Читать книгу Historical Romance March 2017 Book 1-4 - Louise Allen - Страница 16

Chapter Six

It seemed it would help Marguerite to talk. The story poured out, essentially the same as the account Lucian had given, but with one vital difference. ‘I seduced him,’ Marguerite said defiantly. ‘He wouldn’t do more than kiss me, he said we must wait until we were married. But when Lucian was so horrible and refused even a long engagement I went to Gregory’s room when he was asleep and got into bed with him with no nightgown on.’

‘Ah. I suppose matters were already out of hand before he was properly awake.’

Poor man! So much for Lucian’s illusions about his innocent little sister. Doubtless she had been untouched, but she knew exactly what she was about when she got between those sheets.

‘Yes. It was clever of me, I thought, because Lucian couldn’t blame Gregory. But Gregory was upset and he felt guilty anyway and he wouldn’t let me go and tell Lucian that I had seduced him.’

Despite the seriousness of the story Sara had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She could just imagine poor Gregory, his masculine pride crushed as it was explained to the infuriated Marquess that he was the one who had been taken advantage of. No wonder he refused point-blank to allow Marguerite to tell her brother. Marguerite might know how to seduce a man, but she had no idea how their minds worked.

‘And then I discovered that I was pregnant.’

That reminder chased away all inclination to smile. ‘Didn’t you think your brother would let you marry then, even if he disapproved?’

‘No.’ Marguerite shook her head vehemently. ‘He would have whisked me away to one of my horrible aunts in the country and I’d have had my baby and they would have taken her away from me and Lucian would have called Gregory out and killed him.’

It was difficult to argue against that, Sara thought. It sounded exactly the kind of solution Lucian would have come up with, especially the calling-out. ‘So you decided to run away together?’

‘Yes, Gregory said we must marry as soon as possible. We thought if we went to the Continent then he might be able to find work as a secretary over there and there would be English clergy—but all the ones we found were so difficult because of my age. They could tell I wasn’t a servant or a tradesman’s daughter so they thought there would be a scandal and they would be in trouble if they helped us.’

‘Lucian thinks Gregory left you because of the baby and not having any money?’ Sara risked the question and was rewarded with an indignant denial.

‘No! Gregory was going to find work, any work at all, in Lyons. He would have dug ditches for me, but he had heard of a merchant who needed someone who could speak English because he wanted to export fans and small luxury items to England. Gregory was going to see him after he had spoken to the clergyman we had been told about. We hoped if we were married then the merchant might let us have a room in his house.’

It all seemed perfectly reasonable to Sara. ‘Did you tell Lucian this?’

‘When he found me I was too ill and it was almost a week before I realised that Gregory had vanished. I thought Lucian had killed him at first, but he swore not and he wouldn’t listen when I told him about the clergyman and the merchant. He said Gregory had been hoping to extort money from him and I was just an innocent, gullible child who had fallen in love with a handsome face.’ She blew her nose again with a defiant, inelegant snort.

‘And so I did—I fell for a man who was as lovely inside as he was outside. Gregory wouldn’t have asked Lucian for money, he was far too honourable and proud. He explained to me before we ran away that we would have to live very modestly on what he could earn and that if I didn’t think I could bear that, then it was best to go and confess all to Lucian.’ She gave Sara a sideways look from under her lashes. ‘I suppose you think I am wicked and silly and gullible, too.’

‘No. I think you really did love Gregory and that he was worthy of your love.’ Marguerite was a mixture of innocence and feminine wisdom, but she was also intelligent and honest. If there had been a false note in her lover’s protestations she would have heard it. If the vicar’s son had managed to fool Lucian into giving him a position of trust and responsibility and then seduced Marguerite with such skill that she had believed him utterly, then he was a great loss to the English stage, or the best confidence trickster in the country.

‘Thank you.’ She scrubbed at her eyes as the tears welled again. ‘I wish I knew what to do. I can’t ask Lucian to find Gregory because I know what will happen if he does and I don’t know anyone else who could afford to send an enquiry agent to France and who would cross Lucian into the bargain.’

No, but I do. If it came to it then she would write to Ashe and ask him to track down the handsome blond Englishman in Lyons. Her brother would know who to send and he would not ask endless infuriating questions if she told him it was important. ‘I will think about it,’ Sara promised. ‘There must be some way around this.’

‘Thank you.’ Marguerite’s chin was up now and her eyes, although red-rimmed, were dry. ‘Show me what is in the rock pools, please.’

They splashed about, soaking the hems of their old cotton dresses, laughing as they chased shrimps that darted into crevices, grimacing as seaweed wrapped itself around their ankles.

Sara collected several jars of brown and pink and black weed and some discarded crab shells and Marguerite’s handkerchief was stuffed with shells and sea glass in jewel colours, worn smooth by the waves. As they explored they chatted. Sara told stories about her family, their life in India, the dismay at realising that they must leave because her father had inherited the title and how strange England had seemed.

Marguerite asked questions and, her guard completely down, dropped little nuggets of information about her romance, about her lover, that Sara stored away to brood about later.

She kept an eye on the state of the tide and finally dragged Marguerite away. ‘See how it has come in? If we don’t go back now, we’ll have to walk back over the headland and there is no proper path. It is quite hard going and your brother will not thank me for exhausting you. Besides, it is time for luncheon.’

‘Lucian wants the best for me, I know. He just doesn’t understand.’

‘Men think about love differently from us.’

‘You mean because they can just have sex when they want to so it doesn’t mean much to them and then they get sex and love muddled up?’

‘Er...’

‘Gregory wasn’t like that.’

‘No, neither was my husband. And my parents and my brother made love matches. But Lucian is protective of you and he’s ambitious for you. He wants you to marry someone of your own class who can give you the life you should expect as the daughter of a marquess.’

‘Your father is a marquess and he let you marry a commoner.’ Marguerite was beginning to drag her feet through the sand like a tired child.

Sara linked her arm through the girl’s and slowed her pace. ‘My parents are very unconventional and Ashe knew Michael really well by then. But it seems to me that most men are happy if they have a companionable wife who makes them a comfortable home, children—and, as you, say, there is the sex. The fact that they would be even happier if they loved their wives doesn’t appear to occur to most of them, although actually I think a lot of them do and just don’t recognise that is what they feel.’

‘It would be better to be the daughter of some shepherd on the Downs, I think sometimes.’

‘No, it wouldn’t. You would not want to live in a little hut and besides, even then your father would be on the lookout for a son-in-law with a prize ram or who was handy training sheepdogs or something.’

That made Marguerite laugh and they were still making up the requirements for every kind of tradesman’s son-in-law by the time they reached an overturned boat by the low jetty and sat down to put on their shoes.

‘A butcher would want skill in getting all the meat off a carcass and his daughter would want a big chopper!’ They both doubled up in thoroughly unseemly laughter at the double entendre until a shadow fell across them.

‘I am not going to even ask what that was about.’ Lucian was on the jetty, hunkered down just above their heads.

‘Housekeeping,’ Marguerite said pertly.

Sara was sitting on the upturned rowing boat, her legs stretched out in front of her, her skirts almost to her knees as she let the sunshine dry her skin so she could dust off the sand. She leaned back on her supporting hands and saw that Lucian was studying her bare legs. She straightened up slowly, refusing to be put out of countenance, as she let her skirts slide down and brushed the sand away. When he lifted his head and met her gaze he had a heavy-lidded look of concentration that she had no trouble deciphering at all.

She pulled on her shoes and stood up to find he was still crouched down, buckskin breeches stretched tight over strong horseman’s thighs, the tails of his coat brushing the cobbles, his hat in his hands. ‘You have been riding, sir?’

‘I was just going to, but I wanted to be certain Marguerite had luncheon and a rest before I left.’ He straightened up and began to stroll back along the jetty parallel with them as they made for the steps. ‘You look well, sweetheart. There is colour in your cheeks.’ Tactfully he made no mention of the signs of tears.

‘I liked it, Sara showed me so many things. But I am tired now. Thank you, Sara.’ She turned and kissed Sara’s cheek, gave her hand a little squeeze, then climbed the steps to her brother’s side.

‘Do you ride, Mrs Harcourt?’ he asked. ‘Would you join me?’

‘I do, Mr Dunton. But it will take me half an hour to get home, change and have my horse brought round from the livery stables.’

‘If you give me directions I will fetch it to you, which will save some time.’ The severe mouth curved into a sensual smile. ‘I find myself very eager for a good gallop.’

Wretched man! A good gallop, indeed. I know exactly what he means and he knows perfectly well that neither of us is going to give way to whatever it is that makes him look like that and turns my knees to jelly. It is basic lust, I suppose, and we are both grown up enough to deal with it.

* * *

Her house, one of a row of neat, newly built, terraced villas with a desirable view of the bay, was a brisk five minutes’ walk uphill. Maude, her maid, scurried for the clothes press when Sara swept in, breathlessly calling for her riding habit.

‘The English one, my lady?’

Sara hesitated. It was very tempting to see Lucian’s expression if she appeared in the Rajput clothing that she and her mother used for riding in the privacy of the family’s country estate, but she had to remember that in daylight she was still Mrs Harcourt and it was not good policy to upset the precarious balancing act that was her social standing in the town.

She was changed, hat on head, boots on her feet when Maude twitched the curtain to look down on the street and reported, ‘There’s a gentleman outside with your mare, my lady.’

Sara jammed an unnecessary pin into her hat, pulled down the veil and ran downstairs, amused to see that her staff were all peeking from various places to see her gentleman caller. Besides Maude she employed a footman and a cook and a maid of all work who came in daily—a size of household that partly soothed her father’s worries about her living alone and which filled the small house to its limits.

‘My lady.’ Walter the footman opened the door with a flourish and handed her a riding crop. He, at least, had good reason to be in the hall.

‘Come and assist me so that Mr Dunton does not need to dismount, Walter.’ The footman beamed and she guessed he would now go back and give the other staff a detailed description of the gentleman, right down to the toes of those glossy boots.

‘That’s a pretty animal,’ Lucian remarked as she settled into the saddle and twitched her skirt into place.

‘She is indeed.’ Sara gave the arched dark grey neck an affectionate pat as she turned the mare’s head uphill. ‘My brother bred her—Twilight by Moondancer out of New Dawn. I thought to go along the clifftops to the west. That way is perfect for the good gallop you wanted.’ And she would give him exactly what he asked for, she thought with an inward smile.

The livery stables had done Lucian proud with a raking chestnut hunter that was a good match for Twilight, its long legs eating up the ground with ease while the gallant mare had to work hard to keep abreast. But like Sara she was not willing to be bested by a male and she was still in contention when they reached the spur in the track leading to Merlin’s Bay.

‘Down here,’ Sara called as she reined in and the chestnut thundered past. It gave her an opportunity to admire Lucian on horseback without seeming to stare as he rode back to her. Being in the saddle was his natural habitat, she guessed, and it suited him, brought animation to a face that sometimes seemed severe in repose and showed off a fine physique.

‘Where does it go to?’ he asked when he reached her.

‘Merlin’s Bay, which is a recent renaming. I think it was originally something prosaic like Murdle Bay or Mumbles Cove, but it is a local beauty spot and it was given a more glamorous title to attract the visitors when Sandbay began to be more popular.’

There was just room to ride side by side as the track descended into the little valley, woodland crowding in on either side. ‘It seems very isolated and intimate,’ Lucian observed.

‘I’m afraid that is an illusion.’ As she spoke a second, wider, carriage road joined them from the right and the track levelled out into a wide space where two carriages were already drawn up in the shade and grooms were walking three horses up and down. ‘It is a popular tea rooms and gardens now. I thought that we could take refreshments here.’

‘I would very much like to make the better acquaintance of your mama,’ Lucian remarked as he swung down from the saddle and came to help her to dismount.

‘You would?’ Sara kicked her foot out of the stirrup and allowed herself to slide down into his perfectly proper and impersonal grasp.

Lucian lowered her to the ground and gestured to one of the grooms who came forward to take their mounts. ‘She has sent you out into the world perfectly equipped to deal with importunate males, hasn’t she?’

‘I cannot imagine what you mean, Mr Dunton,’ Sara said demurely. ‘You tease a little—that is all.’ At least, I hope it is teasing. I think he will behave as a gentleman should. ‘There are some pleasant places to sit amongst the trees along the shoreline and we can order food and talk with no danger of being overheard.’

There were about a dozen people visible in the little pleasure grounds and they had no difficulty finding a table with benches under an arbour. A waiter came to take their order and Lucian sent him away to fetch cold meats, salads, bread and butter, ale, lemonade and a selection of cakes. ‘You missed your luncheon,’ he pointed out when Sara protested that Twilight would buckle at the knees if she ate all that.

‘Marguerite looked happier than I have seen her since before this whole miserable business began,’ he said abruptly when the food had been delivered. ‘And I had almost forgotten what she looks like with roses in her cheeks. You have worked a miracle.’

‘I fear not. The fresh air and some gentle exercise put those roses there and the opportunity to talk to someone who is completely unconnected with the emotions behind all this helped, I think.’ Sara ate some cold chicken while she pondered how to talk to him and then decided to simply say what she thought. ‘She loves Gregory, she believes in him and it is tearing her apart not knowing what has happened to him. But she fears you looking for him because she believes you will kill him when you find him.’

‘I will call him out,’ Lucian said grimly. ‘Then it is in the lap of the gods.’

‘No, it is not,’ Sara snapped back. ‘It is in your hands. Do not try and tell me that a young man from a vicarage can match you with either rapier or pistols. If he is dead already in some accident, or the victim of footpads, then she will mourn him, but eventually she will recover. If you kill him, she will never forgive you.’

‘He is a predatory seducer.’

‘I very much doubt that. Marguerite might be young and inexperienced in the ways of the world, but she is not foolish, nor is she a bad judge of character, I think. You need to ask her what happened the first time they...were together.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It is not my story to tell.’

He stared at her, frowning for a long moment, then gave a bark of laughter. ‘The little minx seduced him?’

‘I imagine that there are some circumstances when a man, especially an inexperienced young one, might find things are well out of his control before he knows what is happening,’ Sara suggested carefully.

‘They should have come to me.’

‘Really?’ She stopped, her glass halfway to her lips. ‘I should imagine they were terrified of you!’

‘Nonsense. He is a man—it is up to him to do the right thing even if he is terrified, not go dragging my sister all over the Continent. The only mercy is that she appears to have had the sense not to go about in Brussels and Paris and be recognised.’

‘Marguerite thought that if she stayed then you would send her away into hiding and then take her child from her.’ When he stared at her, speechless with what she hoped was outrage at the suggestion and not guilt that she had guessed rightly, she pressed on. ‘If you can only find it in you to promise Marguerite that you will not call Gregory out if you find him alive it would make all the difference to her. She would tell you everything she knows about what he was doing in Lyons and you might well be able to find him.’

‘And you know what he was doing, where he told her he was going?’

‘Yes,’ Sara admitted, reluctantly.

‘Then tell me.’

Oh, yes, those two young people would have had every reason to be scared of Lucian, she thought as the hazel eyes focused sharply on her face and she read the barely leashed anger and intent there.

‘No. Marguerite told me in confidence. If I have to, then I will employ my own investigator to locate him for her, whether it is his person or his grave. At least then she will be able to find some peace.’

Lucian put down his glass of ale with a deliberation than was more frightening than if he had slammed it on to the board. ‘It is not your affair to interfere in.’