Anything But a Gentleman

by Amanda Grange

  She smiled, if a trifle anxiously, and stood up. ‘You’re right. We can’t stay here.’

  ‘I think it would be best if we returned to the supper room. There is a chance we will be able to talk there undisturbed.’

  The supper room was fortunately almost empty. The only person there was Mrs Dalrymple, an elderly lady whose head was nodding on her breast.

  Lord Ravensford helped himself to a dish of boiled fowl and, taking Marianne a dish of fruit, joined her at one side of the room. ‘You said that Windham is after Kit?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure of it. The questions they asked, they were so very particular.’

  ‘What did he want to know?’

  ‘To begin with, whether I had any brothers and sisters, but then he started asking about Kit in a pointed way; whether he was here tonight, or if he was in London. It could have been polite conversation, but somehow it felt all wrong. And so I told him a lie. I told him that Kit was in London. But now I’m worried I’ve done the wrong thing.’

  ‘How so?’

  She shook her head with a worried frown. She did not want to speak ill of her brother, but she was concerned that she might have unwittingly caused him problems and she needed someone to talk to. Someone who would understand the world of gambling and debtor’s prisons, and someone who would not be shocked when she - a young lady - asked about them. But where to begin? She opened her fan and shut it again, then said, ‘You know something of my brother . . . ’

  ‘I do?’ he asked.

  ‘When I said that Windham was after my brother, you responded by saying that he was after Kit.’

  Luke cursed himself for the mistake, at the same time respecting Marianne’s intelligence for noticing it. ‘I have met him once or twice in town, I believe,’ he said cautiously.

  ‘Then you must have heard of his disgrace.’

  She spoke flatly, hiding her emotion.

  ‘I . . . have heard something of it.’

  ‘It’s funny. I never thought I would be worried about Kit. It was always Kit who looked after me. There were only two years between us, and he taught me how to do so many things. He taught me how to climb trees, and he taught me how to swim.’

  She smiled as she told him about her happy childhood.

  Lord Ravensford smiled, too. It was a charming picture she painted, and he himself felt younger than he had done in years. As he listened to her talking about the fun she and Kit had had on their father’s yacht, and how they had enjoyed swimming in the nearby sea, he thought what a pity it was that he could not invite her to go swimming with him when the weather improved. But such a thing was impossible. The sight of her delectable body rising from the waves was, alas, not one he would be allowed to see. ‘It sounds as though you were very happy.’

  ‘We were,’ she said, warmed by his tone. ‘At least for a time.’ She sighed. ‘But now I am worried. If Kit has been gambling again then he may well have fallen into debt, and I am afraid that Mr Windham has come here to find him and possibly throw him into prison.’

  ‘Ah. So that is what you think.’

  Marianne, preoccupied with her worries, did not hear his sigh of relief. ‘If he has come to find Kit,’ she said, following her own train of thought, ‘then he will be disappointed. Kit hasn’t been back to the Hall since he told my father of his disgrace. But Mr Windham does not seem to be the sort of man to give up. If he doesn’t find Kit here, I’m afraid he will find him elsewhere, and if he finds him, what then?’ She turned to face him, her eyes looking into his own. ‘Will he be thrown into prison? If he can’t pay his debts?’ She coloured, realising she had gone further than she intended, but she had been led on by the fact that there was no one else she could ask. Her father would not hear Kit’s name mentioned in the house and Tom and Trudie, though willing to help, had no knowledge of these kinds of things. Nor, she suspected, had Mr Cosgrove. He would bluster embarrassedly if she spoke to him, and assure her in a bluff and hearty way that everything would be all right. But she did not want to be reassured. She wanted to know the truth. And she felt sure that Lord Ravensford, with the hard edge she had witnessed in his character, would tell her that. ‘It must seem strange to you, me asking you these things,’ she began hesitantly, ‘but –’

  ‘No. It doesn’t.’ He seemed to understand her dilemma. ‘It seems to me that I am the only person you can ask.’ He paused, as if unsure of how much to say. ‘Windham is a vicious man, and I would advise you to keep well away from him. But as for chasing Kit with regard to the payment of gambling debts – no, that’s not his line.’

  Marianne gave a sigh of relief. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘But then, why did he want to know about Kit?’ she asked, speaking more to herself than to him. ‘Unless it is simply that he was making conversation. If he is vicious, as you say, then that is enough to explain my aversion to him; and I don’t see how his questions could have done any harm.’

  ‘Did he ask any further questions?’ asked Lord Ravensford carelessly. ‘Anything more than where Kit was?’

  ‘No. You came in before he could ask anything else.’

  ‘Then I should put it out of your mind.’ He finished his boiled fowl and carried his empty plate back to the table. ‘We ought to return to the company. We don’t want to give rise to gossip. You see, I am still careful of your reputation.’ He gave her a warm smile. ‘I suggest that you go back into the ballroom without me, and I will go back into the hall and return via the card room. It will save your chaperon from feeling any alarm.’

  It was the first time she had seen any warmth in him, she realised. Heat, yes; but this was something different. She felt herself flush, as though his warmth had brought forth an answering warmth of her own. He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them in a way totally different to the way he had kissed her hands before, then took his leave of her.

  She waited a minute and then returned to the ballroom. As she rejoined the other guests she was pleased to find that Miss Stock was happily chatting to a group of older woman and had not noticed her absence.

  ‘Did you find something good to eat?’ asked Jennifer, bounding up to her.

  Marianne responded to Jennifer’s schoolgirl enthusiasm with an enthusiasm of her own, praising the lavish spread that had been put on for the guests.

  ‘There was going to be black butter as well,’ confided Jennifer, ‘but Jem and I ate it this morning.’

  ‘What, all of it?’ laughed Marianne.

  ‘Well, not quite. But almost!’

  ‘And what did your mother say?’ teased Marianne.

  ‘Mama was not pleased!’ said Jennifer with emphasis.

  ‘Marianne! Dance with me!’ said Jem, claiming her for the last dance of the evening. Marianne gave him her hand with a good grace and joined him on the floor to dance the boulanger. It was a rather complicated dance, and Jem, the undeniable possessor of two left feet, made rather a mull of it. Still, Marianne managed to get through to the end in one piece.

  ‘Oh! How good it is to see the young people enjoying themselves!’ exclaimed Miss Stock as Marianne joined her once the dance was over. ‘But now, my dear, it is growing late.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll send for our cloaks,’ said Marianne.

  The ball was beginning to break up. Several guests were thanking Mr and Mrs Cosgrove for a delightful evening and taking their leave.

  ‘Thank you for a wonderful evening,’ said Marianne to Mrs Cosgrove as she waited in the hall for Tom to bring the carriage round.

  ‘My dear, we were just glad you could come.’

  ‘Yes, thank you Elizabeth,’ said Miss Stock, adding her thanks to Marianne’s.

  And then Tom arrrived, and Marianne and Miss Stock went out of the house.

  Chapter Four

  ‘I hope you mayn’t have taken cold at the Cosgroves’ last night,’ said her father querulously as Marianne played chess with him the following morning. He picked up his bishop and moved it with sha
king fingers across the board. ‘Going out in the winter is a perilous thing to do.’

  ‘No, Papa,’ Marianne reassured him, as she deliberately overlooked the fact that he had exposed his knight. She picked up one of her own pawns and moved it harmlessly up the board. ‘I’m sure I have not.’

  ‘Young people are so thoughtless,’ he complained, studying her move. ‘They open windows and let in the night air. And if you take cold I don’t know what is to become of us, for I am only a useless old man, you know.’

  ‘You are not an old man, Papa. And you are far from useless. If you would only bestir yourself, you could do everything I do.’ She put out her hand, resting it on his as she tried to recall him to the world. ‘And you would do it so much better than me. You have years of experience, Papa, whereas I am all at sea. I am trying to run the estate, but . . . ’

  She tailed away, for she could see that it was no good. Instead of bestirring himself, her father shrank back in his chair. ‘I?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Oh, no, my dear, I am too old for all of that now. Far too old. If only Christopher hadn’t disgraced himself,’ he said, his voice starting to tremble as he embarked on a familiar theme. ‘It –’

  Marianne sighed. Her efforts to rouse her papa out of his lethargy had been wasted, as they had been wasted so many times before. ‘Yes, Papa,’ she said soothingly, knowing that soothing him was now her only recourse. If she did not, he would only become more deeply embedded in his woes. Then, speaking brightly, she tried to turn the direction of his thoughts by saying, ‘I believe it is your move.’

  Bit by bit she managed to get him to focus his attention on the game once more, and when it was finished she left the stuffy room with a feeling akin to relief. It was a trial to her to see her father behaving as though he was in his dotage when he was in fact still a comparatively young man. And although she knew he had had a lot of trials to bear, she wished he could have made more of an effort, for her sake if not his own. After all, she had had the same trials to bear, and she had not become a recluse.

  After spending an hour in the stuffy atmosphere she felt in need of some fresh air, and looking out of the window she decided to take a walk. The day was cold, but the clouds were breaking up and a gleam of sun shone through. She waited only long enough to fetch her cloak and muff before setting out for the seashore.

  Seaton Hall was bordered by the sea at its southern edge. Marianne often walked there when the weather was fine, finding the fresh sea breezes beneficial in blowing away the gloomy air that surrounded her papa; a gloomy air that seemed to work its way into her skin whenever she was with him. A brisk walk took her to the beach and she stood there undecided as to what to do next, whether to go on, or whether to turn back. There were a number of things which needed her attention back at the Hall, and she had just decided that she should return when she caught sight of a figure standing on the rocks in the distance, gazing out to sea.

  The many-caped greatcoat and three-cornered hat the gentleman was wearing could have been worn by anyone, but the height and breadth of the figure, together with the powerful stance, told her who it was at once: Lord Ravensford.

  But what was he doing on the rocks, looking out to sea?

  Whatever it was, it would have to come to a halt: the tide was coming in.

  She expected at any moment to see him turn and stride back to the beach, but as he continued to look seaward she realised he did not know the danger he was in. The rocks at that point would be covered by the tide before another ten minutes had passed, and with the cliff wall behind him he would be trapped.

  She called to him, trying to attract his attention, but her voice was carried away on the wind.

  She began to walk across the beach, calling and waving every minute or so as the water edged its way further up the rocks. Still he did not see or hear her. She reached a spur of rock that jutted out from the cliff and knew that this was the point at which she too must turn back if she did not want to be trapped by the incoming tide. She stopped and called, the wind whipping the hood back from her face and blowing her cloak around her ankles. But still she could not attract his attention. There was nothing for it. She would have to climb across the rocks to him and lead him to the one place that was still safe at high tide: the cave.

  Using her hands to steady herself she made her way across the rocks towards him. It was something she had done many times in her childhood, and she was thankful now for her intimate knowledge of the rocks. Though they were wet with spray she moved across them surely, her old kid boots, with their roughened soles, giving her a good grip. She had almost reached him when he turned and saw her. A deep frown crossed his face.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

  She fought down her resentment at his tone and said, ‘These rocks will soon be under water. You can’t stay here or you’ll be caught by the tide. We’re already cut off from the beach.’

  He looked back along the beach and saw that what she said was true. ‘Then why did you come here, you little fool?’ he demanded, already looking up at the cliff as if assessing his chances of scaling it.

  ‘There’s a cave further along,’ she replied. ‘Kit and I used to play in it when we were children. The entrance is concealed, but it goes back a long way and rises as it does so. It is always dry, even at high tide. I have come to show you the way in.’

  ‘And wouldn’t it have been easier just to call to me?’ he asked. He gave a sudden predatory smile, showing gleaming white teeth. ‘Or did you just want the pleasure of my company?’

  At his smile Marianne felt something wakening inside of her. Was it the wolf in him that called to her? she wondered. Was it the strength of his personality? Or was it the aura of danger that surrounded him, challenging her to rise and meet it?

  ‘I have been calling to you for the last ten minutes, but I couldn’t make you hear,’ she replied.

  As if to illustrate her words a sudden gust of wind almost whipped them away, so that he barely caught what she said. But catch it he did. Giving her a curt nod he stood aside. Moving past him, Marianne made her way surely over the rocks, moving in towards the cliff. The face of the cliff appeared to be sheer, but once past a group of boulders that lay, sleek and shining like a group of seals in the windblown spray, there was a slight crack. From the outside it looked to be nothing more than a fissure which widened into a bole at the bottom but Marianne knew what lay inside. She crouched down, turning to Lord Ravensford. ‘This is the way in.’

  He took one look at the small opening and raised his eyebrows. ‘You expect me to crawl through there?’

  ‘Either that, or be washed into the sea,’ she returned.

  ‘Miss Travis, you have a streak as hard as my own,’ he said with a mocking smile.

  ‘My streak is practical, not hard,’ she informed him. ‘Kit always managed to get through the hole, even when fully grown. You are a little taller than him, and a little broader, but not enough to make any difference. It might be best to take your coat off before you try, though,’ she added thoughtfully, looking at the many capes which broadened his already broad shoulders. ‘I will go first and you can pass it through to me.’

  ‘A woman after my own heart. I have always admired enterprise.'

  Marianne pulled her cloak tightly round her and crawled through the crack, standing up inside a large, deep cave. A moment later the coat was pushed through to her and Lord Ravensford followed, standing up beside her and looking round in surprise.

  ‘Who would have thought it?’ he murmured.

  Marianne handed him his coat. As he took it his fingers grazed the back of her hand, searing it with a burning heat. She gasped, letting go of the coat more quickly than she had intended.

  He caught it as she dropped it, giving her a wicked look as though reading what was in her mind.

  Why did he seem able to do that? she thought, finding it intimate and disturbing. He had no right to know what she was thinking; especially as her thoughts these days seem
ed to be all about him.

  ‘If we go to the back, we’ll be above the tide,’ she said, picking up the hem of her cloak and leading him towards the back of the cave.

  Natural light came from a hole in the cliff top, lighting a strip down the centre of the cave and casting shadows into the rocky recesses. The floor of the cave was covered in sand; dark and damp by the opening, and light and dry towards the back.

  ‘We used to keep candles and a tinder box here,’ said Marianne, running her hands along a rocky shelf just above her eye level when she reached the back of the cave.

  Lord Ravensford, being taller than she was by some six inches, saw what she was searching for and fastened his fingers around the box just as her hand discovered it. The contact burned her like a brand.

  ‘Why aren’t you married, Marianne?’ he asked suddenly, his eyes glowing gold in the shaft of sunlight and his fingers remaining closed round her own.

  ‘I . . . I hardly think that’s a proper question,’ she gasped, her heart drumming in her chest.

  ‘Of course it isn’t.’ He gave a wolfish smile. ‘Proper questions don’t interest me. But you should be married,’ he said, his look suddenly intensifying. ‘A woman of your passionate nature shouldn’t be condemned to the single life.’

  ‘Passionate?’ She felt her eyes lock on to his, as though he was holding them there by some magnetic force, a force from which she could not break free. She made a determined effort and drew her eyes shudderingly away. ‘I am not a passionate woman,’ she said, trying to inject a note of normality into her voice.

  ‘Oh, but you are.’

  ‘That’s preposterous.’ She retreated into being Miss Travis, taking a step back and using a dismissive tone to hold him at a distance; or at least, to try.

  But she had not stepped back far enough, and for answer he ran the back of his hand over her cheek. ‘Can you deny the way this makes you feel?’ he asked softly. ‘Can you pretend it doesn’t make you burn inside?’