But in the company of this man she felt as if anything was possible. Perhaps she wasn't as wicked and lost as she thought.
"You don't have to try too hard with me," he'd said. "I'm a simple fellow."
What she really must do was follow his example and be calm, not flustered. She must learn to be patient and let her food cook before she took it out, but she was always too eager, too nervous, in a rush.
Time to slow down and take a breath.
Flynn was soon making friends with other local boys, thanks to Olivia's introductions. The Deverell's cook, Mrs. Blewett, had a niece whose eldest son was Flynn's age and similarly cheeky. The two boys became immediate comrades, running down to the sands to watch the conjurers and a rope walker who had, apparently, fallen twice already, much to the morbid delight of the audience. It was easier for her son to make friends, she thought enviously, for he did not have her experiences to hold him back.
"Shall we go down and watch this reckless fellow crack his head open too?" Storm asked jovially.
So they walked down the narrow cliff path to join the fun below, where there were jugglers, tumblers and a gypsy fortune teller. When they reached the bottom of the path, her companion leapt down first, turned and put his hands on her waist to help her. She had no chance to protest the gesture, because in the next breath she was in the air, swung around and deposited gently in the sand beside him.
"Will you dance with me, Kate?" he said, his eyes entreating her with a warmth dangerously hard to resist.
She looked over to where a casually assembled, rowdy group whirled about on the sands, accompanied by music from a fiddle and a harmonica. Her spirit was caught up in the jolly, carefree mood of the day, as if she was still in the air with his large, firm hands on her waist. "Was that part of our agreement?"
"Oh yes."
"Then if you would like to."
"I would."
She made sure that Flynn was nearby watching the rope walker, and then she untied her bonnet and let Storm tug her over to the dancers. He surprised her by dancing very well for a man of his size. Must have a great deal of experience, she thought, because he was a skilled, considerate partner. And tireless.
It was years since she'd danced like this— seven at least— but the steps came back to her quickly, and it didn't really seem to matter if she got a few of them wrong. Nobody else was perfect. Nobody minded. For the first time in all those years she felt youthful again, able to abandon her worries, at least for a while.
Storm held her gloved hand firmly, even a little too hard at times, and she was reminded of what Olivia had said about him not knowing his own strength.
She didn't mind it at all.
This is where Kate also learned what Olivia meant when she warned her about the local girls.
"I think it's best if I let you see for yourself at the Spring fete."
They were all rather forward and flirtatious, extremely bold and self-confidant, not in the least discreet about trying to catch Storm's eye. Now she knew that he'd never had to chase after a woman in his life, and she understood why he'd never had to worry about his own good manners and proper behavior. These young women chased him. They competed for his notice.
Her presence didn't put them off at all and as soon as Kate had enjoyed two dances with him, they were ready to sweep his talents away from her. In all honesty, she didn't mind because she needed to get her breath back, so when he made an attempt to resist the other women she sent him off with a breathless assurance that she was happy merely to watch.
There was no sign of Sally White, she realized. But there were plenty of others to take her place.
And now here came Joss Restarick and his brother.
* * * *
Storm spun his partner round and glanced over, looking for Kate. He might have known she wouldn't stay long where he'd left her.
There she was, dancing with Joss. Smiling. Her hair was falling loose from all the exertion.
"Look out!" his partner shouted, laughing. "You nearly stepped on my toe."
So he paid attention to his steps again, but only for a while. His eyes soon strayed back to where his neighbors danced.
He'd never been jealous in his life. Aware of other men, like Joss, sometimes trying to compete with him, Storm had only ever found it vaguely amusing and wondered how they had the time to spare worrying about what he did or had.
It was foolish, childish to envy other men.
But Joss was a handsome young man, when he made the effort. And, unlike Storm, he was in the market for a wife.
Why the devil was she smiling at Joss and being all obliging? It took him far longer to get a smile out of her.
But she wanted Storm to think of her as a man— of all things. Had said so to his face at dinner.
Abruptly he left his partner, complained of a toothache, and walked across the sand to stand where she'd left her bonnet. Aye, he thought morosely, crossing his arms and leaning against the rock, he should have made her keep that hat on so he didn't have every other man in the county admiring her hair.
More of it fell loose as he watched.
She'd just told him she was out of breath, and there she was skipping about with Restarick, her cheeks flushed pink, her bosom likewise colored where a little soft skin was exposed above the bodice of her gown. Was there a button missing? Perhaps some lace would have covered—
"I see you called a truce with Mrs. Kelly." Olivia was suddenly at his side.
"Hmm." He glowered at the dancers and shifted his feet in the sand.
"She dances beautifully."
"Hmm."
"Is something the matter?"
"Toothache," he managed tightly. Restarick had just touched Kate's waist. He groaned and ran a hand over his mouth.
"Oh dear. Sounds as if you need something removed."
He refolded his arms high over his chest and grumbled, "Is that frock entirely appropriate for a Spring fete?"
"Which frock?"
He nodded his head. "The one she's wearing." Barely wearing, he thought with a sniff.
"I think it's lovely. And entirely appropriate."
"You wouldn't wear it."
Olivia laughed gently. "I would love to, but it wouldn't suit me, I fear. It's a young woman's dress and I was never a young woman. Even when I was her age."
Sometimes it was easy to forget how young Kate was, he realized. But she was closer to Joss Restarick in age than she was to him.
No sooner did that dance end than Adam, the younger Restarick brother, had seized her hand and whirled her off again.
Well, this taught him a lesson, didn't it? Don't take her dancing in public and expect to keep her all to himself.
Deciding he'd suffered long enough, he walked off to expend his stifled energy somewhere else. There was always a competition of some sort at the fete. If he was lucky he might find somebody to dunk in the sea.
* * * *
When Kate finally escaped the dancing, she returned to the rock where she'd left her bonnet and looked for Flynn again. There he was with Olivia, who saw her and waved. She reached for her bonnet and suddenly found it pulled out of her grasp. There was a man behind her. He grinned, showing a set of crooked teeth.
"You must be the Widow Kelly. Now I see why that blackguard, the Deverell bastard, has his eye on you. "
His face was ruddy, his cheeks peppered with broken blood vessels, his brows full of straggly, too-long grey hairs. In his gnarled fingers he held her bonnet ribbons.
"My name's Joe," he said. "Katherine, isn't it? Now would that be Kate... or Kitty?"
She had seen him earlier, hanging around one of the stalls on the cliffs. He had lifted his hat to her, but Storm had steered her away at once. At the time she'd thought little of it, but his sudden reappearance— and that name "Kitty" on his lips— immediately put Kate on her guard.
"I would like my bonnet, sir." She held out her hand.
"Aye, to keep the sun off your pretty face and keep
that fair, ladylike complexion."
She waited, but he made no move to give her the bonnet.
"'Tis a pretty face, to be sure. Irish blood, I suppose. You're from London, I hear. You and that boy. Where is he...ah...over there. A clever young lad, eh? His father must be proud. Oh no, he's dead, ain't he? That's what you said. Such a pity that he won't see the lad grow up."
"My bonnet, if you please," she snapped.
"In haste, are you? Can't spare a minute to talk to Joe?"
"I have no desire to talk to you, sir. We haven't been formally introduced."
"Don't get precious with me, wench. I'm not fooled by your fine and fancy act, even if these other folks are."
"What do you want, Dowty?" Out of nowhere, Storm was at her side, snatching her bonnet from the other man's fist. "You have no business with Mrs. Kelly."
"Business? Now there's an interesting word. If only folk around here would mind their own business and not interfere between a man and his wench. You must agree, Deverell. I see you don't like ol' Joe interfering with yours. Yet are you not the reason Sally took off last week without paying her debt to me?"
Storm passed the bonnet to Kate. His tone still quiet and even, he replied to the other man, "Turn around and walk to the other side of the bay, Dowty. I don't want to spoil the fete for children and innocent folk by beating your face to a pulp in front of them."
"Where did you send Sally White? I know she came to you on the moor that day and she ain't been seen since. How many times have you saved her skirt? More oft than not, eh?"
"Sally does as she pleases. I don't control her and neither do you."
"I do when she owes me fifty pounds."
Kate stared. She felt Storm flinch at her side, drawing a rush of breath.
"I wager she didn't tell you how much she's had from me, Deverell. But, aye, fifty pounds, plus interest. That's what she owes me and I'll get it from her the minute I find the wench. I'll be made whole, one way or t'other."
Storm reached over and grabbed him by the collar of his coat. It happened so suddenly that Kate jumped back a step, clutching her bonnet, the ribbons rippling against her skirt. "There's a reason why you can never be made whole, Dowty."
The other man said nothing. His eyes shrunk to mean slits in his flushed face, one hand reaching up to hold Storm's sleeve in some feeble attempt to pull his arm away.
"Because you're not a whole man," Storm added, slowly and carefully. "A man doesn't tempt troubled women with easy money and then call in the debt prematurely. A man doesn't look for ways to bribe and cheat and use women, prodding at them to find a weak spot he can turn to his advantage."
"Aye and you're such a saint, Deverell, rushing to their rescue when they shed a little tear. Always quick to comfort a lady in distress. Particularly a pretty one with a fine bosom. Never think of how I've a business to run. It's not fair. Joe Dowty's not a charity and they know that when they come to me for coin. They know the way it works."
"And so do I," Storm replied in that lethally soft voice. "But it won't work that way any longer. I'll have you run out of the county. It should have been done by now, but you stayed away longer this time and I'd hoped it was for good. Or that someone else had put a stop to you." There was a pause while he let go of Dowty's collar and then tapped him lightly on the cheek. "I'll give you one day to pack up your belongings and leave. That's fair, isn't it? After that, if I see your face anywhere around here, it'll be the last time it's in one piece."
By then two other men had walked up to stand with Storm, although they were not needed. Joe Dowty may have put on a good front, but his face had grown redder and his breathing shallower in the last few minutes. His blood-shot eyes did not dare focus long on Storm's face, but looked down at the sand, as he brushed his own collar with a trembling hand.
"You don't own this place. Not even your bloody father owns this place," he mumbled.
"We'll see, won't we?"
After one final sneer and a "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Kitty." Dowty turned and walked back up the cliff path.
Kate's pulse remained fast and uneven. Was it only a coincidence that he called her Kitty? Many Katherine's were called Kitty. Surely it was nothing significant.
But she felt sick and hot. The cliffs seemed to be closing in on her, the sands shifting under her boots. She looked down and saw that Dowty had left his big, heavy footprint in the wet sand and with it a hobnail from his filthy old boots.
"Your bonnet!" Storm dashed across the sand after her tumbling, breeze-blown hat, which she must have let drop from her fingers. The ribbons dragged along the sand and into the water before he caught it. She watched, unable to move her own feet, her sight blurred by sudden tears.
It had been a beautiful day until then. She should not have let herself get complacent. Should not have allowed herself to think they were safe.
Once again she was served a reminder.
But she would not be crushed. Kate Kelly refused to be weak and give in to her bad luck. She had tasted sunshine and fresh air now, and whether fate thought she deserved it or not, she would be happy.
* * * *
"Don't let Dowty upset you," he told her, concerned when he brought her hat back and saw her pale cheeks. "He's just a wretched pest." When she took her bonnet from his hands, he noticed her trembling. It had turned a little colder— one fat cloud having blown lazily across the sun to lurk there nonchalantly— but it would soon warm up again once that cloud passed. "Come on, let's walk this way. Do you need my coat?"
She shook her head.
"Aha! Something to eat! That must be it. That'll cheer you up and put some color back in your cheeks." He led her over to a stall selling pasties and bought one for Flynn too. "You must have one of these," he told her. "I guarantee it's better than anything you'd get in London."
Dowty— that damned menace! He should have sent the scoundrel packing long since, but Joe Dowty was a slippery fellow, always lurking around when and where he wasn't wanted, but seldom found when actively sought.
Good thing Sally had listened to him this time and taken herself off a safe distance. He had to admit to being a little surprised that she finally did as he suggested.
"You mustn't mind the things that blustering old fool says," he told Kate. "He doesn't know what he's saying half the time and is drunk the other half."
"I know," she replied finally. "I have some experience of the type."
Well that didn't make him feel any better.
"Is that the help you gave to Sally White?" she asked, her voice barely above a murmur. "When I saw her at your farm that day?"
"Yes. I gave her a little money to get away from him."
"Fifty pounds?"
"No," he replied, chagrinned. "She didn't tell me it was that much she owed. And I told her not to pay him, but to leave and get far away."
"Yes." She nodded, looking thoughtful, staring out at the sea.
Storm shifted his feet and scratched the side of his nose. "I would have done the same for any woman who came to me for help. Not just for Sally White."
Kate turned her head and squinted up at him. The cloud had finally moved, allowing the sun to warm the bay again. "Would you?"
He waited, so badly wanting her to tell him that she needed his help. But she was stubbornly independent.
"Shall I call Joss over to cheer you up? It seems he's better at it than I am." He took a large, angry bite of his pasty.
"Why do you say that?"
"I've never seen you laugh so much as you did when you danced with him."
She watched his lips as he chewed hard. "Have you considered that I might be laughing at him, rather than with him?" Her point gently made, she reached up with her gloved thumb and brushed a pastry crumb from the corner of his mouth. "As for me cheering up, I can assure you Mr. Dowty won't spoil my day. I've dealt with worse than him. Now I ought to find Flynn. I've left him to Olivia's watch for far too long and I'm sure she's been spoiling him." Wit
h that she walked across the sand to join her son.
Storm's heartbeat was still loud in his ears. He wondered if he had a touch of sunstroke, for he was feeling a little strange. Excitable. Not his usual stoic self. Should have worn a hat.
Chapter Eleven
Olivia introduced her to the tall, dark man at her side— a man who really needed no introduction.
"This is my fiancé. Mr. True Deverell."
They had not met formally before, although she had seen him at the farm auction, of course.
He was much as she'd imagined— darkly handsome— but younger in appearance than one might expect of a man well into his forties. He had a formidable presence that made him stand out in the crowd, and Kate could see how he must rule over his notorious gentleman's club when he was there. He had no need to speak a word; one could feel the energy thrumming quietly away inside the man. An energy, so rumor had it, that could turn dangerous in the blink of an eye if he was crossed.
"You've made quite a stir, Mrs. Kelly," he said to her. "How do you find life on the moor? Very different to London."
"Yes, but I am finding my way. Slowly."
"A good life can be made here," he told her. "If one makes the effort."
"I hope so. That's why I came so far. And I'm not afraid of hard work."
"So I hear." His eyes were a very strange color— almost silver. "I admire you, Mrs. Kelly. You don't let anyone stop you from getting what you want. Too many folk are held back by fear, because they've never really known what it is to fight for survival. To have only yourself to rely upon and the world against you. But once you've known that, there is no such thing as fear left."
It was as if he looked right inside her and read her like a book.
"My son appears to have recovered from his disappointment about the Putnam farm."
"Yes."
"I can see why. You've swept him off his feet. Just when I had begun to despair of ever seeing the boy unsure of himself."
She protested that they were merely neighbors and she had not done anything to his son's feet, but when he smiled it changed his face from rather fierce to warmly mischievous, reminding her of Storm.
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