Somewhat Scandalous (Brambridge Novel 1)

by Pearl Darling

  The study was as he had left it the last time he had visited Brambridge; books lined the walls, and his father’s desk sat foursquare in the middle of the room. It was the only room he had changed in the house, it had once been a garden room, but as many of the other rooms also had lovely views of the estate, it had been little used.

  Laying the note on the desk, Henry searched the bookshelves, hesitating as he passed over the yellowing copy of Conversations in Science that he had brought to Brambridge. With a grunt he moved three books further on and pulled out a thin pamphlet of Greek verse that had been translated into English. At the desk he unfolded the note, and, opening the pamphlet a third of the way through, began to decipher the encoded message with the cipher in the Greek poem on the page.

  The message was clear. Henry needed to meet a boat from the Rocket that night in Longman’s Cove. Renard was bringing someone in who might have information on the identity of Monsieur Herr. The person would be escorted from the ship at high speed, as he, Renard, couldn’t make land.

  This wasn’t surprising; the number of Customs men in Brambridge had been increased since the spate of Riding Officer’s deaths in recent years. Whilst they nominally all worked for the crown, they took a dim view of smugglers and Renard was a prize of the first order, despite his allegiance as a spy. What would indeed be more surprising would be to catch a member of the ton wandering across the beach in the dead of night.

  The cricket match wore many of the guests out, with all retiring early before the fires of the drawing room had gone out. Henry left all his finery behind him. Dressed in black and navy from head to toe with mud smeared across his face, he left Berale House by the door from his study to the garden, and hurried down the long lane that led down to the Brambridge shore. Several black openings in the hedge marked the drives up to small farms that held the fields that dotted the cliffs, in between the ‘plats’ that were small vegetable gardens for the villagers.

  Moonlight shone brightly on the muddy tracks of the lane. Down at the bottom, by the sea, the road met the shingle and stopped abruptly, a dangerous place to linger. In the pale light, a dark shape moving across it was extremely visible from the customs lookouts that were dotted around the cliffs. Henry crept off the road into one of the dark farm openings and followed the other side of the hedge down towards the beach.

  A small inlet let the brook that ran off the hillside meet with the sea. Cautiously he left the safety of the dark hedge and, scrambling down, followed the steep banks towards the beach.

  On the beach he followed the water’s edge, the outline of his dark form merging with the water. A flash came from out at sea, a signal from Renard’s boat. Henry continued to walk cautiously down the beach, glancing to the left and right. The beach was entirely deserted, and even the seagulls had left it to the quiet crash of the surf.

  Drawing a paper and a match out of his pocket, he lit the match and then, shielding it with the paper, covered it three times. Another single flash lit up the beach, briefly illuminating the boat.

  It could take a strong man half an hour to row through the swells that covered the bay around Brambridge. He would then need to navigate the rolling breakers that crashed onto the sandy shore dotted with pebbles. Henry bent his back to present a lower profile, his hands in front of him ready for attack, glancing continuously up and down the beach for the customs men.

  On his second patrol of the beach, his gaze caught and held where long grass moved at the edge of the inlet, and yet there was no breeze. Where the beach grew narrower, he crossed to the safety of the cliffs below Longman’s barrow. Moving silently to the back of the beach, he took his black cloak off, and swung it in front of him. Creeping around the field, he reached the point where the grass was now still. Standing slowly from his bent position, he watched as a sensibly booted foot withdrew further into the grass. Without stopping to think, he threw the cloak onto the rough area where the foot had disappeared and jumped on top of it.

  “Ow!”

  Henry drew back slightly, hands holding down the cloak.

  “Get off me, you oaf!”

  The voice was higher pitched than he would have imagined for a man, and strangely familiar. Slender hands beat at the edges of the material as he lay across it astraddle.

  “Be quiet!” he muttered. This was no customs man.

  “If I’m any quieter I’ll disappear!” the voice retorted.

  “Who are you? Are you following me?”

  “Of course not. I don’t even know who you are! I was just lying here contemplating the stars and you turned up with your bloody great cloak which I am still under by the way, and now I have a knife to your leg.”

  Not that knife again. Gingerly Henry rose to his feet and backed off to circle the figure which had started thrashing in the wet grass in an attempt to get loose from the fabric. With a lunge, he wrapped the loose folds of the cloak around the hand that he judged was holding the small knife. As he wound the cloak around the hand, an expanse of creamy white skin gleamed in the moonlight, and then the folds of a light pink dress. He groaned.

  An outraged scream tore through the air. Quickly he flung the now bandaged arm back into the grass and pressed his hand to the small mouth that had been revealed.

  “Quiet, Aggie!”

  “Mmmff fffmmmeee.”

  “Look, I’ll get off you in a minute, but you have to stay quiet. I’m here for a reason and not for pleasure. And you can put away your bloody carrot peeler too.”

  “Fnnnaa fnaa,”

  “Agatha! You’re a lady, what have I told you about using language like that! Ow!”

  Shaking his bitten hand and smirking to himself, Henry backed away from the now still and disheveled woman. The moonlight shone on her mud stained pale pink dress. A hank of hair had escaped from what had been an immaculate chignon. The look was completed by a large pair of familiar sturdy lace-up boots which had been the first items he had tripped over in the grass.

  She looked adorable. And furious.

  “You deserved it!” she spat. “I did nothing to you!”

  “You put a knife to my leg,” Henry said dryly.

  “You threw a cloak over me and then sat on me!” she retorted. “I hadn’t even said a word.”

  “Where is the knife?” Henry looked around curiously at the ground and in the cloak.

  “I’m not telling. It’s one of my secrets.” Agatha pouted.

  A smile twisted at the edges of Henry’s mouth.

  “First rule of espionage, Henry, if you are wanting not to be seen, you should have brought a hat!” Agatha said sharply.

  Henry frowned. Bloody hell, she remembered that night too. Quickly he dropped to the ground level with Agatha and began to reach into the grass. “I had a hat.”

  Once he had finished searching in the grass, Henry moved to searching his cloak. Single-mindedly, he began to pluck at Agatha’s skirts. He turned on one side, his hand encountering a warm, stocking-clad leg. Unable to stop himself, he stroked the shapely calf down to the tightly laced boot. Agatha shivered.

  “Nothing there,” he muttered hoarsely. As if of their own accord, his fingers moved to the other leg, probing upwards to the top of the stockings, stroking at the soft, warm skin on the inside of Agatha’s thighs.

  He ignored his hat, which he knew to be near her shoulder. She made no move to hand it to him. Henry drew closer, blond hair falling over his eyes. He stroked the sides of her muddy dress, tracing the folds and creases across her belly.

  With a sigh, Agatha rolled towards him. Abruptly he curved his hands under the thighs above her knee and pulled her leg across his, pulling her hips towards him. Her head turned to face nose to nose with him, as his hand caressed the soft silk covering her bottom. She licked her lips. But yet still he did not kiss her. Slowly he stroked his hand across the neckline of the low cut dress and gazed down at her.

  She twitched her hips, straining towards him, but still he held her away from him. With a moan, Agatha b
rought her hands to his, as if willing him to caress her further.

  “Agatha, you have to go.” Henry pushed her away from him gently. “Stay down in the grass as you leave.” Grabbing at his hat, he pulled it down viciously over his hair. It was not fair. He couldn’t continue to lead her on, no matter what his body told him he needed. “And when you get to Berale House, make sure my gardener Jaquard doesn’t catch you wrecking his hydrangeas.”

  Agatha hurriedly pulled her dress upwards.

  “Henry…”

  He shook his head and continued walking. After a few steps he risked a look back. Agatha had fallen to her hands and knees, scrambling through the long grass to the safety of the dark hedge. She cursed as she scraped her hands and knees on the flints. Hesitating, he took a step towards her, but already he could hear the scrape of the boat from the Rocket on the shingle. Turning on a heel, he crested the brow of the beach and ran down towards the water.

  The clinker-built boat came to a gradual halt as the gently rolling surf pushed it further up the beach. A medium sized man in a heavy coat rolled over the side and dropped quietly into the water, holding the boat steady as Henry sloshed through the surf and clutched at its gently rocking sides.

  The passenger sitting forward of the oars pushed back her hood and glanced over her shoulder at Henry, giving a saucy grin. Henry remained impassive although inwardly he was surprised. Releasing the prow of the boat, he trod softly to the other side and held out his hand. He was left dangling it in the air as the lady placed one hand on the side of the boat and jumped out in one bound to avoid the surf. As she hit the sand, she stumbled and came to rest with one hand on Henry’s chest. Her eyes flickered up towards his, widening slightly as she saw his gaze.

  “Excuse me, Monsieur, the sea ride must have taken away my balance.”

  “Not at all, Madame…?” Henry did not believe for one second that this lady had lost her balance. Her eyes, whilst large and lustrous, held calculating depths and a curious watchfulness pervaded her being.

  “Just Monique, if you please.” Henry looked down at Monique’s hand that still rested on his chest. With a laugh she withdrew it slowly. “I did not expect to be met by such a handsome man.”

  Henry let the silence following this remark stretch. Behind him, the sailor coughed. “Begging your pardon, sir, I better be off. Renard don’t like it when I’m late.”

  “Thank you. I’ll help you off. Please stand further up the beach, Monique, otherwise you will get hit by the boat as it swings.”

  Monique huffed and pulled her cloak around her against the sea air. She stood apparently undecided for a second and then stalked twenty paces up the sand. Swiftly moving around the other side of the boat, Henry put his shoulders into moving the heavy boat off the beach and back into the water. As the boat headed into the surf, the sailor jumped in and, with a strong pull of the oars, quickly cleared the white water and was back into the calmer blue depths.

  Wading out of the water, Henry took off his shirt and wrung it dry. Pulling his shirt back, on he sighed. He had been doing this for five years and the routine never changed, yet this was the first time that a woman had been brought in. A woman who sat in the sand, calmly trailing her fingers through the tide-dampened beach.

  “Get up,” he said brusquely. “We must get moving. We only have three days and then you are going back on the boat. I need you to tell me everything you know about Monsieur Herr.”

  “I’m cold.”

  Henry emptied the water from his boots. “My dog whines better.”

  “Salaud!”

  Henry laughed. Not quite as calm as she looked, then.

  “Espèce de scheize!”

  This time his outstretched hand was taken firmly as he hauled Monique into an upright position. Yet again she held it for an overlong length of time. She batted her lashes at him. He grimaced. She was good, very good. But she still left him cold. Not like the woman he had left in the grass.

  “Follow me and stay quiet. We are going to my estate.”

  “Ooooh,” she said appreciatively, the whites of her eyes bright.

  “Nothing so exciting.” Henry slapped at his thigh and took a deep breath. “I merely work there.” Monique made a moue with her mouth. It’s the truth, he wanted to say.

  “What’s the plan?”

  Henry set a steady pace up the beach towards the patch of grass where he had come upon Agatha. He prayed that she had done as he said and gone back to Berale House.

  “You will stay in the stables. Tomorrow morning you will be questioned.”

  “What if you don’t like what I say?” Monique stopped to hitch her cloak off the sand.

  “You will continue to stay in the stables for the next night whilst we check your information. If it is the truth then we will return you to the boat with a bag of gold. If it isn’t we will hold you for longer.”

  “Hmm, sounds good.”

  Henry turned. As Monique had followed him fast across the beach, her cloak neck had slipped, revealing a creamy expanse of chest. He could see the deep V where her breasts were tied tightly into her bodice.

  “You need to lace your cloak up. You might get cold.”

  Pulling his hat down, he resumed the path and, leaving the beach, followed the hedge up the hill to where it joined the road, not bothering to look back to see if she was following him. She appeared at his side on the road just one pace behind him, barely out of breath, her cloak covering her again as if it had never come loose.

  They completed the rest of the walk up the hill in silence. Once they reached the edge of his estate, he led her around the surrounding farmland until he reached the back of the stables that were set by the boundary hedge of the property. It was a fairly large complex of low-lying brick-built barns, set round a courtyard covered in cobbles. A small, clock tower adorned the center building. By the light of the moon he could see the hands pointed to two o’clock.

  Henry entered the first door of the building that was ajar. An empty stable with clean straw, a pail of water and a tray of food lay ready and waiting. A blanket hung from the manger. The stable hands were familiar with people coming and going from the first stable and he paid them handsomely for their discretion. He did not know what his servants thought, but the first person that had said anything outside about Henry had been immediately turned off the estate.

  “What does the monsieur think?” Henry gave a start and looked at Monique in misunderstanding.

  “Your master? Does he know?”

  “No,” he said in relief. “He is very lax, he never checks the stables. As long as his horse is ready for a ride once a week, he never comes here.”

  Monique took off her cloak slowly, her eyes glinting in the darkness. She picked the blanket up off the manger and sank into the soft straw, her bodice gaping as she did so. “That being so, I am very tired. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to join me?” Monique wiggled her hips slightly and put an arm above her head, pushing her breasts out.

  Henry ignored her provocation. “Get your sleep. Tomorrow at dawn some men will come and question you. You’ll need to be ready.”

  Monique grimaced as if in frustration but then smiled again. “Until then, cheri,” she said softly, closing her eyes as she did so.

  CHAPTER 29

  Agatha did not move far from the wet hedge she had dragged herself to. Although the grass had been dry where she had been lying, it seemed that some of the sheaves hadn’t dried in the previous day’s sun. Her low-profile scramble through the field had left her wet through. She shivered as another droplet of water dripped down her spine.

  Despite ignoring Henry at lunch, she had watched his every powerful move in the reflection of the large soup tureen in front of her, unable to shake the thumping of her heart at his dangerous proximity. She had jumped as his elbow had nudged her slightly as he had turned to take something from the footman. Watching his shiny form, she had not failed to notice how his hands tensed as he had pushed it into his pocket
, and his formidable brow had furrowed deeply.

  Reaching behind her head, Agatha scraped at the drop of water on her neck with a finger and gasped, dropping to her knees. A boat had pulled up on the deserted beach; she could see the tall form of Henry moving forward to meet it. Raising herself to her haunches, she peered through the wet grass. A man jumped out from the surf and helped Henry drag the boat up the beach. Bloody hell, there was another passenger in the boat.

  Agatha swore as her hair dropped across her face, pushing it off with a swipe of her hand. She had missed something about the passenger who was now making their way up the beach whilst the others put the boat in the water. Agatha stared at the figure as it walked towards her. Good grief, a woman! Suddenly the moonlight caught her full in the face. A beautiful woman. Agatha’s stomach clenched. She had followed him for this, thought to comfort him for this?

  Perhaps this was the real reason why Henry hadn’t wanted her on the beach—because he was bringing in his French mistress. Agatha pressed a flat hand at her thighs where Henry’s touch had seared an imprint on her body. The bastard.

  She had stayed quietly on in the drawing room with her thoughts long after Henry had disappeared in his study and the other guests had gone to bed. But her thoughts had not calmed her. Drawn by an invisible chain, she had knocked on the study door, wanting to confront him, but there was no answer. Without thinking, she had entered; the immediate smell of books, and Henry, comforting smoke and spice had washed over her, surrounding her, and yet he hadn’t been there. The door from the study to the garden stood slightly ajar, a small breeze ruffling the pages of the books on the desk.

  On the beach, Henry hauled the woman to her feet, seemingly holding her hand more than was appropriate. What was she doing now? Agatha gasped. The woman had deftly unpinned her great cloak all the way to her waist as Henry turned away.

  Agatha wrapped her arms around her body. They would pass right by her in the hedge if she did not move. She took one last look at the woman. Her profile cast a shadow in the moonlight and there was definitely something familiar about the nose. Taking a deep breath, Agatha reached out and, grasping some loose roots with her hands, pulled herself onto the road and staggered as far as she could before falling into a fast walk.