Читать книгу Regency: Innocents & Intrigues: Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches - Хелен Диксон, Хелен Диксон, Helen Dickson - Страница 9

Stretching his legs out before him, Charles leant his head against the high back of the chair to enjoy more leisurely what had become his favourite pastime since going to Chateau Feroc—watching Maria. She could not guess the depth of torture she put him through, for beneath his calm facade and silken words, he burned with a consuming desire for her. Last night he had sat sleepless in his chair while visions of her in all manner of disarray—laughing, angry as she had been in the coach earlier, sleeping or awake, but always paramount in his imagination—floated teasingly in and out through the shadowed fringes of his mind, enslaving his thoughts like some impish sprite with dark luminous eyes, leading him into fantasies no virginal maid could even imagine. He was ever conscious of her and painfully aware that she was a woman, and he wanted her.

The silence lengthened and drew out and filled slowly with sounds of the inn, and the monotonous fluttering of a large moth that had found its way in and was battering its wings against the glass of the oil lamp.

Maria dragged her eyes away from the window and looked at Charles’s relaxed, unguarded face in the flickering light. His mouth was firm and unexpectedly sensitive. She looked at his hand holding the glass—slender and long-fingered, a hand possessed of an unexpected strength and an equally unexpected gentleness. Just being with him was beginning to cause her moments of painful confusion, yet just as often pleasure that lightened her heart and made it soar—and made her forget Henry.

‘Why don’t you like Henry?’ she asked quietly.

Charles looked at her and shrugged. ‘There are many reasons,’ he repeated quietly, wondering how she would react were he to tell her the true nature of her betrothed—that he was utterly vicious and corrupt, rotten to the core, and without principle and honour, and the only reason he wanted Maria to return to England was because, if anything were to happen to her, he would lose sight of her fortune.

‘Why? What has he done to you?’

‘Nothing to me personally,’ he replied at length.

‘Then has he done something to someone else?’ she asked, wondering why he looked so disconcerted. ‘Is that why you dislike him?’

‘If he has, then that is his affair.’

‘And you’re not going to tell me.’ She sighed deeply, sensing his reluctance and decided not to press him. She would find out the true nature of her betrothed in due course. ‘Don’t worry, Charles. Whatever he is or whatever he has done, I shall find out for myself soon enough.’

‘I’m very much afraid you will,’ he said softly.

Not for the first time, Maria felt at a loss to understand him. Suddenly his presence was vaguely threatening. Whenever he stopped playing her escort he became a passionate companion, a predator set on unsettling her equilibrium, or a dark mysterious stranger. She didn’t know whether he was a spy, although she was certain he was involved in some shady business, and that visiting his French relatives was only a cover-up. But that was his affair and she wouldn’t pry. Pushing her hair off her forehead, she glanced out of the window.

‘It is late. I think I would like to go to bed.’ She got to her feet, smoothing her skirts. ‘You—have a room that is comfortable?’ she asked awkwardly.

‘It is—adequate.’ Standing up and noting her sudden discomfiture, he was encouraged by it. ‘At least I have a bed to sleep in tonight,’ he murmured with a slanted, meaningful smile. He crossed to the door where he turned to find she had followed him. He raised a brow.

‘I—I thought I’d lock the door.’

‘Very wise.’

‘I—don’t want a repetition of last night,’ she said desperately. ‘I didn’t see any undesirable characters when we arrived, but I’m not taking any chances.’ A roguish gleam suddenly entered Charles’s eyes and with a touch of alarm Maria recognised her amorous companion of the night before.

‘If you are afraid, I would be willing to—’

‘No,’ Maria was quick to reply in alarm, knowing he was about to suggest that he stayed. ‘That would not be wise.’

Uttering a regretful sigh, he said, ‘Then no doubt I shall find warmer companionship in other parts of the inn.’

Maria’s eyes shot to his. The idea that he might seek out solace from one of the tavern wenches upset her and filled her with a fierce jealousy. An image of his long, muscular body stretched out alongside one of those women made her heart sink sickeningly. She was surprised to realise that she could not bear the thought of him making love to another woman, even though she was still officially betrothed to another man. Her cheeks flamed with the conflict that raged within her.

As if reading her thoughts, Maria watched Charles’s gaze turn warm and sensual and she was aware of how close they were standing. Suddenly his manner bore an odd touch of threatening boldness as his gaze dwelt on her face.

‘Worry not, Maria, the only woman I yearn to be close to is here now. You must find the subterfuge of travelling halfway across France as my wife strange—and dressed in such plain attire—used as you are to wearing elegant clothes and jewels.’

‘It is no great sacrifice,’ she replied softly, relieved that he had set her mind at rest. ‘As for jewels, my aunt was forever telling me that I was too young to wear them. When I reach Gravely I shall have rubies and diamonds enough. Whether I wear them is a different matter.’

Charles looked at her from beneath lowered lids. ‘Diamonds—for you? No. I think pearls would suit you better. They are less harsh—soft, soothing to the touch. Nothing vulgar—small, creamy ones.’

‘You—you make them sound nice,’ Maria said. ‘But if I marry Henry, he might like me in diamonds.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of Henry,’ Charles said. ‘I was thinking of you. I would like to attach some pearls here—’ he reached out and almost touched her ear ‘—and more—there.’ He picked up her hand and laid it at her throat, close to the valley made by her breasts.

Maria’s heart stirred, for it was an oddly sensuous and erotic gesture—far more so than if he had touched her himself. There was a silence as he continued to gaze down at her flushed face and time stood still.

‘Please don’t look at me like that,’ Maria whispered, her voice quavering. ‘It makes me excessively uneasy.’

He smiled. The light of the lamp behind her fell upon his face and hers in shadow, and the soft wavering flame threw an aureole about her, glinting on the long ripples of her black hair and outlining her small head.

‘You are very lovely. Has anyone ever told you that?’

She shook her head. At Chateau Feroc she had been drilled in the habits of strict decorum and not, as some might think, given the beautiful chateau and the Count’s fabulous wealth, in the glittering, fashionable world in which flattery and flirtation were commonplace.

‘Maria,’ Charles teased, gently touching her cheek with the back of his hand, ‘you are blushing.’

‘And I think you are quite mad.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ he whispered, and, bending his head, he pressed his lips to her forehead, placing his hands around her upper arms and drawing her against his chest, holding her as if he knew she would struggle if he tried to do more than that. ‘When we set out on this journey, you were not in my plans, Maria.’

‘Oh, please,’ she implored helplessly. ‘I don’t know what you want of me. Please don’t do this.’

He took her chin between his thumb and his forefinger and lifted it, forcing her to meet his steady gaze as he quietly said, ‘A kiss would not go amiss.’

‘Nevertheless, I think you should proceed with caution.’

‘A little kiss here and there is quite harmless.’

‘A little kiss here and there is dangerous,’ she countered, thoroughly convinced of that premise where he was concerned.

She turned her head away. The powerful force of sensual persuasion that he was capable of launching against her could reap devastating results. She must guard her heart. She was very susceptible. But when he placed a finger against her cheek and brought her face back to his, when his eyes delved into hers, he all but burned her heart inside out, and touched at its tender core.

‘Have you ever been kissed, Maria?’

She shook her head, her breath coming quickly from between her softly parted lips. ‘No, of course I haven’t.’

His lips quirked. ‘Then perhaps it’s time you were.’ A wicked gleam entered his eyes. ‘It won’t hurt. I promise.’

Maria’s entire body started to tremble as his lips began to descend to hers, and she sought to forestall what her heart knew was inevitable by reasoning with him. ‘Please, Charles. I am betrothed to another. Do you forget so easily?’

‘Would that I could, but with a little gentle persuasion I might succeed in making you forget.’ He laughed softly at her appalled expression. ‘Don’t look so shocked, Maria. Your betrothed will never know.’

His warm breath stirred her hair and warmed her cheek. ‘Don’t—I cannot do this.’

‘Yes, Maria, you can.’

His lips brushed back and forth across her lips, and Maria shivered with the waves of tension shooting through her. The instant he felt her trembling response, Charles’s arm tightened, supporting her. She did not struggle or utter one word of protest. Perhaps she knew it would do little good to do either. She stood entirely still. His hand curved round her nape, sensually stroking it. He began trailing scorching kisses down her neck and back to her lips.

‘Don’t be afraid. I’ll stop whenever you tell me to.’

Imprisoned by his protective embrace and seduced by his mouth and caressing hands, being totally ignorant of such matters and not knowing what to expect, Maria helplessly raised her head to fully receive his kiss.

The sweet offering of her mouth wrung a groan from Charles and his lips seized hers in a kiss of melting hunger. His tongue traced a hot line between her lips, coaxing, urging them to part, and then insisting. Even though she was braced for it, the shock of his parted lips on hers was indescribable sweetness. She touched her tongue to his lips, and when she felt him shudder, instinct told her she was doing something right. The moment she yielded he deepened his kiss.

Too naïve and inexperienced to hide her feelings, her body jerked convulsively with the primitive sensations jarring through her entire body, and she surrendered mindlessly to the splendour of the pagan kiss. It was deep and, when Charles finally pulled his mouth from hers an eternity later, feeling almost bereft, Maria surfaced slightly from the sensual place where he had sent her. She forced her eyelids open and looked at him, the confusion she felt and her sudden awakening to the desires of her body in their soft depths.

But with the cold onrush of reality the passionate spell was broken and Maria pulled back in his arms. ‘No, Charles, I cannot.’

He pulled her back and looked down at her, letting his eyes sweep the flushed cheeks and the roundness of her breasts rising and falling beneath her dress. ‘Then speak a lie, Maria, and say you want no part of me.’

Though her mouth opened, no words formed, and she could only stare up at him, helplessly caught in the web of her own desire. Again he placed his lips on hers to possess their softness leisurely and languidly. He met no resistance and, with a low moan, Maria let him gather her to him, their mouths melded in warm communion, turning and devouring, until their needs became a greedy search for more. His hand slipped to her breast, caressing and kneading its swelling firmness, and the white-hot heat that shot through her was a sudden shock that made her catch her breath and drag her mouth from his.

‘Charles, we cannot do this,’ she whispered in desperation, tearing herself from his arms, shaken to the core of her being. ‘You haven’t enough honour and decency to stop yourself kissing another man’s future wife.’

Charles’s jaw tightened. ‘So much the worse for you,’ he said grimly. ‘At all events, when the two of you finally meet up, he will see that he has lost you.’

‘That will be for me to decide, not you, although I am touched by your concern—if that is what it is. If the chivalrous feelings you possess towards me are indeed genuine, then you may prove it simply by not taking advantage of my vulnerable and defenceless state by kissing me again. What am I to think—only that you are soliciting me for my favours?’

Seeing a deep hurt underlying the anger in her flashing eyes, his anger melted. Lifting his hand, he tenderly brushed a dark lock of hair off her cheek. ‘I am not trying to pry into what your feelings might be, and I am not soliciting you for your favours, Maria. It’s just that after being alone with you for two days now and getting to know you better—you’re like a potent wine that has gone to my head. I just cannot bear to see you in the thrall of a man who is unworthy of you—a man who aspires to be your husband.’

‘I am not in Henry’s thrall, Charles—never that. To the man I marry I shall gladly yield all I have to give—as well as all the love and devotion and passion I am capable of feeling. In return I shall want from my husband love, honour—and fidelity. But whatever happens, I will make up my own mind in the end.’

‘I know you will, and I hope your decision will be the right one. And now I think you should go to bed. And don’t forget to lock your door.’ He turned in the open doorway and looked back, a smile curving his lips. ‘Sweet dreams, Maria.’

Walking away from Maria’s room the smile remained on Charles’s lips. The kiss had proved what he suspected, that she had not the least idea of the mechanics of sexual intimacy between men and women. The suffocating prudery of her life at Chateau Feroc under the stern, autocratic eye of the Countess had kept her in complete ignorance of such matters. He had seen it reflected in the shocked and appalled expression on her face when he told her he was going to kiss her, and he had sensed it in her body’s lack of response when he had.

But he was encouraged by the fact that her lips had answered his kiss. They had been soft and sweet and pliable beneath his own, and he would have liked to stay and educate her further, but seducing Maria Monkton was not in his immediate plans. For the time being, somehow he would have to cool the lust gnawing at his very being and try to forget how soft and sweet she had felt in his arms, to ignore the fact that she had set her hooks into him, and to control the strong attraction that seemed to bind his heart and mind to Maria.

Maria stared at the closed door in a waking dream. How was it possible that after just two days Charles Osbourne could stir feelings she had never felt before? She was fearful of what might happen if he came to her again and seeked to finish what he had started. She had escaped this moment—not entirely unscathed, but nevertheless with her virtue still intact. That state, however, was most tenuous and would not withstand another persuasive, unrelenting assault.

His kiss, his forceful persuasiveness, had been her downfall. He had known full well what he was doing to her, and the memory of what she had experienced in his arms made her plight all the more unbearable and she feared she was destined to remember his embrace for the rest of her life.

And Henry? She had given no thought to him while allowing her mind to dwell on romantic thoughts about another man. Her emotions were torn asunder, and she could find no peace in the depths of her thoughts. What her heart yearned for went against everything she deemed honourable, and yet she had no control over it.

Maria awoke to the sound of someone knocking on the door. Still drowsy with slumber, it took her a moment to remember where she was. When the knocking came again, startled, immediately she was out of bed, her heart slamming into her ribs, her knees turning to jelly. Pushing back her hair, she padded across the room.

‘Who is it?’

‘Charles.’

Maria stared at the door, reluctant to open it, reluctant to look Charles in the eyes after what had happened last night.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, hearing the tiredness in her voice.

‘You—you startled me. I didn’t expect you …’

‘Really,’ he mocked from the other side of the door. ‘Whom did you expect? It’s late, Maria. If you remember, I told you I wanted to make an early start.’

‘I’ll get dressed. I’ll be down in a moment.’

Charles was already doing full justice to his breakfast when she arrived downstairs. He raised his brows when she slipped into the chair across from him, his expression oddly impassive.

‘You slept well?’ he enquired coolly.

‘Eventually,’ Maria answered quietly, focusing her attention on the food the innkeeper’s wife placed in front of her and pouring coffee into a mug. She took a sip of the steaming beverage gratefully. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I was more tired than I thought.’

Charles wished he could have let her rest a little longer. But there was no help for it. They must press on if they were to reach Calais that day.

‘You can sleep in the coach. I promise not to wake you,’ he teased gently.

Maria trembled at the gentle confidence she heard in his smiling voice.

As she climbed into the coach for the final stage of their journey, she found herself alone once more with this man who was beginning to have such a powerful effect on her. She had become a bewildered young woman with an added problem and an upbringing that convinced her that what she had let happen and enjoyed with Charles was unforgivable.

‘Maria,’ Charles said, dragging her from her thoughts. ‘Is something wrong?’

Her eyes flew open and his unfathomable light blue eyes locked on to hers. ‘Wrong? I …’

‘Perhaps you’d like to talk about it?’ he asked calmly. She shook her head. ‘You’re afraid. Is it me you fear, Maria? Or something else?’

The way he spoke her name in his rich deep voice had the same stirring effect on her as the touch of his lips. ‘It—it’s about last night when—when you …’

‘When I kissed you.’

‘Yes, that’s it.’

‘And?’

‘I’m afraid of the things you made me feel,’ she admitted desperately. ‘I don’t understand them. I—realise that to you this is merely a—a dalliance …’

‘Is that so?’ he teased, a lazy, seductive grin sweeping across his handsome face. ‘And you know that, do you, Maria?’

She swallowed nervously. ‘Do you mean it isn’t?’ Visions of being kissed whenever he felt like it rose to alarming prominence in her mind. Hoping that by speaking in a calm, reasonable voice, rather than heatedly protesting his intentions, she said, ‘It’s not that I’m afraid, it’s just that you shouldn’t have done it. It was quite wrong of you, and I would appreciate it if you refrained from—from doing anything like that in the future.’

With a mixture of amusement and admiration, Charles noted her request. With any other woman, such a request would only add to his determination to taste her response to him again—and Maria was no exception. Of that there was no doubt. Maria hadn’t any notion how much control he had to maintain over himself to keep his hands off her, and if the situation arose again his actions would be exactly the same—and Henry Winston be damned.

‘The kiss was harmless, wasn’t it?’

‘I think so.’

‘Neither of us was hurt, were we?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then, there is no reason why we should mention it again, is there?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Good.’

The coach made rapid progress despite the dreadful condition of the roads—the combination of this and the badly sprung coach was punishing for both occupants. As dusk began to descend they were approaching the coast. Already Maria could smell the sea and she knew they could not be far from Calais.

They entered the medieval walled town, the wheels of the coach rattling over the cobblestones of the narrow, twisting streets. Reaching the Place d’Armes, the main square of the town, with its thirteenth-century watch-tower, they veered off down a side street and Pierre halted the coach outside a small tavern that catered for the fishermen of the town. The doorway was low and a red light shone through greasy curtains.

Climbing out, Charles took Maria firmly by the arm and drew her inside. She found herself in a dimly lit, low-ceilinged room where the atmosphere was like a dense fog, reeking in equal parts of liquor and tobacco smoke. There were sailors and fishermen drinking and talking, some breaking out into ribald shouts as the serving girls passed among them, their hands groping and clasping softly rounded parts.

‘Do we have to stay here?’ Maria whispered, terrified in case someone should reach out and molest her in the same way.

‘Stay close beside me and you’ll come to no harm.’

When his eyes lighted on the newcomers, a man rose from his seat at the far end of the room, hoisting a basket on to his back. Maria gasped when she saw him pushing his way towards them through the fog like some weird and menacing Neptune, for he was the most fearsome man she had ever seen. He was a giant of a man with enormous shoulders and fists like hammers. A battered red-and-green cocked hat sat jauntily sideways on his pigtailed head and a bushy black beard sprouted from his chin. He had a broad face, a wide, fleshy nose that might have been flattened by a blow at some time, and bloodshot eyes.

‘You’re early,’ the man said to Charles in a deep and powerful gruff voice, dropping the basket at his feet. ‘I didn’t expect you for another day.’

‘We made good progress,’ Charles said coolly, taking the man’s arm and drawing him aside, out of earshot of anyone who might be interested in their conversation, which was doubtful, since most had their eyes fixed on a pretty and extremely well-endowed serving wench as she served them with ale.

‘Did you encounter any trouble?’

‘Only once. It could have been worse.’

‘Never mind. You are here now.’

Charles drew Maria forward. ‘Maria, this is Jaques.’

Jaques pulled his hat off and grinned down at her. ‘Honoured to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle.’

‘Madame,’ Charles informed him quietly. ‘For the time it takes us to reach England. Can you take us across tonight? If you can, there will be no need for us to find lodging. I have no desire to remain in Calais kicking my heels indefinitely.’

‘Not till daybreak when the tide’s full. Stay here until the early hours and then come aboard. You won’t be alone. There will be other passengers.’

‘I thought there might be. We’ll be down in the harbour in plenty of time.’

Taken by surprise, Maria gave Charles a startled glance. Was this man expecting them? And if so, how could this be? ‘Charles, there are boats crossing all the time to Dover, and then there’s the packet. I’m sure we would have no difficulty obtaining passage on one of them.’

‘Jaques brought me out from England. Not wishing to draw attention to myself, I asked him to be here to take me back.’

Maria stared at him in amused amazement. ‘Not draw attention? Charles, have you had a good look at the man? No disrespect to you, Jaques,’ she said, meeting Jaques’s eye, ‘but you can’t help but draw attention. You are the most terrifying individual I have ever seen.’

Jaques looked down at her and laughed out loud at her outspoken honesty, not in the least offended by it—in fact, he was openly amused by it. ‘Worry not, little lady. Appearances aren’t always what they seem. I am but a simple fisherman here to sell my mackerel,’ he said, giving the basket a kick with his foot, ‘and as meek as a lamb and quite harmless.’

Maria gritted her teeth and forced herself to look this fearful new acquaintance in the face. ‘I am obliged to go to England, so I will have to take your word for that.’

‘You may rest assured that my boat is seaworthy. I’ve things to do before we put to sea,’ Jaques said, drawing his bushy eyebrows together and addressing himself to Charles in a low voice. ‘I’d be obliged if you told no one you’re to sail with me on the tide.’

Charles inclined his head gravely. ‘I know better than to do that, Jaques.’

Sticking his hat back on his head at random and hoisting the fish basket on to his shoulder, with a final wave of his hand Jaques headed for the door where he turned and looked back at them. ‘The sea is rough tonight. I advise you to drink some grog while you wait. It’s pretty cold down in the harbour in the early hours.’

Charles turned to his companion and smiled, aware of her trepidation. ‘Jaques was absolutely right. He really is quite harmless unless provoked.’

‘Are you sure about that? Forgive me if I do not share your opinion, Charles. The man bears a striking resemblance to a pirate.’

Charles chuckled low in his throat. ‘The difference being that he has no eye patch or wooden leg—although I suppose on second thoughts he does bear some resemblance to a pirate in that he is a—gentleman of fortune—as well as being a fisherman.’

Something registered in Maria’s mind and she frowned. ‘These people who are to sail with us? Who are they, Charles, and why the need for secrecy?’

‘Because they are aristocrats, émigrés already fleeing the country in fear of their lives. For a price, Jaques is willing to take them to safety in England. It’s a good living in these times. Dangerous, yes, but good.’ He glanced around. ‘Now I have met up with Jaques I can send Pierre on his way—although he will probably remain here for now. Apparently he has family living further along the coast and will be glad of a spell of inactivity.’

Outside the inn they were caught up in a fierce gust of wind bringing with it stinging drops of rain and a strong smell of the sea. After they had said farewell to Pierre they went back inside. After partaking of a dish of steaming mutton, taking Jaques’s advice Charles ordered hot rum.

‘Drink some of this. It will be cold on the boat and you’ll be glad of it.’

Maria was not so sure when she eyed the pungent beverage suspiciously. She had never tasted spirits and was on the point of refusing, but Charles bent forwards so that his head almost touched her ear, and he said quietly, ‘Don’t make a fuss, Maria. You’ll get us noticed.’

Bravely Maria swallowed down the hot rum. She gasped and began to cough, which brought a broad smile to Charles’s lips and he slapped her between the shoulder blades, which almost knocked her off her feet.

‘I should have warned you. It takes your breath at first, but it will warm you.’

Maria was coughing too much to reply, but once she got her breath back she discovered that this assertion proved correct. An agreeable warmth infiltrated her body and she found it to her liking. She took another sip, cautiously this time, and seated herself on a settle before the fire to wait until it was time for them to leave.

The deserted harbour under the town walls was just coming to life. Fishing boats were getting ready to leave, and the now-empty fishing baskets heaped on the decks would be brought back filled with plaice and sole, wet and shiny, and granite-coloured crabs.

Jaques’s boat was a small fishing vessel plainly crafted. It looked small and insignificant alongside a brig and two tall-masted frigates, but her very insignificance was a safeguard, as was the single, modest riding light at her masthead.

Jaques was beckoning to them on the deck, and seconds later they crossed the plank connecting her with the shore and were aboard. Maria wrinkled her nose. The boat smelled nauseatingly of fish. She looked at Charles, suddenly aware of how tense he had become. Jaques moved out of the dawn shadows across the deck towards them.

‘We’ll get off now. The tide’s all but full. Escort the lady below,’ he ordered, keeping his voice low.

‘Below?’ Maria asked hesitantly, extremely reluctant to enter the bowels of the boat. She had a dread of ships and would rather be on deck in the fresh air than down below.

‘Yes, Maria, down to the cabin,’ Charles said, taking her arm with a firm grip.

She held back. ‘May I not stay here?’

Charles’s grim expression as he met her gaze boded ill. ‘No, you may not. Until we have left the harbour you must remain below.’

‘But I don’t—much care for ships,’ she confessed, ashamed of her weakness, but she couldn’t help it. She hoped her request to stay on deck wouldn’t sound like cowardice and that he would understand her fear. ‘They—frighten me.’

His jaw hardened in annoyance. ‘This isn’t a ship, Maria, it’s a boat, a small fishing boat in case you haven’t noticed.’

Maria flinched. He spoke to her as he would to a naughty child. ‘I do know that, but they’re one and the same to me. My grandparents’—my mother’s parents’—ship went down in a storm in the Channel when they were returning to England after visiting my aunt.’

That made Charles pause. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘I recall you telling me. I should have known. Nevertheless, Maria, for our sake and for those already below, it is essential that the coastguard and the harbour authorities don’t see us. If they should spot us, the consequences don’t bear thinking about. No one saw us board. As far as anyone is concerned Jaques is embarking on one of his regular fishing trips. Do you understand?’

She did not persist. ‘Yes, and I’m sorry. Of course I’ll go below,’ she said bravely. She hesitated, reluctant to go without him, she realised with a vague sense of surprise. ‘You will come with me?’

His voice softened. ‘Of course. We’ll come back on deck when we’re out in the Channel.’

So she allowed him to lead her below to the small cabin. In the yellow light of the lantern they saw they were not alone. Six shapes—the émigrés, two women and four men, who had smuggled themselves aboard during the night—all sat close together, clutching their few possessions.

Dressed in plain, shabby clothes, with caps covering their heads and pulled well down, they looked far more like the rabble who pursued them for their lives than aristocrats.

That was the moment when Maria was made forcibly conscious that she was just like them, a fugitive, because she was obliged to hide and flee. She had no choice but to humbly accept in silence what fate might send her, even to being ordered about by someone like Jaques.

Taking her hand, Charles drew her down on to a bench away from the others, just big enough for the two of them. Sensing her fear and feeling her body tremble next to his, he leaned towards her. ‘Maria,’ he said gently in her ear, ‘you needn’t fear the boat will go down. Jaques hasn’t lost one yet.’

She glanced at him and then away again, conscious of the intense physical awareness she felt at his nearness. She wanted him to put his arms around her and calm her fears. She could hear the wind getting up. Down in the cabin it seemed to be blowing with a force that was terrifying.

Something in Charles’s chest tightened. ‘Maria,’ he murmured, ‘are you all right?’ Placing a gentle finger under her chin, he compelled her to meet his gaze. ‘What is it? Are you really so frightened?’

She swallowed and nodded. ‘Would you … Do you suppose you could hold me?’

Wordlessly he put his arm around her and drew her close. She placed her head on his shoulder and he could feel her body trembling. ‘There’s nothing to fear,’ he murmured gently, stroking her head. ‘We’ll soon be out into the Channel and then we’ll be able to go up on deck.’ He pressed his cheek against her hair and repressed a smile, suspecting her docility was a measure of her fear and fatigue—and maybe the belated effects of the rum she had consumed.

The moment he drew her into his arms, Maria was instantly conscious of the warmth and potential power of his body against hers, and felt an answering spark in him. She tilted her face to look at him. His hair fell in an untidy sweep over his brow. He had an engaging face. She saw something she had not seen in him before, the sweetness and humour of his firm lips, the quiet amusement behind his alert gaze. She paused, holding her breath as her heart turned over. To her at that moment, he was quite simply a beautiful man. Something stirred inside her. Something was happening, something that shouldn’t be happening—something she didn’t want to happen.

Her body began to soften. It was a melting feeling, one her body liked. For what seemed to be an age she really looked at Charles. Even though she had been alone with him for three days, it was like coming face to face with a stranger. It frightened her, especially when his eyes locked on hers. It was all she could do to face his unspoken challenge and not retreat from him. Measure by measure the realisation dawned that this was a man she did not know.

Nothing had prepared Maria for the thrill of quivering excitement that gripped her now. Her heart swelled with an emotion of such proportions she was overwhelmed. She was aware that this was a moment of great importance yet didn’t know in what way.

Quite suddenly, and with stunned amazement, she was conscious of an overwhelming impulse to reach up and take his dark head between her hands and draw it down to her own. For a moment it was almost as though she could feel his thick hair under her fingers.

Against her will and against all common sense, something stirred deep, deep within her, something dark and soft and treacherous. A hot tide of incredulous horror engulfed her mind and body in a wave of burning shame, and she lowered her eyes, hiding them with her long black lashes. They had looked at each other deeply, a look that spanned no more than a few seconds and yet seemed to last for an eternity.

She shivered in anticipation, then almost shyly she pulled away from him. His eyes on hers were very bright, very tender.

‘I’m all right now. You must think I’m very foolish.’

‘No, Maria. To be afraid is nothing to be ashamed of. It often takes courage to admit it.’

Charles was not immune to the unresisting woman he had held close. He was a virile man, a very masculine man, who was accustomed to the women in his arms allowing him whatever he asked of them. He was well used to the lusting pleasures that were always available to him. He had not, until he’d kissed Maria, held a woman in his arms who was not only young but innocent. Not until she had met him had she encountered the closeness, the intimacy and power of a man’s body close to her own, of desire that inflamed the flesh and confused all coherent thought.

The vessel slipped slowly out of the harbour and bounded forwards running into the Channel. On a word from Jaques, those below were told it was safe to come up on deck.

Clinging on to the rail next to Charles and with Jaques at the helm, as the vessel rolled on the swell already making itself felt in a choppy sea, the waves capped with curls of foam, Maria was filled with confusion. She could not understand herself. She realised that Charles was becoming very dear to her, but how could this be when she didn’t really know him? Just a few moments ago, if he had made the slightest movement towards her she would have been in his arms.

Breathing deeply of the night air she looked back at the receding French coast shrouded in early morning mist. The wind was getting stronger, causing the sail to crack and the little vessel to lurch alarmingly.

‘We’re running right into a storm,’ Maria gasped fearfully.

‘This isn’t a storm.’ Jaques laughed, his voice booming over the noise of the wind. ‘If you saw a real storm, you’d never forget it.’

‘Get back from the rail,’ Charles ordered, taking her arm and almost dragging her away. ‘I’d hate to see you tossed overboard. I’d be forced to jump in to rescue you.’

‘And I would expect nothing less,’ she laughed, glad to be out of the claustrophobic confines of the cabin and the threat of being in such close proximity to him always posed to her susceptible heart.

‘Are you all right?’ he shouted above the wind.

She nodded. ‘Yes. I am now. Don’t worry about me. I’m going home and that’s all that counts.’

Drawing her cloak tightly about her, she looked up at Charles, at his profile etched against the lightening sky. Indomitable pride was chiselled into his handsome face, determination in the arrogant cut of his jaw, intelligence and hard-bitten strength etched into every feature of his face. There was an aloof strength, a powerful charisma about him that had nothing to do with his tall, strong-shouldered physique or that mocking smile of his. There was something else, a feeling she got that he had done and seen all there was to do and see, and that all those experiences were locked away behind an unbreachable wall of charm, a handsome face, and piercing light blue eyes. Beyond any woman’s reach.

Daylight had broken as the boat gently nosed its way towards the English coastline. It was a sight Maria would never forget. The boat was rolling gently now, the wind having dropped mid-channel. Gradually the land came more clearly into view, with its white cliffs and the castle overlooking the harbour. What a relief it was to see England again.

Ever since she had left she had wished to return. Now there was no need to wish any longer. At that moment she saw the sun rise in a ball of crimson on the horizon—just like an omen, she thought, marking the start of a new life, a happy life. Would Henry be a part of it?

Before Charles had arrived at Chateau Feroc she had had her doubts about marrying Henry, and now, after the short time she had spent alone with Charles and the sensations he had awakened inside her, sensations and womanly desires far different from anything she had ever experienced before, as arduous as the task promised to be, she saw no help for it. Already the decision was beginning to form in her mind that she would have to tell Henry she would not marry him.