Читать книгу Highwayman Husband - Хелен Диксон, Хелен Диксон, Helen Dickson - Страница 9

‘I am glad to see you are not so enamoured of Edward Carlyle that you have forgotten your husband altogether, Laura.’ His voice was soft, but his eyes were knowingly chiding.

Without the handkerchief covering his mouth, there was no denying the familiarity of that deep voice, and Laura’s dazed mind finally accepted that her husband was really and truly alive. ‘But—but I thought you were dead,’ she whispered.

‘Clearly,’ he bit back with biting sarcasm.

‘But—Edward and I are to marry shortly. We are officially betrothed.’

‘Not any longer. You are married to me,’ Lucas reminded her harshly, ‘and nothing can change that.’ His jaw hardened and his anger increased as he suddenly realised she might have feelings for Carlyle. The mere notion that this might be so, that his grieving wife had been consorting with a man he despised while he had been in chains, forced to endure two mortal years of frozen limbs, the stink of the grave clinging to him day and night, of crawling vermin and rotten scraps of food his jailers supplied him with, made him livid.

‘Are you not happy to see me?’ he asked.

For what seemed an eternity, Laura stared up at the incredibly handsome, virile man who had imposed himself in her life again. His face was leaner than she remembered, though still proud and arrogant and stamped with ruthlessness, and there was an implacable authority in the strong jawline, and cold determination in the thrust of his chin. There was a time when she had thought his eyes as gentle as a summer breeze, but now she could see they were cold and unyielding, and as uninviting as south Atlantic ice floes, eyes without softness, without kindness or understanding. How did she feel about him? She didn’t know.

His gaze was narrow and assessing. Laura’s hand crept to her throat. The low cut of her bodice embarrassed her, despite the previous intimacies that had passed between them. ‘For-forgive me,’ she stammered. ‘I am shocked—justifiably so. My feelings are so confused.’

‘I can see your sorrow for my alleged demise has not prevented you from enjoying yourself,’ Lucas remarked with scathing sarcasm. ‘You look anything but a grieving widow. Since you can hardly convincingly throw yourself into my arms and weep tears of joy for my resurrection from the dead while wearing another man’s ring—a man I would cheerfully consign to rot in hell—you will have to think of something else to appease my anger towards you and win my forgiveness.’

Unable to control her mounting anguish and anger, Laura looked at him as if he were the devil. ‘Win your forgiveness?’ she burst out furiously. ‘I have no intention of trying to win anything from you. I have lived alone too long—two years—just in case you need reminding, and I do not do anything on anyone’s instruction. Whatever I do I do on my own initiative.’

‘Not any more,’ he ground out, looming over her, his gaze a frigid blast. He was caught somewhere between fury, amazement and admiration for her defiant courage. Short of murdering her, which would solve nothing, he was at a loss as to how to deal with her, and, although strangling her held a certain appeal at that moment, it was out of the question.

‘Henceforth things will be different,’ he went on coldly. ‘A husband has every right to govern his wife’s activities. You will do as I say. You will bend to my will, or I will break you to it. Do you understand me? I don’t give a damn how you choose to have it. I consider your antics to have overstepped the bounds of respectability, when I find you gallivanting about the countryside with a blackguard and unchaperoned at the dead of night. It infuriates me to find you on the most intimate terms of friendship with a man I have every reason to despise. Just how long did it take for Carlyle to step in—to steal my estate, my money…and my wife?’

Two years ago Laura would have quaked in her shoes and been reduced to tears on being spoken to so harshly, but now, infuriated by her errant husband’s imperious tone, full-bodied, fortifying rage brought her a step closer to him. She couldn’t recall ever being so furious.

‘Edward has not stolen anything, and my behaviour has never been anything other than proper. You have no excuse for accusing me of light conduct, and a chaperon was unnecessary since Edward and I are affianced. If you desire any further information as to my dealings with Edward—or anyone else, for that matter—I shall be happy to supply it. Your insults are absolutely unprovoked. How dare you? Of all the detestable, hypocritical, arrogant things I have been accused of, that is the worst.’ With blazing eyes she paused briefly to draw an infuriated breath.

‘How could you? How could you do that—to let me believe you were dead? Don’t you know what you did to me? After that one letter you wrote to me, telling me you were coming home, there was not a sound, sight or communication from you,’ she said, with such feeling that Lucas looked mildly stunned at her. ‘I was told you were dead. I was told that your ship had been captured by pirates and everyone on board killed—everyone, that is, but one man, who survived and made it to England and reported what had happened. I believed that.’

Laura had received a letter Lucas had sent from France two months after his departure, telling her he was to sail from Le Havre to Portsmouth on a fishing vessel called the Pelican. He had asked her to meet him in Portsmouth. From there they were to travel to London, and after spending time with friends and family they would return to Cornwall. Laura had done as he requested.

It was almost two weeks before news had reached her that the wreckage of the Pelican had been washed up on the French coast. Only one man had survived. He had been on board the Pelican when she had been attacked by an unknown source—pirates, he said. Suspecting what was about to happen, he had thrown himself into the sea and witnessed with his own eyes how everyone on board was killed and thrown into the water, before the pirates had removed the cargo and scuppered the boat. He had been picked up by a passing vessel and had returned to England to tell the tale.

‘Can you imagine what it has been like for me,’ she went on irately, ‘or did I rank so low in your esteem that you couldn’t even be bothered to think of me at all, let alone write to let me know you were still alive?’

‘That is not so.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she flared. In her anger the image of a beautiful woman with pale blonde hair and laughing dark eyes intruded upon her mind, and she was in no doubt that it would have been this particular lady who would have occupied his thoughts. The thought that he might have dreamed of possessing her as he had possessed Laura on their wedding night, perhaps murmuring words of love he had never addressed to her… Jealousy combined with the rage already searing her heart tormented her with the flames of hell and was almost too painful to bear.

‘Obviously you considered me an unimportant matter,’ she went on. ‘I seem to recall I was something of a nuisance—an irritating encumbrance, a responsibility you acquired when my father insisted upon you marrying me when you compromised me so disgracefully. Did you find me so excruciatingly pitiful and naïve, and despise me so much, that you decided to disappear to escape that pathetic creature you would never have looked at twice—had your brain not been so fogged with liquor that you made the mistake of abducting me instead of the lady you so obviously desired? But whatever the reasons were for your silence, Lucas, I was still your wife, whom you promised to love and honour, and I deserved better.’

The gaze that fell on Laura was blank and then Lucas frowned slightly, as if puzzled by what she had said. ‘Contrary to what you believe, Laura, I desired no other woman—not then, not now. There are some things about those weeks before our marriage you cannot possibly understand, although in time I will explain everything.’ At the tragic look in her eyes, cynical humour softened his features, and his firm, sensual lips quirked in a derisive smile. Gently he tipped her chin up. ‘Why, my poor little wife, what is it? Are you telling me that you missed me after all?’

To her consternation and fury, Laura felt her cheeks grow hot. Angrily she slapped his hand away. ‘I am not telling you anything of the sort. At least have the decency to explain to me where you have been for the past two years—and why you are cavorting about the county as a highwayman, robbing unsuspecting travellers of their valuables. How ridiculous that is! And what was the reason for that charade a moment ago? Tell me!’

‘Trust me. I know exactly what I am doing, and why I am doing it.’

‘Then let us dispense with this conversation and go and tell Edward who you are, before that accomplice of yours shoots him.’

Lucas’s fingers closed cruelly on her upper arm as she swung round and began to walk away. He spun her round to face him. ‘Do not,’ her husband said in a terrible voice, ‘even consider doing that. Defy me on this, and in my present unreasonable mood nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to make you regret it. You will yearn for the kindness I showed you before I made you my wife. When Carlyle leaves you tonight you will send him packing and not receive him again under my roof under any circumstances—ever.’

‘I can’t do that,’ Laura argued stubbornly. ‘It would not do. I must explain to him—’

‘You will do as I say.’ Lucas’s silken voice promised dire consequences should she choose to disobey him. ‘You will not tell him who I am. For the time being my identity must remain a secret. No one must know that I am alive and here in Cornwall. Do you understand me, Laura?’

The threat of violence lessened her courage and made her feel helpless as she looked into his wrath-filled face. There was an undeniable aura of restrained power and forcefulness about him—gathering force, no doubt to be unleashed on her later, she thought bitterly. Tears of frustration stung her eyes and she nodded, swallowing a hard lump that had risen in her throat. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

Satisfied that she was adequately chastened, Lucas softened and he released his hold on her arm. He stood gazing down at the tempestuous face upturned to his, seeing the blur of tears in her large eyes, so deep a blue as to be almost purple. His breath caught in his throat, for even to the most reluctant eye Laura’s beauty could not be ignored.

Lucas was unable to believe that this provocatively lovely, regal, glamorous and bewitching young woman was his wife, whose sweetness he had kept fresh and alive during his incarceration in his vermin-infested cell. Her skin shone with a healthy lustre, and the angles of girlhood had been replaced by a supple slenderness. Her once underdeveloped breasts were now swollen to two glorious globes that strained the bodice of her gown. In his mind time rolled back, and this lovely creature with glossy black curls spilling over her bare shoulders blended into an enchanting, frightened and bewildered girl, who would never have dared stand up to him like a proudly enraged goddess as she was doing now.

Reluctant admiration swelled in his heart, but unfortunately it only made him angrier because that shy, innocent girl he had married had grown into a spirited, forthright, beautiful young woman in his absence, and had turned to his enemy for comfort. For the first time in his life he experienced an acute feeling of irrepressible jealousy which twisted his gut and caught him completely off guard. It was a feeling he found decidedly unpleasant.

Reminding himself that while he had been rotting in a French prison Laura had been growing into a ravishing beauty and setting Cornwall by its ear with the likes of Edward Carlyle, he hardened his jaw and coldly rejected the memory of how she had last looked when they had parted. Without another word, he quickly replaced his hat and, securing the handkerchief over the lower half of his face, took her arm and escorted her back to the coach.

Scooping up her cloak from the ground, Laura slipped it around her shoulders. If, by disappearing with his wife into the dark seclusion of the trees, Lucas had intended to drive Edward to a fury, he had succeeded. When they appeared Edward uttered a short, inarticulate cry of rage. For an instant Laura read madness in his eyes. His teeth were clenched and his hands opened and closed convulsively. She feared he was about to launch himself at Lucas, but thankfully he restrained himself.

‘If you’ve laid so much as one finger on her, you swine, by God, by the time I’ve finished you are going to regret that you were born,’ Edward ground out, his voice hoarse with rage. ‘You’ll suffer for this one day. I swear it.’

Contemptuous of his neighbour, Lucas scorned him. ‘Your threats don’t worry me, Carlyle. Reserve your concern for yourself. Now be on your way. Take the lady home.’ He waited until Edward had assisted Laura inside the coach before he swung himself into the saddle. His accomplice did the same—though with less agility—and they did not lower their pistols until Amos had whipped up the horses and the coach was trundling towards Roslyn Manor.

Laura did not turn and look back at her husband, but she knew that as he watched her leave with Edward beneath the concealing handkerchief his face had hardened into a mask of icy wrath. Inside the coach she looked at Edward’s granite features, wondering how she was going to tell him she could not marry him.

‘It’s all right, Edward. Nothing happened,’ she said, in an attempt to alleviate any fears he might have that she had been molested, but instead of calming him her words enraged him and he threw her a glance loaded with suspicion.

‘You expect me to believe that villain didn’t lay a hand on you?’ he seethed. ‘You were gone a full ten minutes.’

Laura forced herself to keep calm and managed to conjure up a gentle smile. Above all, she must not let Edward see the unnerving effect her meeting with Lucas had had on her. ‘I swear he didn’t touch me. We—talked, that is all.’

His narrowed eyes glittered across at her. ‘Talked? It gets even more intriguing. Do you mind telling me what you talked about—what you could possibly have to say to a man who had just stolen your jewels? ’Tis not an easy tale to believe. I’ll take my oath that had I followed you I would have seen that—that blackguard taking you in his arms with the intent of ravishing you.’

Stung by the contempt in his voice, Laura stiffened. ‘You are in error, Edward. I swear he did not touch me. You will have to be content with that. At least we have come away from the incident unharmed—if a little poorer. For that we must be thankful.’

Edward leaned into his corner, quietly fuming. ‘That man will regret this night’s work. I will not rest until I find him and see him hanged.’

Seated across from him, Laura shuddered. She had never seen such hatred in a human gaze. Turning her head, she looked into the darkness beyond the window, and as they travelled on she felt as if she’d imagined the whole encounter with her husband. The sense of unreality stayed with her all the way to Roslyn. The man who had suddenly reappeared in her life commandeered all her thoughts, and she found her mind drifting back to the circumstances of their first meeting.

She had been living in London then, with her father, Sir James Russell, who was attached to the Admiralty in Whitehall. Her mother had been dead several years. Aunt Josaphine, her mother’s sister, who had always taken a kindly interest in her young niece, frequently invited her and her father to join small, diverting parties at her town house, where her guests were chosen for their charm and gaiety.

It was at one of these parties that she first saw Lucas. He appeared with a friend of his, a Frenchman—the Comte de Mournier, she recalled, an extremely amiable young man, both lively and unreserved, and whose manners were very much admired. Lucas, on the other hand, was quite withdrawn, and had seemed curiously out of place. His tall, broad-shouldered, restless figure and bronzed features seemed to belong to a world of outdoor activities, rather than among the frills and flounces of her aunt’s drawing room. He did not partake in any of the diversions, which he obviously found tedious, and would stand apart and observe the gathering with his proud and brooding silver gaze.

A vivacious friend of Laura’s, Lydia Sheridan, who knew all the latest gossip, whispered to her that she should beware of Lucas Mawgan, for his blatant virility and dark good looks impelled women to his side. It was rumoured that over the years he’d had an assortment of mistresses, and that he seemed in no particular hurry to marry. Lydia also told her that he was a gentleman who lived in Cornwall, who often journeyed to London to conduct his business affairs.

Laura saw Lucas on several occasions after that, and even began looking for him, hoping to see him. He was always accompanied by his friend, the Frenchman, and they were often to be seen in the company of the much sought-after Weston sisters, Daisy and Caroline, two extremely beautiful blonde-haired girls—frivolous and the focal point of every event they attended.

Unfortunately for them and the gentlemen who tried to get close, they were constantly watched over by their matriarchal mother, who never let her precious daughters out of her sight, but it did not escape Laura’s notice that Lucas was often to be seen in conversation with Caroline. Lydia remarked that Caroline had her eye on him, and that she had confided to her that she would do anything to get him, and Laura didn’t doubt that for a moment. Caroline, pink-cheeked, those dark eyes of hers wide and positively gleaming with anticipation, lapped up everything Lucas said and did like a kitten at the cream.

When Laura was introduced to Lucas by her aunt, he appeared brusque and quite formidable to her, and with a sense of foolish dismay she realised that her head hardly came up to his shoulder. His eyes passed over the plain young girl quickly and with little interest, looking at her but not seeing her. When he moved on she realised how immature she must seem to him, but from that moment her heart was lost to her.

It was as if a candle had been lit within her, which burned with an unquenchable flame, and the more she tried not to think of him the flame seemed to burn all the stronger. She told herself it was foolish to think like this, and that, since he seemed unaware of her existence, to save herself heartache she ought to forgo her visits to the places where he would be present. But instead she seized on their meetings and hugged them to her like a comfort blanket. She thrilled at each one of the occasions that she saw him, and looked forward to the next with passionate anticipation, marking her calendar with red crosses so she wouldn’t forget those few treasured days.

The misunderstanding that was to change her life occurred when she was leaving a party with her father late one night. Rain was coming down in torrents and it was blowing a gale. There were so many people and such confusion in the street as everyone tried to hold onto their elaborate hair adornments and find their carriages. Somehow Laura became separated from her father and found herself alone in a carriage that was suddenly driven off at breakneck speed, drawing terrified screeches from all those it almost ran down.

Horrified, she tried shouting for the driver to stop, that there had been some mistake, but he couldn’t hear her over the noise of the storm. The carriage continued to travel like this for some time, causing Laura extreme concern for her safety. She had no idea what was happening to her or where she was being taken, only that they had crossed the river and were heading in the direction of Richmond.

After an hour or so of being bounced about, when the driver finally brought the carriage to a halt in Richmond Park, he jumped down from his perch and flung the door open. Laura was astonished to find herself face to face with Lucas Mawgan. He stared at her with a look of enormous surprise, which was quickly followed by anger and frustration. That was the moment she realised that the carriage she was in belonged to the Weston family—it was very similar to her father’s—and she looked back at him with a dawning of understanding and deep regret.

Lucas Mawgan had abducted the wrong woman, and he knew there would be all hell to pay when he took her back.

He was right. Her father and brother were furious. To prevent a dreadful scandal that would ruin her reputation beyond recall, her father and Philip insisted Lucas do the honourable thing and marry her. There was no one more astonished than she was when he made no attempt to defend himself and agreed without argument. Laura tried telling him that she knew of the mix-up and he didn’t have to marry her, but she was too humiliated and intimidated by him to say so. He did not disclose to anyone what his intentions had been when he had abducted her that night—but she knew.

When they were together Lucas was always courteous to her, but she could detect the underlying currents in his tone and body. He was seething with anger. He hadn’t wanted to marry her. He was simply being chivalrous. But Laura was supremely grateful for the way he had leaped to the defence of her reputation to save her from disgrace, which proved how noble he was. She would repay him for his kindness, she vowed. She would be a good wife to him. They were not much alike, yet despite their differences they might deal well together. However, they only had three short days together as man and wife before Lucas had to go to France—and was lost to her.

On Lucas’s demise, at eighteen years old she found herself with the burden of managing servants and trades people, and striving to keep the small estate intact. She found it difficult to understand Cornish people and their way of life, and there were plenty of men and women in and around Roslyn who didn’t like strangers. At first she felt like an interloper, who had invaded a world where she was not welcome. But, being a natural born survivor, she soon found her feet and learned to stand on them.

Fortunately money wasn’t a problem, since Lucas had left her a very wealthy young widow. Upon paying his lawyers in London a visit shortly after his death, she listened with a sense of unreality as she was told of the extent of his wealth. As well as the income from the estate, he had a large fortune invested in stocks and bonds that would take good care of her in the years ahead.

Neither Laura nor Edward spoke until the dark outline of Roslyn Manor came into view. The great house was in harmony with the massive rocks, flanking the sea, on which it stood, proud and defiant, gazing sightlessly over the Channel as it had done for centuries.

The coach stopped at the bottom of a narrow flight of steps leading up to the solid, double oak doors, and when Edward would have got out Laura halted him. Although she was quaking inside, she looked at him with outward calm. She must delay no longer in telling him she would not marry him, and now that the moment of confrontation was at hand she was strangely relieved.

‘Edward, wait. There is something I have to say to you.’

He looked at her sharply, his mind still preoccupied with what had just transpired. ‘What is it?’

Taking a firm grip of herself, she very carefully steadied her voice in an attempt to soften the blow. ‘I cannot marry you,’ she told him quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

He looked at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Laura. What nonsense is this? Of course we’ll be married, and with respect we should proceed with the arrangements without delay. You’re hysterical and overwrought by what’s happened, that’s all. You’ll feel better in the morning.’

‘I mean it, Edward. It was wrong of me to say I would—and to let the party go ahead tonight. I had misgivings from the start and should have spoken out. I should never have let it go this far.’

‘Then why did you?’

‘I—I don’t know. I was afraid, I suppose.’

‘Afraid, Laura?’ he said harshly, his eyes narrowing. ‘Afraid of what? Me?’

‘No, of course not. I don’t know why. But I feel I have to put a stop to this, to end it now while there is still time. Our betrothal was a mistake.’

‘You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re committed to me.’

‘No, I’m not. I don’t love you, and I know you don’t love me. A betrothal can be broken more easily than a marriage.’

Edward noticed that she was measuring her words, and he began to realise she was not hysterical but perfectly sane, and that she meant what she was saying. His face darkening with anger, his fists so tightly clenched that the knuckles became bloodless, he looked at her hard, resenting her rejection as a personal insult. ‘Have you forgotten that it is what your brother wants—what he expects of you?’

‘My brother will be the first to understand,’ she returned with cool civility. ‘Of course, I will write to your mother and explain.’

‘Now, Laura, be sensible,’ Edward said, trying to gentle his tone to coax her out of this madness. ‘You know the situation.’

‘Yes, I think I do,’ she replied quietly, meeting his gaze squarely. ‘I can understand how disappointed you must be that you won’t be getting the land you have always coveted. In fact, of late, I have come to realise that the land—particularly that adjoining Roslyn Cove—means more to you than I do. I also know why. But you needn’t worry. I shall continue to turn a blind eye to your nocturnal activities, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

His gaze pinned hers. ‘It’s not.’

‘No, I didn’t think so,’ Laura replied, feeling an atmosphere of menace creep into the coach.

‘I do not merely want the land,’ Edward went on impatiently, his wrath growing by the second. ‘Of course I want you, too. You have so much common sense, which is something I have always admired about you. What we have cannot be dismissed in a moment—or, perhaps I should say, by a foolish fancy in a very attractive head. You won’t get a better offer than mine—certainly not here in Cornwall.’

‘I have no wish to marry anyone else.’

Realising he was losing the battle of persuasion, Edward glared across at her. Without warning his attitude changed and he seized her wrist in a painful grasp. He was like a man possessed, simmering with an inner rage he could barely contain, refusing to even contemplate relinquishing the prize he believed he had won. ‘I will not give up,’ he remarked fiercely. ‘I will not be made a fool of by you. I will not be made a laughing stock. You hadn’t even the courage to confess your doubts before tonight. The whole evening was farcical—a pretence.’

‘Please, try to understand, Edward. I have said all I have to say. Our engagement is at an end, and that is my final word,’ she said, wrenching her wrist from his grip, wanting only one thing now and that was to leave him. Removing the betrothal ring from her finger, she gave it to him. ‘I won’t change my mind.’

‘It will not end here, Laura. I will not let it. I am not so easy to be got rid of, as you will find out.’

Laura climbed out of the coach, and Edward took his leave of her in bitter silence, curtly ordering Amos to drive on, with neither a backward glance nor a word of farewell.

As he decided how best to deal with this new turn of events Edward’s senses were heightened sharply by his growing awareness of this menace to his future plans. He cursed Laura Mawgan and every one of her late husband’s ancestors. His hatred of that family was deep-rooted, with festering memories of what he considered to be the stealing of valuable land from the Carlyles by the Mawgans that called aloud for vengeance upon the perpetrators. He would not be swayed from murder if necessary—were it family or friend. He would never allow such compunction or allow any such weakness to deflect him from his purpose.

Shattered by the night’s events, Laura felt an inexplicable heaviness weigh on her heart as she entered Roslyn Manor. When would she see Lucas again? she wondered. Where had he been for the past two years? What had he been doing, and why was it so important that no one should know he was alive and in Cornwall? And why had he taken to the road as a highwayman? She sighed wearily. It was all very confusing. None of it made sense.

The door was opened for her by John Treneer, an aged manservant who had worked for the Mawgans for most of his life. His wife, who was a quiet woman with an air of authority, who made her own rules and to whom Laura had grown close, was the housekeeper at Roslyn Manor and would have been in bed long since.

John was sixty years old, always solemn, inscrutable and silent, and he was finding it increasingly difficult doing his work. But Laura had become extremely fond of him. He had become her friend, a man she could trust implicitly, and she would no more have thought of dispensing with him than she would have thought of burning the house down. When she had lost the man dear to her heart, John had made sure that heart did not turn to stone.

‘You had a pleasant evening, I trust, my lady?’ he asked as she removed her cloak and handed it to him.

‘Very pleasant. Thank you for waiting up for me, John. I hope I’m not too late. Is Mrs Treneer in bed?’

His eyes rested on her throat. ‘Long since. You seem to have misplaced your necklace, my lady.’

Fingering her bare neck, she smiled somewhat cynically. ‘You might say that, John. But I am quite certain it will be returned to me very soon.’

‘Is there anything you might be a-wanting before you retire?’ he asked, thinking that the mistress looked none too happy. Her brow was puckered in a frown, and there was a sadness about her.

Laura shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I’m very tired and can think of nothing more inviting than going to bed. I hope Susan didn’t wait up. I told her not to—that I am quite capable of putting myself to bed.’

‘She did as you instructed.’

‘Goodnight, John.’

Wearily she began to climb the stairs, thinking of everything that had happened that night—thinking of Lucas. With her hand resting on the banister she paused halfway up and wrinkled her nose. A strange, harshly sweet smell permeated the air, drowning out the usual smell of beeswax and drying herbs. It was a scent she had first noticed several days ago—not strong, but it had lingered. However, she had been so busy helping Edward’s mother with the arrangements for the betrothal celebrations that she had ignored it. But now she breathed deeply, baffled and a little intrigued as to where it was coming from. It was tobacco she could smell, but as far as she was aware none of the servants smoked it. She turned and looked back, her curiosity sharp.

‘John.’

‘Yes, my lady?’

‘Have you taken up smoking?’

‘Nay, my lady. Why do you ask?’

‘I’m sure I can smell tobacco.’ She considered his face for a moment, but could read nothing in his impassive features. But she felt there was something he knew that she didn’t. Too tired to go into it now, and telling herself it was none of her business anyway if one of the servants had taken to smoking tobacco, she proceeded up the stairs, knowing John continued to watch her, and aware that the smell was growing stronger.

By the light of a few candles burning in sconces she trailed her way along the shadowy passage to her bedchamber, feeling extremely tired but knowing she would not sleep that night. Too much had happened, and there were too many disturbing thoughts filling her head. On entering her room she closed the door and kicked off her shoes. She reached behind her to unfasten her dress, but on glimpsing a pair of booted feet from the corner of her eye she froze, momentary panic seizing her.

‘Don’t stop,’ a voice drawled lazily.

Laura gasped and her heart began to beat in deep, fierce thuds on seeing Lucas lounging in a large armchair, the very image of relaxed elegance with his long legs stretched casually out in front of him towards the fire. His white shirt, open at the throat, was tucked carelessly into the waistband of his snug-fitting grey breeches. He rose to his feet and slowly advanced towards her with a graceful ease surprising in a man of such virile appearance, his well-muscled body suggesting tightly coiled strength.

She stared at him. His light, almost silver eyes seemed to shine like bright gems. She had forgotten how brilliant and clear they were. Just when she had learned to live without him he had appeared, and all her carefully tended illusions were torn asunder. The shock of his coming back into her life stripped away all rational thought and a treacherous warmth was slowly beginning to creep up her arms and down her legs. Her entire body began to vibrate with a mixture of shock, desire and fear—fear because of the way he made her feel, of the sensual pull he was exerting on her—but somehow her mind remained in control.