remembered h
ow in the moment before he kissed her in the pavilion, there had been no tenderness in his eyes, only a look of harsh challenge. She shivered as she remembered the way his mouth had curved into a slight smile—a knowing smile—as he pulled her steadily into his arms.

  She also remembered how every nerve ending in her body had been crying out a warning. Be careful. Be careful. But then he’d touched his lips to hers and his mouth had been warm and sweet and wonderful. Her legs had threatened to give way, her heart had pounded like a drum and without thinking, she’d let her fingers tighten round the hard muscles of his back and found she was letting her tongue twine with his, letting him taste her fully in a way she’d never dreamed of.

  She’d hardly been able to stand. He’d thought her a fool. A stupid little fool, and who could blame him?

  There was a knock at the door and Mary came in. ‘Miss, dinner is about to be served...’ Suddenly, she saw Ellie’s wet cloak and boots. ‘Oh, miss! You’ve been out in all this snow! But the dogs were let out earlier—didn’t you hear them? One of the groundsmen thought he glimpsed an intruder... Your hair’s all damp and your stockings are wet—I would have lit a fire for you if I’d known. Here, let me help you.’

  Swiftly Mary set about drying her hair, finding her fresh clothes, helping her change her shoes.

  ‘Mary,’ Ellie interrupted her as she helped her into a clean gown. ‘Mary, there’s a big old house, on a headland overlooking the sea. It’s less than two miles from here and it looks half-derelict.’

  ‘Oh, you mean Higham House, ma’am! The Danburys’ family home!’

  Ellie’s heart was beating a little faster. ‘Tell me about Higham House. Tell me about the Danburys, Mary.’

  ‘Well, there was old Mr Danbury, who owned the place when I was a little girl—there are farms, too, you know, not just the house, though the last year or two have been bad ones for harvests, I believe. Old Mr Danbury, he died back in 1810, leaving his grandson as his heir.’

  ‘Luke Danbury?’

  ‘That’s right. Luke Danbury’s father died some time ago, you see, and his mother even longer ago. So Luke Danbury inherited the estate. There was a younger brother, Anthony, but he went off to Spain for a soldier and never came back. Whether or not he died in battle, no one’s ever said for sure, miss—his body’s never been brought home. And people whisper things.’

  I have a brother. He was in the army, too. She remembered Luke’s expression. ‘What do they whisper, Mary?’

  ‘Oh, miss.’ Mary looked distressed. ‘There’s talk that Anthony Danbury was a traitor.’

  ‘A traitor?’

  ‘Yes, although I don’t know a thing about it, I must say. All I know is that now the big old house—so beautiful, it once was!—has gone to rack and ruin, and the farms are scarcely any better.’

  ‘But Luke Danbury still lives at the house?’

  ‘He does now, miss—though he joined the army, too, in 1812, a while after his brother did. Some were surprised that he went, leaving the place without a Danbury in charge. But there was a woman, you see, an heiress—her father owned land in Hythe and she was ever so beautiful. She and Luke Danbury became engaged, but she broke it off, they say, and he was so bitter that he turned his back on his estate and went off to join the army in Spain.’

  Ellie was reeling. Luke Danbury had been engaged to an heiress. He’d had a love affair that had ended with such bitterness that he’d gone to be a soldier.

  She remembered the hundred secret things he’d made her feel with his lips and hands, just in those few moments in the snowbound pavilion. ‘When did he come back from the army, Mary?’ She was surprised by how calm her voice sounded.

  ‘He came back nearly a year ago and, to be quite honest, miss, no one knows quite what he’s up to these days because he doesn’t mix with society. Mrs Sheerham, she says he’s gone and mortgaged that lovely old house and sold off everything he could from it, for gambling and bad company. Not only that, but when he first came back early last year, he was forever sailing off to France by night—or so the locals said.’

  Ellie tried to keep her voice cool. ‘His fiancée perhaps had a fortunate escape.’

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed! Her father in particular was ever so relieved. Luke Danbury is unpopular with all the landed gentry around here.’

  ‘Because he’s a rogue?’

  ‘Well, no.’ Mary hesitated. ‘Truth to tell, miss, he’s not exactly a rogue to the local people. He treats his tenants and his labourers better than any other landlord. Pays them as much as he can for the work they do—and often you’ll see him out there in the fields himself, helping his men with the lambing and shearing and harvesting, and working harder than anyone. The other landowners, they don’t like it. They don’t like him. They say that he gives the working folk ideas. So I think, miss...’ Mary hesitated ‘...that perhaps you’d be well advised not to mention Luke Danbury to Lord Franklin, when he arrives here tomorrow.’

  Ellie stood up slowly from her chair. ‘You say that Lord Franklin is arriving tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You didn’t know? Everyone’s in a flurry, of course, but he likes to arrive all of a sudden from time to time, does his lordship. Cook says he does it to keep us on our toes. And Mr Huffley says he comes to admire all his paintings and statues—Cook believes that he cares more for those cold, dead things than he cares for any living person—’

  As if realising she was saying too much, Mary broke off mid-sentence. ‘Anyway, a messenger arrived from London this afternoon, to say he’ll be here after lunch tomorrow, in spite of all this snow. You’ll find that her ladyship is very excited, for of course she dotes on her son. And while you’re having your dinner, miss, I’ll sort through those lovely new clothes of yours that you’ve never yet worn. Because with Lord Franklin arriving, you’ll surely want to look your very best...’

  * * *

  After leaving the girl, Luke walked swiftly through the darkness to the boundary wall of Lord Franklin’s estate and climbed it with ease. No guard dogs, no groundsmen and this falling snow will cover my trail. Soon afterwards he reached the clearing in the woods where he’d tethered his mare, Diablo, who whickered gently when she saw him, nuzzling at his coat pocket for treats.

  ‘At least someone’s glad to see me,’ Luke murmured as he fondled the mare’s neck and brushed the snow from the saddle. It would take him some time to erase the memory of the look on the French girl’s face as he emerged from behind the pavilion. It had been a look of downright fear—and quite probably he deserved nothing less.

  His mouth was set in a grim line as he mounted Diablo and rode onwards to join the coast road. The snow had almost stopped now, but the track was crisp and lethal underfoot and Luke kept Diablo to a walk, following the road beneath the many stars that were beginning to come out. After a while, he turned off down the narrow, overgrown lane that led to the top of the cliffs, where a tiny church overlooked the sea.

  The girl—Ellie—would be back indoors by now, he thought. Back at Bircham Hall, hating, no doubt, what he was forcing her to do—to betray her protector, Lord Franklin. Hating him, Luke. And yet...that kiss.

  It was meant to subdue her. To chasten her. He hadn’t been prepared for her response, or for his own hunger for more. He could have sworn that her lips parted of their own volition under his; could have sworn that, as he held her closer and caressed her inner mouth with his tongue, her hands had tightened around his back and she’d let out a low, husky sound of desire as her lips clung to his and her soft breasts pressed against his chest...

  Wrong. It was all wrong—yet her slender but sensual body had made him think of things that were forbidden, things he should have banished to the back of his mind. Instead, he’d been a fool, allowing himself to be swept by a kind of madness that had taken him well beyond the limits of his usual iron self-control.

  Yet
she’d seemed unaware of her own allure, and her apparent innocence haunted him. He bit out an oath and rubbed his hand over his face.

  He was using her. He deserved every bit of her contempt.

  He’d reached the church now, the small Saxon church with its graveyard surrounded by ancient yews. Luke dismounted, aware that the snow had altered everything, painting the landscape a stark white that contrasted almost eerily with the black sky and sea. He knew his way well enough through the graveyard and he went to stand at the place where a marble memorial thrust its way up out of the snow.

  He reached out to push some of the snow crystals away and, as a sudden shaft of moonlight lit up the inscription, he read aloud, Here lie, united in death, John Danbury Esquire and his wife Elizabeth Danbury. Dearly loved parents of sons Luke and Anthony. At peace, thanks to a loving God. A just God.

  At peace? His mother, he scarcely remembered—she’d died giving birth to Anthony twenty-six years ago. His father had died when Luke was ten and Anthony eight—the two boys were at boarding school by then, but Luke had vivid memories of his father as a big, loud man, a drinker and a braggart.

  Next to the memorial was another gravestone, belonging to his grandfather. Edward Danbury had died five years ago and it was to him that Luke owed everything. Edward Danbury had been a man of integrity, who’d done his best to safeguard the estate and had given both Anthony and Luke the stability they needed, while their father led the life of a wastrel in London.

  Luke glanced again at the memorial to his parents. A loving, just God? No—not by his reckoning. Or Anthony would be here. Anthony wouldn’t have been branded a traitor.

  He still had Jacques’s letter in his pocket—the one brought to him by Davey Patchett, the fisherman—but he didn’t need to look at it again, because he remembered every word. I have learned for certain that your brother was on the run for only a few weeks after the betrayal at La Rochelle before he became a prisoner of Napoleon’s men. After that—no news at all.