Dumbly she stared at him, taken aback by his frankness.
‘What is holding you back?’ He moved from his side of the carriage to hers and suddenly the seat felt a great deal smaller. The way his shoulders took up all the space and his thigh pressed against hers. He still had her hand, too. She gave it a gentle tug, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he eased down the leather at her wrist. ‘You can’t deny the spark of attraction between us.’ He raised her hand to his mouth and breathed on the sensitive skin where he had pulled the leather apart. She shivered.
He kissed the pulse that now raced beneath her skin. Traced the fine blue veins of her inner wrist with his tongue. ‘What can I do to persuade you?’
‘You didn’t want this marriage,’ she managed to gasp.
‘The benefits are becoming more and more apparent.’ His voice was deep and dangerously seductive. Her eyelids drooped, her limbs felt heavy. She forced herself to straighten.
‘I would never be your choice of a wife, if your grandfather hadn’t drawn up his will this way. Would I?’ Breathlessly she waited for his answer, hope a small fragile thing in her breast.
He raised his gaze from her wrist to her face. His silver eyes glittered. ‘If we had met somewhere, you mean—in a ballroom in London?’ His mouth quirked downwards. ‘I will not do you a disservice and lie. I had no intention of marrying. Not yet. Not until the future was secure. But given the circumstances, it is not such a bad arrangement.’
Cold rippled across her skin. ‘And what of love, my lord?’
He chuckled then, deep and low. It was a surprisingly pleasant sound. And his face looked more handsome, less of a devil.
‘Miss Wilding. Mary. May I call you Mary?’
Breathless to hear his reply, she nodded her assent.
He tilted his head as if seeing her for the first time, then shook it. ‘My dear Mary, you will not convince me that a rational logical woman such as yourself believes in such romantic nonsense.’
Oh, but she did. She did not think she loved this man, though she knew she was attracted to him. Desired him. But was it enough on which to base a marriage? Others did. But she wasn’t others.
She gazed up into his dark features, searching those silver-grey eyes, and realised that this was not the sort of man she had ever imagined in her life. She’d dreamed of a scholarly man. A gentle man, who would listen to her thoughts. Who would respect her ideas. Not this dark dangerous man who set her pulse fluttering and her body longing for wicked things.
Her insides gave a tiny little pulse of pleasure at the thought of those wicked things.
But she should think with her mind. Her rational mind. Just as a man would.
‘What if at some time in the future you meet a woman you really wished to marry? Will not your resentment be great?’
He cupped her face in his hands, his large warm hands, and she felt the tremble in his fingers, as if he was struggling under some emotion as his gaze searched her face.
She could not help but look at his finely drawn lips before she raised her gaze to look at his face where she found the heat of desire in his eyes. ‘My lord,’ she whispered.
‘Bane,’ he rasped. ‘Call me Bane.’
But she couldn’t speak, because his mouth had taken hers in a ravening kiss and, lord help her, she was kissing him back, running her hands over his shoulders, tangling her fingers with his hair. He lifted her on to his lap and she felt his strong thighs beneath her bottom. The way he rocked lightly into her, and the deep groan from his throat, stirred her blood and made her heart beat too fast.
It felt as if his hot mouth was all over her and her skin was on fire from its touch.
‘Marry me, Mary,’ he whispered against her throat. ‘Marry me,’ he said, undoing the buttons of her coat and pressing his lips to her clavicle.
The carriage jolted, swaying over to one side, and he grabbed her around the shoulders to prevent her from falling. Then it came to a halt.
Bane cursed softly. ‘We will continue this conversation later.’ He lifted her off his lap and set her back on the seat.
The hard cold man was back. The man she recognised. And as she did up her buttons and straightened her hair, she could not help but wonder how much the passionate man was really him.
The groom opened the door. Bane picked up his gloves and his hat and stepped out. He reached up to help her down. His glance was swift and assessing. His brief nod assured her that she did not look as if she’d been ravished, though her lips still tingled from his kiss and her cheeks glowed from the scratch of his jaw.
And then the noises assaulted her ears.
A constant thumping she could feel vibrating under her feet and pounding through her head.
His lordship shook hands with Mr Trelawny, who was standing waiting for them. The poor man’s eyes widened when they rested on her, but he smiled manfully. ‘Miss Wilding,’ he said, shouting to be heard above the noise of the great machine some distance away. ‘I was not expecting you today, but welcome to Old Men’s Wheal, as it was called once. I hope your...’ He glanced down at her feet, then coloured. ‘I hope you are quite recovered from your unfortunate accident.’
She smiled at the young man. ‘But for you, Mr Trelawny, I doubt I would be here to tell the tale,’ she said, leaning close to his ear to make herself heard.
The young man’s colour deepened.
Bane surprised her by swiftly catching her hand, pulling her close and putting it on his arm. ‘Show us the workings, Trelawny.’ He did not raise his voice, but clearly the manager heard for he nodded and gestured for them to follow. He led them to the machine making all the noise.
‘Stampers,’ he yelled.
Bane’s gaze swept over the monstrous structure, a beam supported on legs. Heavy metal tubes hanging from the beam on chains, rising up and down alternately, each one crashing down to crush the rocks shoved beneath it by a couple of men.
Driving the whole was an enormous waterwheel that clanked and creaked, adding to the cacophony. Beyond it three large pools were being stirred by women with long rakes and shovels.
Compared to the beauty of the countryside through which they had passed, it was ugly and dirty. And the noise was horrendous. She could not imagine working with that sound all day.
As far as she could see there were no children.
She put her hands over her ears, but it did nothing to lessen the noise. ‘From here, the black tin is taken to the foundry at Hayle. You should visit it some time,’ Mr Trelawny shouted.
Bane nodded. ‘Where do they get the coal?’ This time even he had to raise his voice.
‘Wales.’
He grimaced.
‘The mine is this way,’ Mr Trelawny said. ‘Up the hill. The carriage will take you up to the entrance, Miss Wilding.’
‘We will all go in the carriage,’ Bane said when they reached it.
How strange. She let him help her back in. Mr Trelawny climbed up with the driver, citing the dust and dirt he had gathered from his visit to the workings earlier that morning. Getting ready for the new owner’s visit, no doubt.
Bane dropped the window and the noise of the stamper continued to assault their ears. ‘Imagine living with that din day after day,’ she said. ‘Those poor men. They must go home with a headache.’
He cast her a sharp glance. ‘They are paid well enough.’
She pressed her lips together. She had no wish to start an argument, but she had to be glad there had been no children working near that noisy machine.
As the carriage wound its way to the other side of the hill, the thumping faded to a bearable level. It was more like the sound of a heart beating loudly from this distance.
The carriage once more halted and they stepped down. The view of the surrounding countryside was breathtaking—open common, trees in the valley, sheep on the moor—but right here, on the side of the hill, industry was an ugly scar. Bare rock. Gravel. A horse walking steadily round and round a revolving drum.
Every now and again, a bucket full of rocks would appear at the surface to be emptied into the back of a cart by a couple of workers. No doubt those rocks would end up at the stamper.
Another horse went round and round, pulling a chain, and beside it a strange-looking object spurted water into a ditch.
‘A rag-and-chain pump,’ Mr Trelawny explained, ‘to remove water from the shafts. Let us go down. The men are expecting us. Please be careful where you walk, Miss Wilding. The ground is rough and there are some disused shafts here and there from the ancient workings.’
At her nervous glance, he smiled. ‘If you stay close to me at all times, you will be fine.’
Bane shot him a glare and Trelawny flinched.
‘This way,’ he said, hustling them towards a stone structure. It looked a bit like a square Norman tower, without crenellations or arrow loops. He ducked inside and, after glancing around, Bane urged her to follow with his hand at the small of her back. The stone chamber was lit by candles.
Mary immediately recognised the greasy smell of melting tallow. They’d been forced to use tallow in the kitchens and working areas at the school when money was in short supply—or apparently in short supply. She felt a little trickle of resentment at the thought, but had no time to think about it, because Mr Trelawny was directing her to a wooden trestle around the wall. ‘You’ll need boots,’ he said, sorting through a small pile. ‘It is muddy down there.’
As she sat down and her eyes adjusted to the smoky light, she noticed the large gaping hole before her and the flimsy-looking rope ladder leading down into the depths.
‘You will need a hat, my lord,’ Trelawny said, handing him a battered-looking felt object with a candle stuck in a lump of something nasty-looking on the front of it. ‘You, too, Miss Wilding.’ He frowned. ‘You will have to remove your bonnet.’
She looked at him and looked at the ladder and looked back at him. ‘How far down does it go?’
‘The first adit is about twenty feet down. Not far at all, miss. Old Jem is waiting at the bottom for us. There’s other parts of the mine where the depth is close to one-hundred-and-eighty feet.’
She felt a little faint at the thought of going into the bowels of the earth a mere twenty feet. ‘Why don’t I wait up here for your return? I am not really dressed for climbing down ladders.’
‘I should have loaned you a pair of my breeches,’ Bane said and there was a teasing note to his voice.
When she looked at him, he was smiling. And looking quite at home. ‘Come now, Miss Wilding, I thought you had more gumption. It was your idea to come.’ He actually looked as if he was enjoying himself. And he seemed to want to include her. It was quite a revelation.
‘I didn’t know about the ladder,’ she said weakly. ‘I don’t think my ankle is up to it.’ It was the first thing that came into her mind.
‘You haven’t let that stop you in the past. I will carry you down.’
Why was he being so insistent? ‘You couldn’t possibly.’ She shuddered.
‘You are no heavier than a hod of coal and I have carried a few of them in my time. Come on, Miss Wilding. Buck up.’ Before she knew what he was about, he had lifted her off her feet and tossed her over his shoulder. ‘Don’t move now, Miss Wilding, or we will both fall.’ He heaved one leg over the side of the hole, grasping on to the railing. He paused. ‘Light my candle for me, would you, Trelawny?’ he said with great good cheer.
Never had she felt so undignified. Or so foolish. Oh lord, that was his hand on her posterior. Holding her steady? Was he going to climb down using only one hand? ‘Really, my lord. I would be quite happy to wait up here for your return.’
‘You must think I am a complete fool, Miss Wilding, if you think I am letting you out of my sight for more than a minute so far from the Abbey.’
Oh, drat. He thought she intended to run away. He began to descend and she pressed her teeth into her lip to stop herself from crying out in fear and clutched on to the tails of his coat. The walls of the shaft glowed softly in the light of the tallow candle on his hat and after a while she began to relax. His movements were lithe and sure and his body in perfect balance. She trusted him. In this, at least.
After what seemed like a very long time with his shoulder pressing beneath her ribs and making it hard to breathe, but was probably only a minute or so, another light appeared. Several, in fact, dotted here and there on ledges around a wide cave.
Her ears were filled with the sound of rushing water. It echoed off the walls, yet sounded far off.
Bane set her carefully on her feet, held her for a moment while she found her balance, then stepped back.
Mr Trelawny jumped down beside her.
A bent and bowed figure appeared out of the dark. He had a clay pipe in one hand and a disapproving expression. ‘For what brought ’ee a woman down here? Bad luck it is.’
Mary stared back up the ladder and was able to see a faint glimmer way above them. The candles.
‘Don’t be foolish, man,’ Bane said. ‘Miss Wilding is the owner of this mine. If she wishes to look at her property, she has every right. Besides, women are only unlucky on ships.’
Mary’s jaw dropped at his quick defence and at his announcement of her ownership.
The old man grumbled under his breath. ‘She ain’t got a light.’
‘She does,’ Mr Trelawny said, producing another of the hats. ‘If you would just slip your bonnet off, Miss Wilding, let it hang by the strings, if you will, and you can put this on.’
She did as he suggested and he tied on the stiff felt hat, pushing it down hard, then lighting the candle. She was surprised at how much better she could see around her. ‘Thank you.’
‘Try to keep you head down as we go through the tunnels. They are low in places and while the hat will protect you somewhat, you can still get a nasty bruise if you are not careful. Follow Old Jem there and I will bring up the rear. Not too fast, now, Jem. I don’t want anyone getting lost.’
‘No indeed,’ Bane said. ‘Miss Wilding, hold on to my coat-tails if you please. I shall feel better if I know where you are at all times.’
The strange little cavalcade set off, stopping now and then when Mr Trelawny called out to Jem to stop so he could point out items of interest. Bane seemed greatly interested in each tiny detail.
‘Where are the men working?’ she asked on the third-such stop.
‘Further along, Miss Wilding. They are hewing and hauling today. I thought it best we didn’t use any black powder during your visit. We will find them near the horse-whim stope.’
When she looked at him blankly, he smiled. ‘Whim means the drum turned by the horse to bring the buckets up. Stope refers to where we dig it out. There is a significant lode of ore in that part of the mine.’ He pointed to a dark seam of rock running along the tunnel. ‘This is also ore. Blue peach, we call it. But it is pretty well worked out and what is left is of poor quality. Further on, the lode is heavy with tin.’
‘Then let us go there, since it is what Miss Wilding wishes to see,’ Bane said.
And they set off again. In places the tunnel was narrow and low and both she and Bane had to duck to avoid the sharp rocks in the roof. Once her bonnet got hooked up on a promontory and Mr Trelawny had to set her free. They laughed about it, while his lordship, unable to help from where he stood, simply glowered at them. And what a glower it was with the flickering light of their candles bouncing off the rough granite walls and the brim of his hat throwing his eyes into deep shadow. Why, he looked almost jealous.
She shivered. And it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. It seemed that his seductive words in the carriage had infected her body.
To prevent getting hooked up again, she untied the ribbons of her bonnet, retied them and hung it over her arm. ‘I’m ready,’ she said at his lordship’s impatient sigh.
A short while later, the tunnel opened out and all around her were moving pinpoints of light and the sounds of shovelling overpowering the ba
ckground noise of running water. It was a bit like watching Oberon’s fairies, until you realised that the sparkling lights were attached to rough felt hats worn by men shovelling rocks into iron buckets. And lads running from smaller tunnels and crevasses with wooden wheelbarrows. Small boys of eight or nine.
Work stopped as they realised that their visitors had arrived. There were some startled looks between the miners as they realised they had a woman in their midst and then some touching of forelocks and awkward bobbing of heads at her and Bane.
‘This is the shift foreman, Michael Trethewy,’ Mr Trelawny said. ‘Lord Beresford. Miss Wilding.’
Another very Cornish name. These people had lived in this isolated part of the country for centuries. The man himself was big and brawny. He bowed to Mary and looked surprised when Bane held out his hand, but shook it anyway with a ham of a hand. The two men stared into each other’s eyes for a moment with a measuring look and then released the shake. Both looked satisfied with what they had discovered from that brief contact.
A meeting of like minds. Mary inwardly shrugged. Men had their own secret codes, Sally had said. This must be one of them. She was more interested in the condition of the boys pushing those heavy barrows. While the foreman introduced Bane to the other men and they talked about lodes and weights and percentages and even black powder, Mary followed one of the boys into a side tunnel. It came to a dead end. A man lying on his back picked away at the roof. Rock fell around him and the boy shovelled it into his barrow.
They looked up at the appearance of Mary’s light. The man struggled to stand. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Don’t let me interrupt, but the rest of the men are back there, meeting his lordship. The new earl.’
‘Aye. I ought to have come.’ He wiped his face on his sleeve. ‘Me and the boy had a bet on that we could finish out this stope by day’s end. I forgot about the visit.’ To her surprise, he sounded a little resentful.
‘Are we interrupting?’
‘The lad is paid by the barrowful. He’s the only one in his family working after his da’s accident.’
Haunted by the Earl's Touch Page 16