by Lucy Ashford
Once more Luke held the letter in his hand. He stared at it in disbelief.
‘You’re angry with me,’ she was saying in a low voice. ‘Because now you have to decide what to do with me.’ She gave a little shrug.
‘Angry? Oh, God, no. How could I possibly be angry with you for long?’
He spoke almost with despair, but Ellie, hearing the sheer tenderness in his voice, felt his words trace patterns of swirling heat all down her arms, her spine, her abdomen. Suddenly he shifted to sit next to her on the tiny bunk and she was aware of him with every fibre of her being. Aware of his hooded blue eyes, of his beautiful mouth, too close to hers...
‘You could tell me I’m a burden, at the very least.’ She tried to laugh. ‘As if you didn’t have enough to deal with. I didn’t mean to cause such trouble to you, Luke.’
‘A burden?’ he echoed. Disbelief etched every syllable. ‘Oh, Ellie...’
He said her name as if it were a caress. His strong hands cupped her face, then slid round to bury themselves in her hair. She felt a dark pulse start up in her bloodstream—low and deep and insistent.
‘Luke.’ She tried to back away. ‘You mustn’t feel that you need to be kind to me.’ There was a huge ache in her throat, almost blocking it. ‘I’m used to coping. Used to being on my own. I’ve always preferred to be on my own.’
‘Why?’
‘Perhaps...’ She hesitated. ‘Perhaps because it was less dangerous that way.’
His hands were softly stroking her shoulders. ‘I felt the same,’ he said quietly. ‘For such a long time. Until I met you, Ellie.’
And Ellie couldn’t seem able to do what she knew she should. Couldn’t make herself push him away.
Especially when he drew her close—and kissed her.
* * *
In that tiny cabin, the kiss exploded all around them. Luke’s hands held her fast as his lips tasted and caressed hers; but then—with perhaps the greatest effort of his life—he held her away from him, his hands resting with the lightest of touches on her shoulders. He realised that his breath was catching in his throat as he absorbed her adorable face and inhaled the faint scent of lavender that lingered on her silken skin and tumbled hair.
But now—he groaned inwardly—now wasn’t the time to make love—there wasn’t even time to talk properly. This wasn’t the place, on board this flimsy little ship, on the way to rescue Anthony. She was still weak after the effects of the storm, though she tried to hide it, and there was danger all around. And yet he wanted her again. He wanted all of her.
God forgive him, he’d used her badly in his tormented effort to find his brother and to clear his name. In fact, since he first set eyes on her on the road to Bircham, he’d done his damnedest to see her merely as yet another weapon in his battle to save Anthony.
But all the time, she kept catching him unawares. Catching him on the raw. Piercing the wall of granite he’d put around his heart that he thought was there forever—until Ellie Duchamp came into his life. By some miracle, this girl was yet again illuminating the darkness that had wrapped itself around his heart. Was making him think that, yes, finding Anthony was still his life’s mission. But after that—what about after that? If Ellie wasn’t part of his life, then there was no point to anything at all.
He must have looked graver than he’d thought. Forbidding, even, because now he saw Ellie shrink away from him just a little. He took her hand quickly. ‘We need to talk,’ he said. ‘Properly. But meanwhile, I have to help Jacques to get the ship safely to anchor off the French coast—and then I have to find Anthony.’
‘Of course.’ Her voice was intense. ‘But I meant what I said, Luke. Once we’ve found your brother, you needn’t worry about me. I can make my own way back to Paris, and there I’ll look for somewhere to stay. Get a job, perhaps, as a governess, or a lady’s companion—’
He cut in almost roughly. ‘Don’t ever talk such nonsense again. Do you hear me?’ He felt a wave of emotion that was almost raw hurt for her—and near-loathing for himself. He had done this to her? She felt that he cared for her so little that she was already thinking of leaving?
He pulled her closer. Pressed his forehead against hers. ‘Whatever happens, Mademoiselle Duchamp,’ he whispered, ‘you’re staying. With me. Is that quite clear?’
She shook her head. ‘Luke. Oh, Luke, you don’t have to...’
‘Nobody,’ he said, ‘nobody makes me do anything at all that I don’t want to do.’
‘But I know there was—there is—somebody else. Someone who hurt you badly. I understand that.’
‘Oh, God,’ he breathed. ‘Do you mean Caroline? Caroline Fawley? That was a mistake—I knew it from the start.’
‘But you were to be married to her. And when she broke off the engagement, you were so hurt that you left to join the army.’
He almost shouted with laughter. ‘Is that what they say?’
Her eyes were wide. She looked stunned. ‘Isn’t it true?’
‘No,’ he breathed. ‘No.’ He gathered her into his arms. ‘Listen to me. I didn’t love her. I never loved her. And she didn’t love me.’
‘Then why...?’
‘She found me attractive,’ he said simply. ‘Dangerous, if you like. A challenge, especially since her father objected to me strongly. As for me, I’m afraid I saw the marriage as a way of saving the estate, but fortunately for both of us, I couldn’t go through with it. I told her that she could have the privilege of breaking off our engagement. I told her I would take the complete blame—society could say what it liked about me.’
His expression darkened a little. ‘And believe me, society did. Caroline made quite sure of that. Society condemned me as a worthless rogue, which was why I went off to join the army in Spain. As for Caroline, I forgot about her long ago, and believe me, I was well rid of her. It’s you I’m thinking of now, Ellie. Always. Always. Do you believe me?’
Just then they heard a shout from outside. ‘Luke. Are you there? We need you, up here!’
‘I must go,’ he said to her. ‘But I asked you a question. Do you believe me?’
She nodded slowly, her eyes wide and serious. ‘Luke, you must find your brother. And then—then we’ll talk.’
Luke resolved he would make it his mission to convince her that being his was her only option. ‘I’ll find Anthony,’ he assured her gravely.
‘Do you know exactly where he is? You’ll have to land by night, won’t you?’
‘I’ll have to land by night, yes. And I know he’s being cared for in a convent near Le Havre, but I’m not quite sure how far it is from the town...’
‘I have maps,’ she broke in eagerly. ‘Maps of my father’s, in my valise. You see—we lived for a while in Le Havre.’
He stared at her, astounded, and then he began to laugh. ‘Oh, Ellie. Ellie, you are wonderful.’
‘Luke! We need you!’ From up above, on deck, someone was shouting his name again. She was hastily opening her valise. ‘Are you going ashore at Le Havre alone?’ She handed him the map.
‘Speaking French as badly as I do?’ He shook his head. ‘Not a good idea. I’m planning to take one of Jacques’s men.’
‘Take me,’ she said.
‘You? No! I wouldn’t dream of endangering you...’
She tilted her chin stubbornly. ‘Take me. I’ve told you—I know Le Havre and its neighbourhood. And if you do meet with any of Napoleon’s soldiers, then a man and a woman are far less likely to be stopped than two men travelling together—especially since Jacques’s men all look full of piraterie.’
He smiled. ‘You mean—like pirates? Piratical?’
‘Piratical, yes! Exactly!’ She stood there, determined and utterly lovely. ‘Take me, Luke.’
‘I cannot expose you to fresh danger...’
&nbs
p; ‘I’m not letting you go from here,’ she breathed, ‘until you promise you’ll take me.’ On tiptoe she reached up to kiss him so sweetly that his pulse pounded and his loins were on fire.
And Luke agreed.
* * *
After that, he worked on deck with Jacques and his sailors almost all night. At four in the morning he snatched two hours’ rest; then before dawn the Wattersons rowed him to a tiny cove less than half a mile from Le Havre. With Ellie.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Afterwards, whenever she remembered that journey with Luke, she realised that even though she’d known they were in great danger, she’d felt herself to be brimming with hope and even happiness—because Luke was at her side and he needed her.
The Watterson brothers were desperately reluctant to leave Luke on French soil, but he was resolute. Ellie had shown him her map of the coast beforehand, pointing out to him all the details she remembered, of the port of Le Havre and its hinterland.
‘I once visited the village of Montvilliers, where the convent is,’ she told him. ‘It’s only three miles from the coast, but of course we’ll be best avoiding the main roads. Will we be walking?’
Luke nodded. ‘I think so. Hiring horses would draw attention on us.’
‘In that case, on foot, we can go this way—’ she pointed at the map ‘—and this way, along the river and through the woods. You see?’
Jacques had already warned them repeatedly that they would have to be careful. ‘Remember, we don’t know how many local men will be gathering to support Napoleon. War is coming again without a doubt, and it will be dangerous in the next few weeks for any Englishman in France.’ He looked at them both sharply. ‘You’ll travel as husband and wife?’
‘As husband and wife,’ said Luke.
* * *
They set off along a narrow track that led them away from the sea and, as they walked through the lush green fields and unfurling oak woods of Normandy, Luke constantly marvelled at Ellie’s enterprise, at her optimism. How would he have managed without her? He wasn’t sure.
Jacques had been right to warn them to be wary, because even though they were well away from the town and the main roads, there were people around: labourers in the fields, housewives feeding their chickens out in the yards of their cottages. An ancient French farmer coming towards them with his horse and cart was clearly curious about these strangers on the road, and it was Ellie who responded lightly to his questioning, telling the man they were travelling to Rouen to visit her family there.
‘You’ll have to watch out,’ the farmer said, nodding at Luke, ‘or your strong husband might be snatched up for Napoleon’s army.’
Luke understood that and held up his maimed right hand. ‘Hélas, monsieur,’ he said.
‘Perhaps not,’ the man muttered. ‘Perhaps not.’
The road was becoming busier as the sun rose higher, and if anyone spoke to them, Ellie was the one who answered back cheerfully. Luke laughed and told her that he must look, to the French, like a silent hen-pecked husband. And he smiled inwardly with satisfaction when he saw her colour slightly at the word, husband.
Ellie had left her precious valise in Jacques’s care, on the ship, but he guessed that she would have her pistol concealed inside her cloak, somewhere. And he had a knife ready, under his coat. Even with his left hand, he could still use it to defend them from enemies. To defend her.
During this brief but all-important mission, Luke didn’t allow himself to think too much, or to make any assumptions about their future. But he couldn’t stop himself being aware of her, so acutely that it was as if she were a part of him. She walked steadily beside him, in her old shapeless cloak—but he was seeing her as she’d been that night in her room at Bircham Hall. In that sinuous silk dress. Out of that dress.
She was beautiful. She was courageous. She had risked everything to come with him on this journey, and yet she demanded nothing in return. ‘You needn’t worry about me,’ she’d said in that tiny cabin on the ship. ‘I can make my own way back to Paris and look for somewhere to stay. Get a job, perhaps.’
Ellie. Everything about her caught so fiercely at his heart that it wrenched him and left him almost breathless with wanting her to be his and only his.
She was ahead of him now. She’d stopped on the brow of a hill where a valley opened out before them and she was studying her father’s map. When she turned to him, her eyes were serious, yet somehow burning with hope. ‘The village is down there,’ she told him. ‘By the river.’
He nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. ‘Ellie,’ he said. ‘I want you to know that I will never be able to repay you for all that you have done. But when we get back to England—when Anthony is safe...’
She nodded. ‘When Anthony is safe, we’ll talk then. Come, Luke.’ She reached for his hand. ‘We’re almost there.’
* * *
They descended the track into the valley and soon they were crossing the stone bridge over the stream. As they walked down the cobbled street of the village, there were people all around them, farmers and housewives, and Luke felt the tension prickle at the back of his neck. But Ellie led the way calmly, as if she wasn’t even aware of the stares aimed in their direction, until at last she walked up to an old woman sitting by the well and said, ‘Madame. Où est le couvent, s’il vous plait?’
She was asking for the convent. Luke hoped to God they’d got the right village and that all this wasn’t in vain. That Anthony was still alive. He wasn’t a man who believed in prayer, but he prayed now.
The old woman pointed and said some rapid words, which Ellie of course understood. Ellie led the way down the road to the low stone building in the shadow of the church and she knocked at the door. A nun came to open it and Luke heard Ellie explaining something about a sick Englishman. He heard her speak his brother’s name.
The nun answered, talking volubly, and then they followed her black-robed figure through an archway to an airy inner garden that was filled with apple trees in the first flush of blossom.
Ellie turned to Luke. ‘The nun says that he is through there. In a private bedchamber.’ She pointed to where the nun was waiting by an inner door. ‘You must go to him, Luke.’
He touched her hand, once; her eyes were clear and bright, and the expression in them gave him hope. She makes my life worth living, he realised suddenly.
The nun, her black robes swishing, led him through to a large whitewashed room with an iron-framed bed in one corner. The sheets were white, the pillows were white and the sunlight shone down into the room from a high window. And there, with his head and shoulders resting against the crisp pillows, lay his brother.
Luke thought at first that he was asleep. But Anthony opened his eyes at the sound of visitors. And slowly, he began to smile.
‘Luke,’ he said. ‘My big brother.’ His smile broadened. ‘You certainly took your time.’
* * *
Ellie sat outside in the shade of an apple tree, breathing in the sweet scent of the flowers, aware of a group of sparrows twittering loudly on the tiled roof of the convent. Anthony was here. The nun had said he was recovering well. To know that Luke and his brother were reunited was worth everything.
And yet at the same time her heart was aching.
The last few hours had been perfect—just the two of them, united and purposeful. She had felt of use to Luke, vitally necessary, even, to his quest. She’d been able to let her love for him quietly flow through her as they travelled the road today and talked together—her laughing over his poor French, him needing her and yet being there for her, so that she was aware always of his quiet strength.
She was in love with him, which meant that she’d made herself vulnerable in a way she’d sworn to herself she never would. When Anthony is safe, Luke had said to her, we’ll talk then.
> But she could not forget what Lord Franklin had said. She’d not yet told Luke of Lord Franklin’s final, chilling warning. If I hear anything of your name being linked with that man Danbury again, then I’ll ruin him. His reputation, his estate, his tenants—everything. You can be very sure of that.
* * *
When Luke came out into the sunshine, her heart turned over. He was so familiar to her now, so dear to her, and, yes—her blood raced—so desirable. He didn’t need fashionable clothes, he didn’t need to preen himself as other men did. She loved him as he was, with his shabby long coat and dusty boots, and his disregard for his tousled mane of hair and his stubbled jaw. His complete lack of vanity was one of the many reasons why every bit of her was pierced with wanting him.
I’ll ruin him...
She rose to her feet, a bright smile fixed to her face. ‘Oh, Luke. Is your brother going to be all right?’
He put his hands on her shoulders and gazed down at her. ‘Thank God, he is.’ His voice was husky with emotion.
She put her arms round his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. ‘I’m so very glad,’ she breathed. Then she looked up at him. ‘What next? Can he travel home?’
‘Indeed. I’ve told him Monique and Harry are waiting in England for him and I’ve told him I’m going to clear his name. He’s coming home with us—but now, Ellie, I want to talk about you and me.’
The only sound in that sunny garden was the splashing of the fountain and the chatter of the sparrows on the roof. He drew her back to the stone bench and he told her that she’d come to mean everything to him.
‘I have very little to offer you,’ he said, ‘chiefly a broken-down and decrepit estate. But you will have me. You will have my heart. I love you, Ellie.’
Her whole being overflowed as he spoke those words. This man had made her realise the desires and dreams that burned deep within her and had more than fulfilled those dreams.