Читать книгу What Would Lizzy Bennet Do? - Katie Oliver - Страница 20

Chapter 10

With its palm trees and harbour bristling with boats of every description, and its warm, gentle breezes, Longbourne offered a tranquil and picturesque beauty that Holly found impossible to resist.

‘We might be anywhere along the Mediterranean,’ she mused as she strolled with Hugh along the pier. ‘It’s amazing.’ She stopped and let go of his hand and went to lean against the white iron railing to study the marina. ‘Just look at all of those expensive yachts,’ she added. ‘Where’s yours, by the way? I don’t see it.’

He shaded his eyes and looked out over the marina with an intent expression. ‘Sorry, you can’t see it from here.’ He pointed to the left. ‘The Pemberley’s over there, just out of view.’

She turned to him impulsively. ‘Do you think we might ride along with your father and Harry in the races on Saturday?’

Darcy shook his head. ‘They’ve already crewed the boat. They’ll want to run her as light and fast as possible, so passengers won’t be allowed, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh. How disappointing.’ Holly sighed. ‘I would’ve liked to go.’

‘Sorry, darling.’ He came to stand beside her and slid his arm around her shoulders. ‘We’ll go for a cruise soon, I promise. Just the two of us.’

‘I’ll hold you to that.’ She rested her head against his shoulder, enjoying the sun warming her face, breathing in the sea air and listening to the gentle slap of waves against the pier and the crying of gulls over the bay.

‘I love all of these gorgeous palm trees,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’d swear we were on the Riviera.’

Hugh nodded, his attention focused on one of the yachts moored nearby. ‘They’re cabbage trees, brought over from New Zealand in the 1820s, I believe…’ He broke off in mid sentence and frowned.

‘What?’ Holly asked, and lifted her head. ‘What is it?’

‘Isn’t that Charlotte down on the dock?’ Hugh said, and pointed.

‘Charlotte Bennet, do you mean?’

‘Yes, down there, the girl in the yellow dress. I’m certain it’s her.’

She followed his finger and saw a pretty blonde girl in a sundress and floppy hat, eyes obscured by sunglasses, talking earnestly to someone on the dock. ‘She’s probably spending the afternoon with her sisters,’ Holly ventured, ‘larking around after church. You know how girls are…’

‘No.’ The word was firm, and terse. ‘She’s not with her sisters, or her father. She’s with Ciaran Duncan.’

‘What? You must be mistaken,’ Holly said. But just then the man she’d been talking to turned, and she saw that it was, indeed, Ciaran.

‘But… she’s barely eighteen! What could he possibly want with Charlotte?’ she wondered.

‘That,’ Hugh said grimly as he reached for his mobile, ‘is a very good question.’

***

It was late afternoon when the Meryton, its sails once again furled and its lines secured, cruised back into the harbour to dock.

‘Oh, Ciaran,’ Charli breathed as she raised her arms languidly above her head and leaned back, sated. ‘That was beyond amazing. Truly.’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’ He eyed the linen-draped table on the shaded upper aft deck where they sat, its surface laden with the remnants of a substantial afternoon tea. ‘Sorry we had to stick to tea and orange squash, but if I offered you anything stronger and you returned home inebriated, I daresay your father would not have approved.’

‘Oh, he likes a sherry now and again, and we’re each allowed a glass or two of wine at Christmas, but that’s all,’ she agreed, and sighed. ‘It’s tiresome, really.’

‘What is?’ He canted his brow upwards. ‘Not being able to drink yourself silly every day?’

‘No, of course not.’ She giggled. ‘I meant it’s tiresome being the former vicar’s daughter sometimes. After all, Daddy’s not the vicar any longer, and hasn’t been for two years; but all the local boys are afraid to do anything that might annoy him, like…’

She stopped, embarrassed, and her voice trailed away.

Ciaran leaned closer to her on the banquette. ‘Like… this?’ he murmured, and lowered his face beneath the brim of her hat to press his lips to hers.

It didn’t last long, as kisses went, and it involved only the merest touch of his firm, perfectly sculpted lips to hers; but it left Charli as dazzled as the sun dancing on the waves.

‘I won’t tell him if you won’t,’ she whispered, and sighed in pleasure as he leaned in for another kiss.

With a gentle thump, the yacht docked in its berth, and Charlotte was vaguely aware of the sound of feet running below and voices calling out as the Meryton was tied and secured. Beyond that, there was only Ciaran’s deliciously warm, sexy mouth on hers.

There was a shout somewhere below them on the pier, followed by the pounding of feet; Charli heard raised voices and felt the vibration of those same feet coming closer.

Ciaran drew away, annoyed. ‘What on earth…’

‘Get your bloody hands off her.’

Charlotte shaded her eyes against the sun as she looked up and gasped. ‘Harry! What are you doing here?’

Hugh’s younger brother, his fair face pink with sun and temper, glared at her. ‘Hugh told me you were hanging out on this tosser’s boat.’ He cast Ciaran a murderous glance. ‘I didn’t believe it until I saw it for myself.’

‘Sorry, Harry, but I don’t need your permission,’ Charli retorted, ‘or Hugh’s, to spend time with Ciaran. I’m an adult.’

‘No you’re not,’ he said grimly as he reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist. ‘Your little rendezvous – or date, or whatever it is – with Ciaran is over, as of right now. I’m taking you home.’

He pulled her up and out of her seat, and Charli let out a cry of outrage. ‘How dare you,’ she snapped, and struggled to free herself from his grip. ‘Let me go!’

‘Now, wait just a minute!’ Ciaran protested, and thrust back his deck chair as he confronted Harry. ‘I won’t have you coming aboard this yacht – without permission, I might add – and manhandling my guest.’

‘Your “guest” is my friend, Mr Duncan,’ he returned, his chest rising and falling beneath his striped polo shirt, ‘and I’ve known her a good deal longer than you. It’s time she came home.’ He turned to Charlotte, still struggling to wrench herself free. ‘Does your father know you’re here?’

‘No,’ she admitted, and glared at him. ‘He thinks I’m spending the afternoon with my friends.’ Her hand went lax in his. ‘You won’t tell him, will you?’

‘I thought as much.’ He turned and regarded Ciaran with contempt. ‘Stay away from her,’ he warned, ‘or I’ll take care of you myself.’

‘Is that a threat?’ Ciaran asked with equal parts amusement and disbelief.

‘No,’ Harry retorted, and shoved him in the chest, ‘it’s a promise.’

‘Stop it, both of you,’ Charli cried as Ciaran shoved him back. ‘What about me? I’m the one who gets to decide if I spend time with Ciaran, not either of you!’

‘It isn’t proper, you hanging out with him,’ Harry told her, his ginger brows drawn together in a scowl. ‘He’s bad news.’

‘Who are you to tell me what’s proper, or who to “hang out” with?’ she demanded. ‘What about Alice Mannerly, and Sarah Afton-Crimsbury? Oh, yes, I know all about them, and all of the other girls you’ve dated and discarded, Harry, because I read the tabs. That’s quite a double standard you’ve got going.’

‘Call it whatever you like,’ Harry gritted, ‘but I’m an adult, you’re not, and you’re coming home.’ He took her arm and pulled her forward. ‘Now.’

‘I’m not leaving! I’m not a child! Let go of me!’ she cried.

‘You heard her,’ Ciaran snapped, and stepped between Harry and Charlotte. ‘She doesn’t wish to leave.’

‘I’m warning you,’ Harry breathed. ‘Stay out of this, Duncan, and stay away from Charli as well, or…’

‘Or what?’ Ciaran challenged, his eyes narrowed.

Harry hurled himself at the actor, and Ciaran drew his arm back and punched him in the face with a resounding crack, sending him staggering back against the deck railing.

Charlotte let out a small scream as Harry straightened and launched himself straight at Ciaran.

‘Harry, no!’ she wailed. ‘Both of you, please, please stop!’

But as the two men grappled and exchanged punches, she realised they weren’t listening, and she knew she had to do something – anything – to stop them. Spying the pitcher of iced water on the table, she grabbed it and flung it on them, vaguely aware as she did so of the rapid click and whirr of a camera somewhere nearby.

She glanced up to see a man with darkish blond hair crouched on a neighbouring yacht, his face half hidden behind a Nikon with a telephoto lens. It was trained on the Meryton as he snapped a series of rapid-fire photos.

‘Stop,’ Charli shouted again, and levelled a glare at the man on the yacht. ‘Stop taking those pictures this instant!’