Читать книгу The Foundling Bride - Хелен Диксон, Хелен Диксон, Helen Dickson - Страница 9
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The crowd melted away, making a pathway before Captain Marcus Carberry as he walked from Fowey Harbour with long, purposeful strides. Some turned to look again at the well-built figure of the tanned military man in his late twenties. His face was disciplined, strong, striking—and exceptionally handsome. He was conspicuous in his tight fitting-red jacket with its cross-belt of white which emphasised his powerful chest, and tapering white trousers above knee-length black boots emphasised long legs and muscular thighs.
Having left the ship outside Fowey’s deep harbour, on its way to Portsmouth, and rowed to shore, he was eager to get home. Looking around the familiar bustling streets he felt his heart swell. For him, the war in America was over. Having served the ten years he had signed up for with the army, he had been on the point of extending his post, but the death of his father had brought him back to Tregarrick.
Cornwall was in his heart, and he had always known he would come back. Everything he had ever cared about was here. Breathing deep of the salt sea air, he thought even the cloying stench of fish that hung over the harbour smelled sweet after five years of war.
And then there was the family mine—Wheal Rozen, named after his grandmother. From the moment his father had taken him there as a boy he’d set about learning all there was to know about mining and everything connected with it, from anyone who was prepared to talk to him. The memory of the times he had spent at Wheal Rozen as a boy and then as a youth, listening to the noise and action of the great pump engine demonstrating its power, made his body tingle.
Now, on his father’s demise, Marcus’s elder half-brother Edward had inherited the estate—which was the way of things—but his father had left Marcus one hundred per cent ownership of the mine, so all the decision-making would be up to him, and the freedom to explore for further mineral deposits was his priority.
As soon as he had eaten at a hostelry he hired a horse and headed out of Fowey. The horse would be returned in due course. It was already dark. He knew it was dangerous to travel at night but, believing his uniform would protect him against anyone who might be tempted to waylay him, and eager to get home, he set out for Tregarrick.
Thoughts of his brother brought a hardening to Marcus’s jaw and an ache to his heart, and as he covered the miles he was unable to stave off his anxiety as to how his homecoming would be received by Edward.
Marcus knew better than to expect him to welcome him home with warm words. Spoiled and fawned over by an adoring mother, Edward was one of the most unprincipled men he knew. He and Marcus had led separate lives, meeting only when one or the other had come home from school, and later when Marcus came home from the military academy. After a lifetime of resentment Edward was unlikely to have had a change of heart towards Marcus. But if he had, Marcus would welcome that and hold out his hand.
As brothers they should be able to forgive each other anything—shouldn’t they?
Almost at the end of his journey, and seeing a flash of light out at sea, he dismounted and walked to the cliff’s edge. His eyes were drawn down to the beach, where dark figures moved and horses waited. From his vantage point Marcus knew he was witnessing the centuries-old Cornish tradition of smuggling.
It was something he had grown up with, and he knew that to those involved in the trade it was a way of life. For the families with many mouths to feed times were hard, and smuggling was their way of trying to make ends meet—the ring-leaders often became rich on the strength of it. But those who got involved in this illegal trade did so at a high cost, for the penalty for smuggling would be found at the end of a rope...
* * *
Tonight the wind was blowing and the sea was choppy. Conditions were perfect for the run. The night was dark, with only a half-moon showing now and then between heavy clouds. Lowena didn’t like being on the cliffs after dark, but Edward had left her with no choice.
Edward Carberry! The mere thought of him had the power to fill her with fear and hatred. It was hard to believe that a man of such high standing in the community, and indeed the whole of Cornwall, would involve himself in the illegal and highly dangerous practice of smuggling. But since taking up employment as a servant at Tregarrick, Lowena had come to realise that her employer was clever and as slippery as an eel—and notorious for his ruthlessness.
It was as though smuggling gave him a much needed outlet for adventure, and the danger provided heightened his emotions. He also seemed to take great delight in cocking a snook at the Government in faraway London, for the exorbitant taxes imposed on the people of Cornwall to fund its wars and other schemes that did not concern the county.
As soon as she had started work at Tregarrick, after Izzy’s death, Lowena had caught his eye. When she’d resisted his advances, he had taken a perverted delight in drawing her into his ring of smugglers. She had courageously stood up to him, and told him she wanted no part of it, but he had left her in no doubt that if she did not comply she would have to seek employment elsewhere.
With no family to support her and nowhere else to go, Lowena had had no choice but to do as she was told.
Had his brother Marcus been at home then things would have been different. In all the years she had known him Lord Carberry’s younger half-brother had shown her nothing but kindness and consideration. He had often come to see Izzy when he was home from school, to sample some of the wonderful appetising food that she’d put on her table.
How he’d loved to talk! And how Lowena had loved to listen, with her eyes wide and nothing to contribute but her admiration of this handsome youth. Tenderness still shook her every time she thought of him. He would not have allowed Lord Carberry to use her in this manner.
Her heart warmed as she thought of him now. Izzy had told her that Mr Marcus had all the characteristics his half-brother had always envied and resented. Lowena remembered that his features were quiet and intent, that they were also strong and noble—in all he was taller and significantly more handsome and manly than Edward Carberry. Edward’s features were fine—his eyes a watery blue, his hair ash-blond.
It wasn’t the first time Lowena had been dragged from her bed when there was a run. She knew the routine. She was positioned at the highest point along this part of the coastline, and it was her responsibility to light the beacon of furze should trouble appear. Someone else was guarding the narrow track that ran down to the cove—the one that led to the high moor, which was dominated by a bleak, hostile landscape and where no one lingered longer than was necessary.
The wind snapped at her hair and she shuddered as she looked down into the cove, unmoving, watchful, staring into the darkness, hoping and praying that all would go to plan so she didn’t have to light the furze.
A cloud moved off the moon, shedding light on the small horseshoe cove. This was where, on a terrible stormy night, a ship had once found itself at the mercy of the wind, the sea and the rocks—where it had floundered and broken up. Wreckers had soon been drawn to the stricken vessel, before the customs men had appeared on the scene. They had looted the vessel, killing without mercy anyone who had survived.
It was said that on certain nights the souls of the dead could be heard on the wind, as if they refused to move on and continued to haunt the environs of the cove.
Ever since that night people had said the cove was cursed, and no one came here—which was to the smugglers’ advantage. It was a haven for smugglers—if they knew how to pilot a boat among the reefs.
Two strings of horses were already on the beach. They were hardy workhorses, along with specially adapted saddles which could carry the heavy casks of liquor and chests of tea.
The men in the boats were professional seamen, the shore party less so, being made up mainly of agricultural labourers and miners. A successful run could earn them as much as two weeks working on the land, and it was with Lord Carberry’s approval that they brought with them carts and horses wherever they could be found, to assist in the landing.
Edward’s estate manager, William Watkins, was keeping his eye on proceedings and giving orders to the men on the beach.
Looking out to sea, Lowena saw a light. It flashed three times. This was the signal indicating to those on shore that the ship they were expecting was there for the rendezvous, hidden in the darkness out at sea. The men in the boats began rowing towards the light in the treacherous waters, careful to avoid the submerged rocks and soon being swallowed up in the darkness.
The suspense was unbearable to Lowena as she paced back and forth along the cliff edge. It was a cold night and her heart was racing, her eyes blinded by gusts of wind.
After about an hour or more the boat returned. The men jumped out carrying their oars and placed them on the sand. They worked swiftly, unloading the cargo with silent speed and loading it into carts or securing it onto the horses and leading them up the narrow valley which opened into the cove.
Some of the smuggled goods would be taken up-country to Devon or beyond, and some would be stored locally, to be sold in the community. Lord Carberry had established contacts to shift the goods.
As the horses began to move off with their heavy, lucrative load, Lowena gave a sigh of relief and yawned. At last she could return to the house and her bed.
Suddenly something made her turn her head and look along the cliff. Straining her eyes in the darkness, she felt cold fear grip her. Her heart almost stopped when she saw the silhouette of a man, watching the activities below. His feet were slightly apart, his back straight, his hands clasped behind him. Instinctively she shrank into the shadows. How long had he been there? What had he seen? It was too late now to light the beacon.
Holding her breath, Lowena slowly edged towards some tall shrubs, hoping he hadn’t seen her. When she looked again the man had gone. Her gaze scanned the blackness all around her, but there was no sight of him. Not wanting to wait a moment longer, she turned and headed for home. Moving swiftly along the path, she felt her foot stumble against a stone and only just managed to keep herself from falling.
Straightening herself, she came face to face with a tall figure in the uniform of a soldier. A dragoon—he had to be a dragoon. At the sudden appearance of this ghostly apparition, looming large and menacing, she trembled with fear. A bolt of terror shot through her and she stood rooted to the spot, unable to move or to speak. When he stepped closer to her she pulled herself together, and with no thought other than to escape turned to run. But the man caught her arm in a vice-like grip.
‘Don’t be a fool,’ he growled. ‘Stay where you are.’
Stunned and stricken dumb, Lowena heard that low, deep voice and thought she was in some kind of nightmare. She spun back, her eyes wide, staring up at him through the tangled mass of her hair. Her heart was beating hard and seemed to roar in her ears. The man towered over her, and in the darkness she could just make out his face.
She felt herself drawn to him, as if by some overwhelming magnetic force, and for an instant something stirred inside her. She experienced a feeling of strange, slinking unease—the unease of shadowy familiarity—and she shivered with a sense of deep foreboding.
The blood drained from her face. Recognition hit her and she gasped, thunderstruck.
It was Mr Marcus, back from the Americas. At least it looked like him.
With her hair strewn across her face and in the dim light she prayed he hadn’t recognised her—not now, not when she must look a frightful sight and was breaking the law. Struggling fiercely to release herself from his grip, closing her ears to the low curses he uttered, she succeeded in freeing herself and fled.
On reaching the back of the house at Tregarrick she let herself in, breathing a huge sigh of relief that he hadn’t recognised her or followed her. In her room, high in the eaves, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her body taut, her head in a whirl. She tried not to think of Mr Marcus, wondering if perhaps it hadn’t been him who had taken hold of her, if she had been mistaken and it had been one of the dragoons from the barracks at Bodmin who had accosted her.
After a while she heard a dog bark in the stables and the whinny of horses. Voices sounded outside and she knew the men had returned from their night’s work in the cove. She froze, her desire to flee this house overwhelmingly strong.
Covering her face she began to sob, and great tears oozed from her eyes. ‘Oh, Izzy,’ she moaned, with a wretchedness that came straight from her heart. ‘Why did you have to die? Why did you have to leave me?’
There was no help for her.
* * *
Two hours later, when the two half-brothers finally faced each other across the drawing room at Tregarrick, the air about them had turned cold, lapping around them like a winter sea. It held the two of them in its deathly chill.
Edward took judicious note of the taut set of his brother’s jaw, and the small lines of ruthlessness around his mouth, and could see he was a youth no longer. Marcus presented a towering, masculine, imposing figure. An aura of authority and power seemed to surround him. It was etched in every line of his lean, taut frame, and he possessed a haughty reserve that was not inviting.
Edward mentally despised the implacable authority and strength in Marcus’s manner and bearing, which no doubt stemmed from his military training and the ensuing years fighting the war in America.
‘Ah,’ Edward said, his eyes cold. ‘You survived the war, I see... So the soldier condescends to return home? Good of you, Marcus. Better late than never, I suppose.’
Marcus’s lips curled in derision. ‘I am the sort who clings to life, Edward, as you should know. I was sorry to hear about Isabel,’ he said, his tone flat as he referred to Edward’s wife.
Edward’s face hardened and became closed, but not before Marcus had seen a hidden pain cloud his eyes.
‘Mother told me it was a riding accident that killed her.’
‘These things happen,’ was all Edward said, clearly irritated that his brother should remind him of that time in his life when he had been at his most vulnerable. ‘I am surprised to find you here at this late hour. You must forgive my absence. I have been occupied with other matters tonight.’
‘I saw.’
Edward smiled thinly, pouring himself a drink. Dropping into a leather chair by the fire, he stretched out his long booted legs. ‘As long as you were the only one who saw then I am not concerned.’
Before Marcus had left for America he had known that Edward had become the leader of a well-organised smuggling ring operating hereabouts. It would seem nothing had changed.
‘I had thought you would have put the trade behind you with your new position. Even the cleverest smuggler will make a mistake eventually—and then he will be either arrested or dead.’
Edward’s brows lifted imperturbably. ‘I and more than half the population in Cornwall do not see smuggling as a crime. Those involved in various ways either buy, sell, or drink—respectable ministers of the church, doctors, lawyers, and...oh, yes...even magistrates and excise men. They all look the other way for a drop of fine French brandy or a bolt of silk or lace for their ladies.’
‘You are good at impressing people, aren’t you, Edward? People who don’t know that beneath your fine clothes and affectations you are in possession of a ruthlessness and cruelty which will stop at nothing to possess or destroy what you cannot possess. But there are those who are law-abiding and will not turn a blind eye to your activities for ever. You would do well to remember that you are not beyond reach of the law.’
Marcus had spoken quietly—too quietly for Edward’s comfort—and there was a judgemental expression in the cold, pale eyes assessing him.
‘The law can go to hell,’ Edward bit back, with apparently righteous indignation. ‘The various schemes I devise with those across the Channel for our mutual profit will continue until I call a halt. I shall continue to land contraband in that cursed cove until I can no longer elude the Revenue men and the dragoons.’
‘Nevertheless it is still a crime, and should you get caught your title will not save you.’
‘So you imagine I might be arrested?’ Edward said, tilting his head to one side and peering at his brother through narrowed eyes. ‘Perhaps you may propose to do something yourself.’
Marcus shrugged. ‘What can I do that the excise men can’t? I can’t forbid you to cross the land to the cove, since you own it. But you will not escape without retribution—and if you were not my brother it would be all the sweeter if it were by my own hand. I know you, Edward. The methods you use for disposing of those who get in your way are not mine. I am first and foremost the King’s servant. Eventually you will be caught, and you will have to stand trial and suffer the ultimate penalty for your crime—and when you do you will ask yourself if it was worth it.’
Edward laughed lightly, unconcerned by his brother’s argument. ‘The men who work for me are as audacious and cunning as I am. We are not such amateurs that we would leave contraband lying around for the excise men to find.’
‘And those in the community who are not directly involved? Huge rewards are offered for the successful conviction of smugglers. Does it not concern you that someone might speak out?’
‘Anyone tempted by the rewards will know that their lives would be short if they were to do that. The Cornish coast is long, Marcus, with many hidden coves riddled with caves. Smuggling goes on from Land’s End to the Tamar and beyond. The excise men and the dragoons cannot be everywhere at once. But I suppose if I should be arrested that would please you, would it not? To become Lord of the Manor?’
Marcus didn’t answer. He knew Edward was trying to bait him, but he refused to be drawn.
‘The funeral is over, Marcus,’ Edward said, having had enough discussion of smuggling and wanting a change of subject. ‘Our father has been interred in the church next to my mother.’
Marcus knew exactly what he was alluding to. He wanted to remind him that his own mother took second place as their father’s second wife. ‘I know. That’s as it should be. I came as soon as I received Mother’s letter.’
Edward glanced at his brother. ‘Is it your intention to return to the war, or are you home for good?’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Edward, but I am here to stay. My time with the army is at an end. I’m weary of war—which is not going well for the English.’
‘I am aware of that. The world has not passed me by here at Tregarrick,’ Edward replied drily.
‘I am surprised to find you still at home, Edward. In her letter informing me of our father’s demise Mother mentioned something about you going to London. I imagine that now you have the estate to manage you will not spend so much of your time in the city as you have in the past.’
‘Why not? I employ Watkins to oversee the work here. He worked well for my father—’
‘Our father,’ Marcus corrected coldly.
Edward smiled thinly, arrogant in his demeanour. ‘Whatever you say.’
‘Have you considered getting yourself an heir, Edward, and marrying again? It’s two years since Isabel died.’
‘I will—when I am good and ready. It has crossed my mind to go up to London for a time, and I might have a look around for a woman who suits my needs while I’m there. I’m in need of some pleasurable diversion. However,’ he said, swirling the brandy round the bowl of his glass and settling back into the chair, his lips curved in a self-satisfied smile, ‘at this present time I have to say that a certain young woman at Tregarrick is proving to be the most charming diversion since she has come to work at the house.’
‘Really? Do I know her?’
‘You should. You were the one to bring her here after all!’
The dawning of understanding filled Marcus’s eyes. He stared at Edward. ‘Lowena?’ His face hardened. ‘Are you telling me that you and Lowena...?’
Edward laughed mirthlessly. He could almost feel the effort his brother was exerting to keep his rage under control. ‘Absolutely. She has the face of an angel—a beautiful, fallen angel in every sense. She certainly has fire in her veins. You know the type... I’m tempted to remain in Cornwall a while longer. She helps in other ways, too,’ he said quietly, meaningfully, watching his brother carefully for his reaction. ‘She is particularly alert on the nights when there is a run and we need someone to man the beacon—or woman, in her case.’
There was nothing subtle about his mockery. It was direct. Marcus looked at him, lounging in his chair, arrogant, smug, self-satisfied, with a triumphant light in his eyes. He shook his head, as if to clear it of the monstrous thought his intellect was already beginning to form, but it clung on with the tenacity of a limpet on a rock. The mere thought that Edward had made Lowena a pawn in his illegal ventures almost sent him over the edge.
‘Are you telling me that you have involved Lowena in smuggling?’
Edward looked at him. ‘Why not? She is in my employ, so she has to do as she is told. She does have her uses—in many ways.’
Marcus went cold as what Edward had implied settled round his heart like an iron band. An awful, impossible thought came sliding slowly into his mind. It was too wicked for words—and yet suddenly he knew. He had a deep-rooted conviction that it had been Lowena he had encountered earlier—the girl who had been standing as lookout on the coastal path. He hadn’t been able to see her identity because of the dark.
It was bad enough that Edward had implied that he was in a sexual liaison with Lowena—which Marcus refused to believe—but to be told that she took part in his nefarious practices was hard to take in and to accept. Edward had never been one to look beyond his own gratification. The mere thought of his brother tarnishing that sweet girl with his corruption sent a pain through his heart.
What Marcus remembered about Lowena was pure and good—all Edward would see was some sweet flesh to feed on. He had not changed. But then he had not expected him to. Edward lived his life close to the wind, in a dubious, discreditable way, caring little for the gracious things.
Contemptuous of his unworthy brother, Marcus filled his voice with scorn. ‘I will not have Lowena’s character impugned by innuendo, Edward.’
‘Innuendo?’ Edward laughed mirthlessly. ‘My dear Marcus, who said anything about innuendo? Miss Trevanion has grown up to be the most accommodating beauty. Wait until you see her. You will not be disappointed.’
Edward was boasting with an unpleasant brand of sarcasm and resentment that Marcus had heard before. His anger simmered quietly within him, but when he spoke his voice was full of menace. ‘Lowena is nineteen years old—’
‘A very delectable nineteen-year-old. You’ve been absent too long, brother. Your sweet little Lowena has grown up.’
‘I’d sooner see her burn in hell than for you to get your hands on her.’
Edward smiled, not in the least intimidated by his younger brother’s angry words. ‘That’s rather harsh, Marcus, but I believe you. However, it’s a bit late in the day for that.’
Marcus looked at his brother hard. Edward’s face was a mask of sexual greed as he anticipated the corruption of someone beautiful and innocent. There was avarice in his pale blue eyes—avarice and pitilessness, along with self-interest. There was also contempt for those he considered his inferior, and an indifference to those he destroyed in his search to relieve the boredom which drove him like a sickness—a sickness that had possessed him ever since he was a boy.
‘Your words show you in a bad light, Edward. If you attempt to touch her again you will have me to answer to. She is not a prize to be conquered. I demand that you remember that.’
Edward’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘You tempt me to put you to the test just for the sheer hell of it.’
‘Lowena is a young woman of great intelligence and tenacity. She is vulnerable and, having played a large part in bringing her to Tregarrick, I consider myself to have an obligation to protect her.’
He’d promised Izzy all those years ago that he would look after Lowena, should she find herself alone, and he would abide by that promise.
‘She is a servant,’ Edward sneered callously.
‘She is also a human being and should be treated with respect.’
‘What goes on in the lives of those in my employ is no concern of mine.’
Edward’s eyes were as cold as steel as they met his half-brother’s, and the muscles in his cheeks tensed with ire. At that moment he saw that Marcus was every inch a man, and any questions he might have had over what might result from Marcus’s time in the Americas and his arrival in Cornwall were answered.
Edward glared at him as their eyes parried for supremacy in a silent battle of unspoken challenge. It was Edward who looked away first.
When he spoke the mockery was gone and his voice was purposeful. ‘I answer to no man, Marcus, least of all to you.’
‘I would not expect you to.’
‘Nevertheless I speak the truth. Lowena is very diverting—which you would know all about had you not gone away to widen your horizons.’
‘I was a soldier, Edward, fighting a war. Listening to you, anyone would think I had gone abroad on the Grand Tour. Unlike you, I had no estate to inherit and secure my future. I had to make my own way.’
‘Until Father willed the mine to you,’ Edward uttered sharply, the tone of his voice telling Marcus how much he resented that fact. ‘You must have known he would.’
‘On the contrary. But he knew you had no interest in it.’
‘Whereas you have?’
‘Of course. You always knew that. So did Father.’
‘Nevertheless, he should have made us equal partners,’ Edward retorted, his expression hardening. He suddenly felt at a disadvantage—a unique experience for him.
‘Has it not crossed your mind that his reluctance to do so might have had something to do with your tendency to gamble, Edward? With your impetuous behaviour and lack of judgement? With such shortcomings as those he might have thought you needed keeping on a tight rein.’
‘He trusted me with the estate,’ Edward pointed out, regaining his confidence.
‘Because he saw that as your right. The mine is a separate entity, started by his grandfather. I think Father knew what he was doing when he willed Wheal Rozen to me. From the report I received in America from the mine manager, I gather Wheal Rozen is highly profitable, so there will be no need to bring in outside capital for further exploration. So you see, Edward, you are not rid of me after all. But you can rest assured I shall endeavour to keep out of your way as much as it is possible to do so.’
‘Under the circumstances, that shouldn’t be too difficult,’ Edward said, getting out of his chair.
‘Since we inhabit the same house, it is inevitable that we shall bump into each other now and them.’
About to take his leave, Edward half turned and looked at him hard, a smug smile curving his lips. ‘The house? And what house might that be, brother? Tregarrick? This house?’ He laughed—a laugh that was brittle and without humour. ‘Of course! You don’t know! But then—how could you?’
Something dark and ominous began to unfurl within Marcus. ‘Know? Know what?’
‘Your mother has moved out to the cottage. Knowing how fond you are of your mother, and knowing you would wish to reside with her, I had your things removed from Tregarrick.’
‘Moved out? Did she go of her own free will or did you order her to leave?’
Edward shrugged. ‘Does it matter? She went, anyway.’
The knowledge that Edward had relegated his mother to the cottage angered Marcus beyond words, but he would not take him to task over it until he had spoken to his mother.
‘I will speak to her tomorrow, but before I leave for the cottage there is something I have to take care of.’
‘And that is...?’ Edward asked as his brother strode to the door.
As Marcus had expected, a servant was hovering in the hall should Edward need anything.
‘Bring Miss Trevanion to me.’
She stared, nonplussed. ‘Miss Trevanion? But—but she is in bed, sir.’
‘Then wake her—and tell her to pack her things.’
His tone of authority had the girl scuttling away.
Marcus went back inside the room and gave his half-brother a dark look. ‘If you imagine I will leave Lowena under your roof a moment longer then you are mistaken.’
Edward shrugged. ‘Do as you like.’
Without another word he turned and went out.
Marcus watched him go, but the rage that distorted his brother’s face was hidden from his view.
Marcus was unaware of how Edward cursed him, how his heart was dark and full of hate. Lowena’s beauty tantalised him, and knowing the jealousy that would consume him if he saw the woman he had decided would be his mistress bestowing her favours on his brother, returned from the war in America, he had decided it was not to be borne.
Plagued by what Edward might have done to Lowena, Marcus was impatient to see her—to see for himself the changes his brother had wrought on a girl he remembered as being as sweet and pure, with the smile of an angel and an unspoiled charm. As a child she had been shy as a woodland creature, her manner as graceful, with none of the world’s callousness to cause her heartache and pain. Time after time he had been drawn to her, but he had not explored his feelings because he had felt it wrong to do so.
She had been just sixteen when he had last laid eyes on her, when he had returned home on a brief spell away from his military duties. Her childhood had been behind her, and at that age she’d been old enough to be kissed. It shamed him to remember that the half formed young woman had aroused desires within him that, although perfectly natural, had made his sexual urge immense. But he was only human, after all, and a healthy and willing lover to any young girl.
Of course her age had mattered back then, and because she was who she was, and because he had had Isabel’s affair with Edward occupying his thoughts, he would not have touched her. And Izzy would not have taken kindly to him toying with the girl who was as dear to her as her own daughters.
Edward’s vitriolic insinuations and the dark shadow of the large part of Lowena’s life without him, which he knew nothing about, concerned Marcus more than he cared to admit. His heart twisted in fury at the image of her lying in his brother’s arms.
In angry frustration he turned his mind from his tortured imaginings and tried concentrating on the joy of her instead, determined not to let Edward’s words sour his memories of her.
When she appeared at the top of the stairs he found he had to test the accuracy of his memory. The sight of her stunned him. The young woman who descended, with her softly curving form, her glorious wealth of shining red-gold hair, its tendrils coiling like serpents down her spine, her stormy amber eyes shaded by long, curling lashes, and soft pink lips, possessed a full-blown beauty certainly more vivid and lively than he remembered.
Lowena seemed to exude the very essence of vitality and life.
* * *
It had taken Lowena all of five minutes to dress and pack her few belongings into a bundle. She had paused for a moment at the top of the stairs to look down at the man pacing the hall with long, impatient strides before moving gracefully down the stairs.
As she watched him she was conscious of a sudden tension and nervousness in her. Apart from their brief encounter earlier, she had not seen him for almost four years, and she did not know how to behave towards him.
Suddenly he looked up and saw her. Her face, pale and tense, was exposed.
She wasn’t to know about the acrimonious meeting he had had with his half-brother, but she sensed that he knew more about her involvement with what had happened in the cove earlier than she was comfortable with. Everything about him exuded an unbending will, and that in turn made Lowena feel even more wretched and helpless.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she walked towards him. For an endless moment their gazes locked as they assessed one another. She looked at him with the same bright, intelligent gaze he remembered.
‘I apologise for waking you at this hour,’ he said, and there was a touch of irony in his tone. ‘After speaking to my brother and being made fully aware that you are the person I encountered on the cliff earlier, it has become my opinion that it is more appropriate for you to reside at the cottage. I trust you have no objections?’
Even in her dazed state, having been woken and told to pack her things, Lowena was shaken to the core by the bewildering sensations racing through her body. Captain Carberry—Marcus—was home at last. Home and as handsome and strong as he had been when he’d gone away. She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but in the deep, unexplored places inside her she knew it did. She’d kept the image of him in her heart, like a flower pressed between the pages of a book, and now she could open it and look at it once more.
She lowered her eyes, but his extraordinary eyes drew her back. ‘None that I can think of,’ she replied, thankful that her voice was calm and did not betray her inner nervousness. ‘You must forgive me if I appear somewhat vague, but I am not used to being woken in the dead of night.’
He lifted a well-defined black brow in question. ‘No? Not even when my brother requires your assistance on the cliff on certain nights? You little fool! I thought you would have more sense than to let him implicate you in his nefarious activities. It doesn’t matter how he persuaded you. The facts speak for themselves.’
He noted her bewilderment and apprehension, the way she looked about her as if searching for a hole down which to disappear.
‘Never mind,’ he uttered crisply. ‘We will speak of it tomorrow.’
‘There is nothing for me to say,’ she said with underlying desperation. ‘Because of my situation, and with no family of my own to go to, I cannot afford to offend a man like your brother. He is my employer. It is impossible for me to disobey him. You have no idea what it has been like for me since Izzy died...’
A smile of understanding tempted Marcus’s lips. ‘Maybe I should have, had I not been absent for so long, but I assure you, Lowena, that I have a good idea now.’
Hearing the gentleness behind his words, she looked at him and felt her heart skip a beat. Her eyes devoured him, worshipped him—his hair, his eyes, his face were all more attractive than any she had ever seen, and if what she felt for him was love, then she loved him absolutely, devotedly. With a love that had bonded her to him when she had been sixteen years old and was stronger still now, even with no hope of ever having her love returned.
She would be content to exist in the same space as he did.
His eyes were on her face, gauging her, watching for every nuance of emotion in her. He could have no notion of her wayward thoughts.
She flushed and drew herself up proudly. The spectre of his brother rose between them, intangible but strong, and an unexpected sense of pain filled Lowena’s heart that Marcus might have listened to his brother and judged her unfairly. Her heart beat a tattoo in her chest and she was afraid he would hear. There was still so much of the girl in her, at war with the young woman this man was capable of bringing to the surface.
‘All I ask is that, whatever Lord Carberry has told you, you do not judge me too harshly. Remember that I am not the girl I was when you went away.’
‘No, I realise that. If my brother’s words are to be believed, then I can only assume that your conduct has been reprehensible, that you haven’t an ounce of sense or propriety, and that your behaviour would have been an embarrassment to Izzy had she been alive.’
The unfairness of his words brought a gasp to Lowena’s lips. ‘How dare you say that to me? I have never failed to respect Izzy—but I suppose if I hadn’t, the name I bear does not permit any offence to go unpunished,’ she bit back, bristling with indignation at being wrongfully accused. ‘You said if your brother’s words were to be believed. Do you believe them?’
His eyes refused to relinquish their hold on hers as he sought the truth. ‘He implied that you and he are lovers.’ He arched a dark brow, his eyes quizzical, probing hers. ‘Should I believe him?’
Lowena stared at him in stunned, hurt disbelief, and in a blinding flash of sick humiliation she saw he really did believe that his brother spoke the truth. Anger welled up in her heart, draining the blood from her face and bringing a furious sparkle to her eyes.
‘I should know better than to speak against Lord Carberry, who has the power to dismiss upon a whim, but I have the right to speak in my defence. Do you think I invited his attentions somehow? Do you think it has been my ploy to lure him in the hopes of gaining some special privileges for myself? If so, you do me an injustice. I work at Tregarrick because I have no choice. I am not intimidated by Lord Carberry, and nor am I awed by his attentions—which are most unwelcome.’
‘Are you telling me that I have misconstrued what he told me—that is if I believed it in the first place?’
Forcing herself to remain calm, she raised her chin defensively. Her eyes were scornful and she spoke in a controlled voice. ‘Believe what you like. I do not feel that I have to justify myself to you or to anyone else, for that matter. Perhaps it would make you feel better if I admitted to everything your brother has said about me—regardless of the fact that it may not be true.’
Marcus gazed at her from beneath his lowered eyes. He could see how tense she was, and that her eyes were shining with a pain he wondered at. He was touched, despite himself, by her youth—and also by some private scruples. Whatever the truth of the matter, she still had a virtuous innocence and a warm femininity that touched a deep chord inside him.
‘Enough. Enough of this for now. The hour is late and it is not the time.’
‘Enough, you say? How dare you be so judgemental? You have been away a long time and know nothing of what has been happening in my life. I find your inquisitorial and aggressive manner both unreasonable and unacceptable. You are playing the role of an outraged father whose honour has been besmirched a little too well for my liking—casting accusations and demanding explanations. A lot has happened to me in your absence. I am no longer the complaisant, naïve, pathetic young girl you remember.’
‘You were many things, Lowena, but you were never pathetic,’ he countered softly.
She stared at him, momentarily thrown by the sudden softening in his eyes. ‘Oh—thank you. But you see I am my own person now, and I answer to no one.’
Looking at the tempestuous young woman standing before him, her eyes flashing like angry jewels and her breasts rising and falling with suppressed emotion, Marcus felt a stirring of reluctant admiration for her courage and daring to speak out so plainly.
‘Thank you for that edifying piece of information.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ she retorted.
Drawing a deep, suffocating breath, she fought with all her strength to keep back the tears which had started to her eyes and to ignore a heart beating hard with a mixture of so many emotions that they almost overwhelmed her.
‘Am I to reside at the cottage indefinitely?’ she ventured to ask, when she was confident she could speak calmly. She was bewildered by the night’s events and did not really know what she wanted to do at that moment.
‘For now. I’ll speak to my mother in the morning. Now, come along. The hour is late and I think we could both do with some sleep.’
Clutching her bundle close to her chest, Lowena followed Marcus out of the house and down the drive in the direction of the cottage. She stared at his broad back. Silly, girlish tears pricked her eyes. She blinked and set her mouth in a determined line before they reached the cottage.
They were not surprised to find it in darkness. Marcus hammered on the door and after a few minutes a woman in her night attire, carrying a lighted candle, opened it a crack.
‘Who is it?’ she enquired, clearly afraid that it might be someone up to no good.
‘It’s me, Mrs Seagrove—Lowena,’ she said quickly, in order to allay the housekeeper’s fears. ‘Mr Marcus is with me.’
Mrs Seagrove opened the door to let them in. Marcus quickly explained the situation, and in no time at all Mrs Seagrove was showing them to their rooms. Marcus insisted that he did not want his mother disturbed. Time enough for her to welcome him home in the morning.
