‘I need you in good health,’ he said coolly.
‘My friends at the theatre are not rich—’
‘I am not interested in your friends. Only your father.’
‘You really expect Phineas to pay for my safe release?’
‘I do.’
‘I am afraid you are very far out there,’ she said quietly. ‘As far as Phineas is concerned, I am no longer his daughter.’
He observed her carefully. There was a tension in her voice, as if she was trying to conceal pain, but he was not fooled. She was an actress, and a good one.
‘You will not make me believe that, madam.’
She put down her cup.
‘I ran away from home at fourteen and became an actress. In his eyes I am nothing but a disgrace to his name.’
‘But he would not want any harm to come to you.’
She closed her eyes for a moment, as if to push unpleasant memories away. Suddenly it was important to him to reassure her.
‘Believe me, madam, I shall not harm you. I mean only to keep you here for a little while.’
‘And if my father will not pay you?’
‘He will pay.’
‘You are wrong.’
He sat back and regarded her. Even in a crumpled evening gown and with her hair pinned up so carelessly, she was beautiful, fair as wax. Her eyes were the deep blue of a summer ocean and gazed out from a face that was quite perfect, from the wide brow and straight little nose to the delicate cheekbones and pretty chin that was now tilted up in a challenging manner.
It was inconceivable that any man, even Phineas Weston, would refuse to help this glorious creature. He shrugged and feigned indifference.
‘Then we will have to wait and see who is right, won’t we?’
‘That could take some time, and I have nothing more than a comb with me.’
‘After you have written a note to your father you can give me a list of what you consider necessary and I will see what I can do.’
* * *
Charity regarded him helplessly. He was like a block of granite, solid and unmoving. Perhaps he was telling the truth and he did not mean to harm her, but what choice would he have, once Phineas had proven himself equally resolute, as she knew he would?
She sat forward, saying quickly, ‘If it is money you want, then I have my own fortune. Property, too, which I could—’
‘I don’t want your money,’ he interrupted her harshly. ‘My quarrel is not with you, it is with your father.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘Come along. If you have broken your fast, we will go to my study and you can write a note to him.’
* * *
‘Ooh, how dare he do this to me!’
Charity gave a little huff of frustration as she paced up and down the bedchamber. Ross had locked her in her room and gone out, after extracting a promise from her that she would not try to escape.
Not that such a promise would have stopped her from making the attempt, but before leaving Wheelston he and Jed had hacked away the ivy that had climbed so usefully around the window, so that even if she had smashed the glass to escape she would risk breaking bones in the drop to the ground some twenty feet below. Not content with that, he had also taken away her cloak and her slippers, making the idea of walking miles for help through the snow even more uninviting.
After she had broken her fast Ross had insisted she write to her father. He had also agreed that she might write to Betty, but he had dictated the letter for her. It was a simple note, saying that she had met some old friends at the Beverleys and gone off for supper with them, only to find herself cut off by the snow and invited to stay on for a few days. All perfectly reasonable, she had to admit, and Betty would not doubt the truth of it, at least for a few days. Given that she was suffering from a heavy cold, her maid might even be glad of the respite.
The sun had set and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Charity went back to the fire and threw on the last of the coal. She was angry, but even more than that she was bored by her inactivity. She had just drawn the curtains and lit the candles around the room when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Relief that she was no longer alone in the house was subsumed by anger at her captor. There was a particularly ugly pair of porcelain dogs adorning the mantelshelf and she picked one up, preparing to hurl it at Ross’s head when he came into the room. However, the voice that requested admission was that of his servant.
‘The master sent me up with the things you asked fer,’ said Jed, coming in with a selection of packages, which he placed on the bed. ‘Cap’n Durden says that there is hot soup in the kitchen, if you’d like to come down and join him. When yer ready, that is.’
Having delivered his parcels and his message, Jed retired. Thwarted of venting her anger upon Ross Durden, Charity put the ornament back in its place and contented herself with ripping open the packages he had sent up.
She had to admit he had exceeded her expectations. Her list had been for a few basic requirements such as a toothbrush and a shawl, but not only had he purchased a fine hairbrush and a nightgown, he had also procured a woollen kirtle and bodice for her, together with a fine lawn chemise, a muslin neckerchief and a pair of serviceable shoes. There was also a package containing new silk stockings and a pair of scarlet-ribbon garters, but however grateful she might be for those she was not going to tell him so!
* * *
Attired in her new garments and feeling very much as if she was playing the role of a country maid, Charity made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where an appetising aroma wafted out to greet her as she opened the door.
‘Where is Jed?’ she asked Ross, who was engaged in cutting thick slices from a loaf of bread.
‘He has rooms above the stables and prefers to take his meals there.’
‘Oh.’ Charity moved towards the table, most of her anger evaporating. It was impossible to be cross with a man who was preparing food for her. One who had purchased goods for her comfort.
‘Thank you for the clothes. I never expected—’
‘I went into York,’ he said shortly. ‘The mail had gone through, so the main road was passable, and you can get most things there, such as fresh-baked bread.’
He held up the loaf for a moment before he went back to cutting slices from it, the candlelight glinting on the knife blade.
‘I could do that for you,’ she offered.
He glanced at her, a glimmer of amusement in his hard eyes.
‘So you can stab me? I think not.’
She blushed and put up her hand to acknowledge that his comment was not too far from the truth.
‘I would not stab you. At least, not if you agreed to let me go.’
‘I cannot do that.’
She sat down at the table.
‘You delivered my letters?’
‘Yes. Or rather, I had them delivered. No one will know from whence they came.’
‘How soon do you expect to hear from my father?’
‘Within a day or two.’
‘You will be disappointed.’
‘We shall see.’
His calm assurance was infuriating. Charity looked across the table at her captor. His clothes were plain, but although the black curly hair had been somewhat tamed by a good brushing, there was still something piratical about him. Perhaps it was the strong lines of his face, that determined cleft in his chin or the dark eyes beneath the equally dark brows. In her profession she met a great many men and had become adept at summing them up—a necessity if she was to keep the more amorous ones at bay—but Ross Durden intrigued her. She tried to draw him out, but every attempt failed. Even complimenting him upon the excellence of the soup received only a nod of acknowledgement. When he escorted her back to her bedchamber at the end of the meal, she was no nearer to
understanding him.
* * *
The next three days followed the same pattern, and Charity was increasingly frustrated by the inactivity. Each morning after breakfast she was locked in her room, provided with sufficient coal for the day and books to entertain her, and when Ross returned she was allowed downstairs to join him for dinner. He was invariably dour and taciturn, yet upon occasion she saw the glint in his eyes that reminded her of the roguish highwayman.
The fourth morning saw a further fall of snow, but it did not prevent Ross from sending Jed out to saddle up his horse.
‘You are going out again?’ Charity asked him as she helped to clear away the breakfast dishes.
‘Yes. Into Beringham, to see if Phineas has left a sign that he is ready to meet me.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘It is time for you to return to your room—’
‘Oh, please do not lock me up again!’ She turned towards him, impulsively clutching his shirtsleeve.
Something flared in his dark eyes, a sudden gleam that affected her like a lightning bolt running through her, from her head right down to her toes. She was shockingly aware of him, conscious of the fact that they were alone in the room—in the house. They were so close that the slightest movement would bring their bodies together and that would ignite a fire in her that could not be controlled.
Quickly Charity stepped back, crossing her arms, not so much in defence but to stop herself reaching out to him. She dragged her eyes away from his face, embarrassed lest he should think she was trying to buy her freedom by offering herself to him.
He cleared his throat.
‘I am sorry if you dislike being locked up—’
‘It is not that, it is the idleness—I am so bored! I will not run away, you have my word I will not step outside the door, but please, let me move freely about the house.’
She bowed her head, ashamed of her weakness. She hated to appear so feeble. Yes, that was it—she felt powerless. No doubt that was the reason her body reacted so violently whenever Ross was near. He exuded strength and it drew her to him. If only she had a little more freedom, a little more to do each day, she would be better able to combat this dangerous attraction. However, a quick peep up at him showed that he was frowning, his countenance so forbidding that her spirits sank. Sighing, she was about to turn away when he spoke at last.
‘Very well, if you give me your word that you will not leave the building. Jed is working around the house today and I shall leave Samson outside; he will soon give voice if he sees you.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ Her smile of relief only earned her another black frown.
‘Do not try any of your tricks, madam. I shall leave orders with Jed that if you try to escape he is to bring you back and lock you in the cellar. And do not be fooled by his slight appearance, he is as strong as whip leather and will not hesitate to use force if it is required.’
* * *
His warning was unnecessary. Charity had decided against trying to escape again while the snow lay so deep on the ground. Instead, once she was alone, she set off to explore the house. She was well acquainted with the kitchen and the small chamber that had been allotted to her, but she was curious to see the other rooms. Despite the overcast sky, the snow reflected a considerable amount of light into the hall and for the first time she could appreciate the elaborate carving on the staircase and the panelled walls. There was a large drawing room on one side of the hall with a bay window overlooking the drive. A spinet stood in one corner, but when she tried it the keys stuck, swollen by the damp. Behind the drawing room was a smaller parlour that had at some time been decorated as a lady’s sitting room, and on the other side of the hall was the dining room and Ross’s study with its mahogany desk, where she had written the letters he had dictated to her. The rooms were handsome and well appointed and she noted that they bore evidence of having been regularly dusted, but there was an air of neglect about the place. Apart from the study, none of the other rooms appeared to have been used for many years.
Upstairs was much the same. Most of the chambers were empty or used to store unwanted furniture. She found a suite of rooms at one end of the building that she guessed were used by the housekeeper, Mrs Cummings, and the well-oiled door next to her own chamber led to the master bedroom. She hesitated, feeling very much like an intruder, but curiosity overcame her and she stepped into the room, reasoning that if Ross had not wanted her to enter he could easily have locked the door.
It was an elegant apartment with panelled walls and elaborate plasterwork to equal that of the reception rooms downstairs. A large bed stood opposite the windows, the bedcovers straightened, pillows plumped up and its scarlet hangings tied back. A large trunk stood in one corner of the room with a folded velvet jacket lying on its domed lid, and on the top of a bow-fronted chest of drawers a set of silver-backed brushes was laid out with mathematical precision. Shipshape. Even if she had not been told that Ross had been a naval officer, she would have guessed it from the neatness of this room. She walked over to the washstand. The bowl was clean and hanging from a rail at the side was a towel and razor strop. The razor itself was sitting on the edge of the washstand and she picked it up, pulling the shiny blade out of the ivory handle.
She remembered Ross refusing to let her have the bread knife. Here was a much more fearsome weapon, should she want it. However, she disliked violence and just the thought of it made her shudder. Quickly she closed up the razor and put it back on the washstand, then stood for a moment looking down at it, thinking again that Ross was an odd villain to allow her to roam freely through his house. Or perhaps he knew that such kindness would keep her there more surely than any chains. She left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. She would finish exploring and find something useful to do with the rest of the day.
* * *
When at last she made her way back to the kitchen she found Jed there. He looked up when he heard her and tugged at his forelock.
‘I came in fer a bit o’ that bread the master bought...’
‘Please, help yourself,’ she said. ‘I am sorry—do you normally eat in here? I am intruding in your domain.’
‘Nay, missus, I prefers to bait in th’ stable, ’specially when the cap’n’s got guests.’
A wry smile curled her lips. ‘I am not really a guest, Jed.’ The old man looked uncomfortable and Charity gave him her most charming smile, trying to put him at his ease. ‘There is some soup on the fire. I left it warming through in case Mr Durden returned early. However, he has not come, so perhaps you would like to have it?’ She gestured to the table. ‘Please, do sit here and eat it. I should be glad of the company.’
Jed needed very little persuasion to stay in the warm kitchen, and Charity put a steaming bowl of soup before him. Cutting him a slice of bread took her thoughts back to the master of the house, and she asked if he had known Mister Durden long.
‘All ’is life,’ he replied between spoonfuls of soup. ‘I came to Wheelston as a lad and worked here ever since.’
‘I thought all the servants were given notice when Mrs Durden was ill.’
‘Aye, all t’others were turned off, but I stayed on, despite that hell-hag—’
‘Jed!’
‘Not the mistress,’ he explained hurriedly, seeing Charity’s shocked face. ‘That vixen ’as called herself companion. She let me stay on in the stables, doin’ odd jobs. But I knowed what she was up to, despite ’er false smiles an’ cheatin’ ways. Bamboozled the old leddy right and proper, she did.’ He scowled. ‘And the master. I were the only one left when the cap’n came home, after the mistress had died. Nowhere else to go, see, and I didn’t want no wages.’
‘But Mr Durden pays you now?’
‘Oh, aye. Insisted on paying me back wages, too, which he needn’t have done, but he’s not one to do a man down.’
‘He is a
thief, Jed,’ she said quietly. ‘A highway robber.’
‘Not he,’ came the confident reply.
‘But he is,’ Charity insisted, leaning her hands on the table. ‘I have seen it for myself. I was in one of the coaches he held up.’
‘And what did he tek?’ demanded the old man, fixing his bright, bird-like eyes upon her. ‘Money? Jewels?’
She thought of the brooch he had returned to her, and the stolen kisses.
‘The mailbag,’ she said at last. ‘He took the mailbag.’
‘And left it at the roadside to be discovered the next day.’
‘I do not know about that—’
‘Well, I do. Cap’n Durden is as honest as the day. If he hadn’t been—’ He broke off, fastening his lips together as if to hold in secrets.
‘Yes, Jed? What were you going to say?’
‘Nowt. If you wants to know about t’master, then you must ask’n theesen.’ He rose. ‘Thank’ee for the bait, ma’am. Now, if ye’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to the yard.’
It was clear she had offended him and he would say no more, but what he had told her intrigued Charity. Ross Durden was in need of money, she knew that, so she could understand him turning to highway robbery, but why would he risk his life holding up mail coaches if he took nothing from them? His taciturn nature made it unlikely that he would ever tell her, yet he had granted her the liberty to roam about the old house, and that raised her spirits enough to think she might yet charm a little information from him.
* * *
The sun was setting by the time Ross reached Wheelston, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. His eyes scanned the surrounding fields, checking the vast expanse of smooth, white snow for footprints. He hoped that Charity had not made any attempt to run off. With Samson and Jed outside he doubted she would have got far, but it was more than that. She had given her word, and he was surprised how much he wanted to believe that he could trust her.
At the Highwayman's Pleasure Page 12