Kitabı oku: «Highwayman Husband», sayfa 3
‘Is there anything you might be a-wanting before you retire?’ he asked, thinking that the mistress looked none too happy. Her brow was puckered in a frown, and there was a sadness about her.
Laura shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I’m very tired and can think of nothing more inviting than going to bed. I hope Susan didn’t wait up. I told her not to—that I am quite capable of putting myself to bed.’
‘She did as you instructed.’
‘Goodnight, John.’
Wearily she began to climb the stairs, thinking of everything that had happened that night—thinking of Lucas. With her hand resting on the banister she paused halfway up and wrinkled her nose. A strange, harshly sweet smell permeated the air, drowning out the usual smell of beeswax and drying herbs. It was a scent she had first noticed several days ago—not strong, but it had lingered. However, she had been so busy helping Edward’s mother with the arrangements for the betrothal celebrations that she had ignored it. But now she breathed deeply, baffled and a little intrigued as to where it was coming from. It was tobacco she could smell, but as far as she was aware none of the servants smoked it. She turned and looked back, her curiosity sharp.
‘John.’
‘Yes, my lady?’
‘Have you taken up smoking?’
‘Nay, my lady. Why do you ask?’
‘I’m sure I can smell tobacco.’ She considered his face for a moment, but could read nothing in his impassive features. But she felt there was something he knew that she didn’t. Too tired to go into it now, and telling herself it was none of her business anyway if one of the servants had taken to smoking tobacco, she proceeded up the stairs, knowing John continued to watch her, and aware that the smell was growing stronger.
By the light of a few candles burning in sconces she trailed her way along the shadowy passage to her bedchamber, feeling extremely tired but knowing she would not sleep that night. Too much had happened, and there were too many disturbing thoughts filling her head. On entering her room she closed the door and kicked off her shoes. She reached behind her to unfasten her dress, but on glimpsing a pair of booted feet from the corner of her eye she froze, momentary panic seizing her.
‘Don’t stop,’ a voice drawled lazily.
Laura gasped and her heart began to beat in deep, fierce thuds on seeing Lucas lounging in a large armchair, the very image of relaxed elegance with his long legs stretched casually out in front of him towards the fire. His white shirt, open at the throat, was tucked carelessly into the waistband of his snug-fitting grey breeches. He rose to his feet and slowly advanced towards her with a graceful ease surprising in a man of such virile appearance, his well-muscled body suggesting tightly coiled strength.
She stared at him. His light, almost silver eyes seemed to shine like bright gems. She had forgotten how brilliant and clear they were. Just when she had learned to live without him he had appeared, and all her carefully tended illusions were torn asunder. The shock of his coming back into her life stripped away all rational thought and a treacherous warmth was slowly beginning to creep up her arms and down her legs. Her entire body began to vibrate with a mixture of shock, desire and fear—fear because of the way he made her feel, of the sensual pull he was exerting on her—but somehow her mind remained in control.
Chapter Three
‘L ucas!’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘What are you doing in my bedroom?’
‘Waiting for my wife. Do you see anything unusual in that?’ he said, with a cool nonchalance that didn’t seem appropriate considering their volatile encounter earlier.
‘Considering the circumstances, I have to say yes, I do,’ she answered crossly. ‘If you’re still angry and intend berating me further, you can leave right now. My nerves are in shreds and I am extremely tired.’
Earlier they had parted in anger, but now, when Lucas looked down at her in impassive silence, his eyes were as calm as the sea on a fair day. He noticed with the eye of a connoisseur that his young wife was every bit as lovely and enticing as she had looked in the moonlight earlier, and this pleased him. ‘I don’t.’
In the space of a second, the memory of the tobacco smoke permeating the house for the past few days collided with the present when Laura caught sight of a discarded pipe and a half-open leather tobacco pouch in the hearth next to an almost empty glass of brandy. She glared at her husband in tempestuous fury. ‘That was you, wasn’t it—the tobacco smoke I’ve been smelling for days now? You’ve been skulking about the house—hoping I wouldn’t notice.’
‘I never skulk,’ Lucas responded sardonically. ‘And yes, it was me.’
‘Why—of all the despicable, underhand… Oh, how could you?’ she cried, wondering how he could possibly have come and gone from the house without her noticing.
Ignoring her outburst, Lucas returned to his chair and settled himself deep into the upholstery, stretching his legs out in front of him once more. With a smile of absolute contentment he folded his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes, composing himself more comfortably—as if he intended remaining there for the entire night.
Plunking her hands in the small of her waist, Laura followed the extremely diverse and complex man and stood glowering down at his recumbent figure, indignant that he could look so disgustingly relaxed while she was existing on a knife-edge. ‘Lucas! Don’t you dare go to sleep.’
With a sigh of irritation he opened his eyes. ‘Don’t be aggressive, Laura,’ he told her quietly. ‘I want to talk, not argue. I have no desire to quarrel with you.’
‘No? Then you must forgive me. Earlier I—’
‘Be quiet,’ he interrupted in a bored tone, moving his head to a more comfortable position. ‘Did you break off your engagement with Carlyle?’
‘Yes. Considering the circumstances, I was left with no choice.’
‘Good. However, I doubt we’ve seen the last of him. That was an impossible situation. How did he take it?’
‘He was extremely angry, naturally.’
‘Angry because he knew he stood to lose a number of things he prized highly.’
‘Now, why do I have the distinct feeling it is something other than myself that you are referring to?’ she said, her voice threaded with sarcasm.
‘Perhaps because you know it is. Come, now, Laura. You have been the Lady of Roslyn for two years. You must know to what I am referring.’
Laura knew exactly what he meant, and that one of the things he was alluding to was Edward’s smuggling activities. ‘I do comprehend you.’
‘You should.’
‘I have also learned that it doesn’t do to be too curious in these parts.’
‘Very wise, my dear, very wise. I know Edward Carlyle, so let me make it quite clear it is not your charming self he wants. It is because he thought you owned the land he covets.’
‘I know that, too—now,’ she told him bitterly.
‘That’s very astute of you.’
‘Is it? In the beginning I didn’t have so many friends in Cornwall that I could afford to offend a man like Edward.’
‘And I suppose, like every other female he comes into contact with, you were so blinded by his looks and charm that you couldn’t see him for what he is. You see, on my demise, you very quickly became the object of his cynical calculation. He cold-bloodedly set about playing on your loss. It was child’s play to win you, and, like the innocent you were, you welcomed him.’
Laura’s natural honesty recoiled from such a summary of herself. With a mixture of pain and anger she folded her arms across her chest and moved further away from him. ‘You must think I am very stupid.’
He merely looked up at her and raised an eyebrow questioningly. ‘I hope you’re not feeling disappointed because you’ve had to break off your engagement. I didn’t take you for a romantic.’
Ignoring the irony of the remark, Laura mastered her anger sufficiently to say, ‘You have no idea what I am like.’
A wicked smile tempted his lips. ‘Maybe not as well as I should after two years of marriage, but I am looking forward to getting to know you better.’
It was on the tip of Laura’s tongue to retort that the last thing in the world she wanted was for him to do that, but when she looked across at him her heart skipped a beat. He was lounging back against the cushions, his muscled chest partly revealed through his open shirt. With his black, slightly curly and dishevelled hair, ruggedly chiselled features and a slumberous expression in his eyes, she thought he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.
When she finally brought herself to speak, instead of the harsh rejoinder she intended, all she said was, ‘Then you’ll have to be patient. My knowledge of marriage is limited, as well you know—three days, to be exact.’
Lucas stirred impatiently, about to utter a cutting remark, but when he gazed at her from beneath his lowered eyelids he could see how tense she was, and that her deep blue eyes glaring defiance at him were shining with pain that he and Edward Carlyle had caused. He was touched despite himself by her youth, and perhaps also by some private scruples. She had an innocence and warm femininity that touched a deep chord inside him.
‘Sit down, Laura, and stop glaring at me.’
Wanting to appear haughty and coldly remote, Laura was taken aback by his unexpected gentleness and completely at a loss as to how to answer. Repressing her irrational annoyance over his conduct towards her earlier, she reluctantly did as he bade and seated herself across from him, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the chair.
Lucas looked across at his lovely young wife in her provocative blue gown, her face both delicate and fine with stormy dark blue eyes and soft lips. The candles’ glow shone on her proud head with its crown of shining curls as black as his own. His conscience reminded him that his conduct towards her earlier had been inexcusable and unfair.
No longer feeling the injured party—which was exactly how he’d felt when he’d discovered Laura had become affianced to Carlyle in his absence—he studied her calmly, impressed by what he saw. When he’d made her his wife and brought her to Roslyn she’d been hoping for a lifetime of happiness, and all he’d given her was three days followed by two years of widowhood.
She had truly believed he was dead and yet, according to John, the courageous girl had stayed at Roslyn and valiantly kept things going. He would be eternally grateful to her for the loyalty she had shown at such a difficult time in her young life. And yet he couldn’t blame her for wanting to move on. Besides, he wouldn’t have wanted her to wear widow’s weeds for the rest of her life. She was far too lovely to hide herself away.
And yet he did wonder how audacious Carlyle had been regarding his courtship of Laura. The mere idea of his wife lying in Carlyle’s bed was enough to splinter his emotions from all rational control. At any other time and with a woman other than his wife he would have shrugged it off. But this wasn’t another time and Laura was his wife. John, sensing his unease on this matter, had tactfully told him that she had resided not one night at Burfield Hall, and that Carlyle’s visits to the manor had been infrequent and of short duration, and always during daylight hours. And yet Lucas was not reassured by this.
‘Tell me something,’ he said softly. ‘How do you like living at Roslyn?’
‘I like it very well. I’ve come to love the house and everyone in it.’
‘And yet you were going to leave it to wed Carlyle. What do you think he would have done with it, Laura?’
His words were calmly spoken, but Laura heard an edge to his voice. ‘I—I don’t know. We never discussed it.’
Lucas shifted to a more comfortable position, propping one booted foot casually atop the opposite knee. ‘Why don’t you sit back and relax? You look like a rabbit about to bolt down the nearest hole. You’re spoiling the atmosphere.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes, the atmosphere I was enjoying before you came in, which was warm—quiet. For me it was…’ He fell silent and stared intently into the glowing heart of the fire, his eyes fixed on something invisible, something way beyond the confines of the room.
Easing herself into a more comfortable position, Laura looked at him in surprise. There was something in the clear depths of his eyes that she did not recognise, something mysterious—sinister, even, that eluded all her understanding. For a moment he seemed to forget where he was. ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked quietly.
Abruptly he came back to earth and said harshly, ‘You couldn’t understand.’
‘I—might. I’m a good listener—so I’m told.’
He smiled suddenly, that crooked smile Laura remembered of old. His light grey eyes rested warmly on her face, the fire having turned her cheeks a soft pink. ‘I’m sure you are.’
They fell silent, each preoccupied with their own thoughts and content to listen to the wind buffeting the great house on its high perch above the sea. Seated thus, Laura felt a strange sense of security she had not felt in a long time. She could not believe Lucas was here with her. Was it an illusion—a figment of her imagination? she asked herself.
She let her mind drift back over two years, remembering how it had been between them that one and only night she had lain with him as his wife. In a new home surrounded by strangers, she had had no one to answer the frightening turmoil of questions about the night ahead.
At thirty years old and having made love to many women, a paragon of virtue Lucas was not. Before they had married Laura had already fallen in love with her husband-to-be. She was not foolish enough to think the feeling was reciprocated, and nor was she naïve enough to believe she knew how to make him happy. But she had desperately wanted to—somehow—and she had been determined to find out how to accomplish it.
Lucas having made no attempt to consummate their marriage at any of the posting inns on the way to Cornwall, when they had reached Roslyn Manor and the moment had finally come Laura had yielded helplessly to the hot, searing need within her, while a nameless panic began to take hold of her. Lucas had taken her quickly, dutifully, and without endearment, with no thought to her immaturity and innocence, and after he had withdrawn from her he had rolled away and gone to sleep. It had been nothing more than the joining together of any man and his wife. Duty or pleasure, the thing was done.
Too stunned to move, Laura had lain looking up at the shadows playing with the light on the ceiling, struggling with disappointment. She had felt so miserable she had wept at her husband’s absolute detachment. If that was love she could not understand why they made so much fuss about it in story books. It had left her with a feeling of disgust combined with a strong sense of frustration.
Gazing across at him now, Laura could not believe the man she saw was the same man who had left her bed with the dawn and immediately embarked for France. Suddenly she saw his expression gentle, and she was sure she could see approval in his inscrutable eyes. ‘Why did you want to hide from me?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t. I just wanted to lie low for a while.’
‘But why? Has it something to do with you being a thief—a common highwayman? Why have you taken to the life of a High Toby?’
As he observed how seriously concerned she looked Lucas’s composure slipped and he laughed outright, a rich, deep sound that reminded Laura of thick velvet. She realised that when he did that he seemed younger, much younger than when his face was in repose.
‘I’m sure you will be relieved when I tell you that I am not a highwayman. Tonight was the first time—and the last—that I shall take to the road.’
‘Then—why did you do it?’ she asked, quite bewildered. ‘I did not take you for a prankster.’
His response to her question was a cool inclination of the head. A hard gleam entered his eyes and when he spoke his voice was deadly calm. ‘It wasn’t a prank. It was deliberately intended to infuriate and intimidate Carlyle—to put his back up. You are my wife, Laura, and no one—no one—interferes with anything that belongs to me. I can be a harsh man when angered.’
Laura felt a moment of unease at the possessive content of his words. ‘I discovered that to my cost,’ she retorted drily.
‘When John told me what you were up to—that you were to wed Carlyle and that you were celebrating your betrothal with the entire county—I was furious, naturally so. However, knowing nothing could come of it now I had returned to the scene, my fury abated. When John informed me that you intended travelling home that night I couldn’t resist the pure devilry that came over me, to have a little fun at Carlyle’s expense,’ Lucas said with a roguish grin, the harshness of a moment earlier having vanished.
‘And mine,’ Laura reminded him coolly.
‘I confess that I was enjoying myself rather well until I heard it from your own lips that you were to be his wife. It rekindled my anger and roused all that is unpleasant in me.’
‘I noticed,’ Laura said. ‘Why didn’t you try and stop the celebrations?’
‘I did think about it, but I wasn’t ready to show myself—not to you, nor anybody.’
Laura was about to ask him what the secrecy was all about, but found herself saying instead, ‘You really don’t like Edward, do you, Lucas?’
‘Does one like a rattlesnake?’ he responded quickly. Placing the horrors Carlyle had inflicted on his own person aside, Lucas dwelt for a moment on what John told him when he had brought him up to date with all that had been happening in the district during his absence. It would seem that an underlying menace lurked among the huddle of cottages in Roslyn village and the surrounding hamlets, for the very name of Edward Carlyle engendered such fear that none dared interfere with his plans, challenge him or speak against him. To do so would have been to risk one’s life. Lucas’s hatred of Edward Carlyle was almost a physical pain within him, but when he answered Laura’s question he gave no sign of his true feelings.
‘There is a dark side to Carlyle someone as innocent as you cannot possibly begin to conceive. There is enmity between us, and it’s more than a matter of us not seeing eye to eye over a few difficult episodes in the past. I will not allow someone like him to ride roughshod over me. I have a score to settle with him—a heavy score and one I mean to make him pay in full…when the time is right,’ he said in a low voice. A ruthless gleam shone from his eyes. ‘Believe me, what you witnessed tonight was only a fraction of what I intend to do to that particular gentleman.’
There was a warning underlying the lightness of his words and Laura knew that he spoke in all seriousness.
‘But tell me,’ he went on, diverting the conversation away from his neighbour, ‘when you heard I had perished on the vessel bringing me back to England, Laura, why did you not return to London—to your father?’
Laura sighed, her mind going back to that time when she had found it hard to take in that the handsome man she had married was dead. ‘Because Roslyn was my home. I was Lady Mawgan and I had responsibilities. It was my duty to remain and take care of things. There was no one else, and the longer I stayed I found I was surrendering more and more of myself to the place. My brother, Philip, and his wife, Jane, bring the children down from London during the summer. The little ones do so love the cove. My—my father, who, as you will recall, suffered ill health, died shortly after we were married.’
Sympathy flickered in Lucas’s eyes. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I remember how close you were to him. You must have been devastated.’
‘Yes, I was.’ She glanced at him quizzically. ‘Who told you of his demise?’
‘I was in London for a time before I came to Cornwall. Your brother told me.’
‘I see. When I was told what had happened to you—that you were dead—I had to go to London to see your lawyers, so I stayed with my father. Before he died he told me something, Lucas, and I would like you to tell me if it’s true. You see, I never did know why you had to go to France so soon after we were married, and I would like it if you explained to me where you have been and what you have been doing all this time.
‘My father told me you were working for the government—that the foreign secretary had sent you to France on a secret mission. Is that true?’ Lucas’s eyes snapped to her face and a sudden wariness ignited in his eyes. Her question had taken him completely unawares, she could see that, and she existed in a state of jarring tension for his reply. When it came his voice was guarded, only telling her enough to pacify her curiosity.
‘My business was—highly confidential.’
‘But you were on government business?’ she persisted, watching him closely.
‘With France in turmoil at the time and the situation deteriorating daily, His Majesty’s government was eager to see how the French would resolve the situation, since it would affect the rest of Europe. Absolute monarchs everywhere recognised that the doctrines of the revolution in France endangered their own regimes.
‘Already the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen issued by the French Assembly in August ’89 was spreading its message, with unrest and demands for reform by the bourgeoisie and peasants appearing in countries all over Europe, and French émigrés pressing unceasingly for war against the revolution. Reluctant to start such a conflict, the foreign secretary, feeling that some special purpose might be gained, sent me to Paris to act as a detached observer.’
‘A spy, you mean.’
His expression was grave but calm. ‘I prefer to call myself a government agent.’
‘Is there a difference?’
‘No. I was not the only one employed as such. God alone knows how many foreign spies were loose in France at that time—and now, for that matter.’
‘And—were you carrying any despatches?’
‘No,’ Lucas went on, feeling duty bound to answer her questions, but careful not to reveal too much. ‘It would have been too dangerous—should they fall into the wrong hands. I carried nothing with me except false credentials.’
‘And what happened to you when the vessel bringing you back from France sank? I was informed that only one man survived and that he managed to make it back to England. According to him, the Pelican was attacked by some unknown force and everyone on board killed and thrown into the sea.’
‘That is more or less what happened. Who that man was I really cannot say, and how he made it back to England is a mystery to me. With so much traffic passing back and forth in the Channel it is likely that he was picked up by a vessel. But, contrary to the account he gave to the Admiralty, he was not the only one to survive. Along with one other I was pulled from the sea by the captain of a French vessel on patrol. Unfortunately, having received a severe blow to the head, I was unconscious at the time. When the captain demanded to know our names, the other man—a mariner from Roslyn village who died soon afterwards—knowing nothing of my mission, gave the captain my true identity.
‘Unfortunately it was not unknown to the French, since my coming and going between our countries engaged on secret missions during the American war had been greeted with suspicion and made me most unpopular at the time. I was taken back to Paris, where I was pronounced a traitor, and without a trial I was thrown into prison—La Force, a notoriously vile, appallingly overcrowded place, a common jail, where criminals of every kind who roam the slums of Paris and elsewhere are incarcerated.’
Laura was horrified. ‘But—how could they imprison you, an Englishman?’
‘My mother was French,’ he told her. His voice was grim. ‘They knew this. She was a member of the detested aristocracy, from the Languedoc region—the same aristocracy the people are feeding to the guillotine every day.’
‘Oh!’ Laura exclaimed, expressing her surprise. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘No,’ he said quietly, his eyes calmly watching her. ‘There is a lot we don’t know about each other, Laura.’
‘We—we hear such dreadful things about what is happening in France…with so much internal unrest,’ she faltered, unable to stem the warmth his disturbing gaze sent pulsating through her veins. ‘Did—did they interrogate you?’
‘I was—subjected to questioning,’ he told her hesitantly, sparing her the gruesome details of how he had been shackled with a length of heavy chain hand and foot, tortured at the hands of experts, before being dumped unceremoniously into an underground hell-hole, a pathetic, clanking heap of misery. This was not for the ears of a respectable young woman.
‘But I gave no account. In the beginning I was kept in complete isolation—unable to make contact with the outside world—in a place where a man loses count of the days and where death can strike in many ways. I had plenty of time to think, but I tried not to. When a man loses his freedom, thinking is a dangerous business—apt to drive him mad. Eventually I was taken out and put in a cell with two other prisoners.’
Pain and disbelief streaked through Laura at the thought of Lucas languishing in one of France’s prisons. If only she had known, she would have moved heaven and earth to rescue him.
‘How I wish I’d known…’ A knot formed at the base of her throat, shutting off her words, and, leaning forward, Lucas saw tears in her eyes.
‘You weep for me?’ he murmured, deeply touched. ‘How strange!’
‘Strange?’ she asked, finding her voice once more. ‘Is it strange for a woman to weep when her husband tells her what you have just told me—of the tragedy that befell you, of the pain and indignities you must have been subjected to at the hands of those…those foreigners, knowing you could emerge at any time and be taken to the guillotine in one of those creaking carts of death?’ She dropped her gaze and looked down at her hands. ‘I’m sorry. You must think I’m very silly.’
Lucas’s face seemed transfigured and he was looking at his wife as if he could not gaze too long. Quietly he said, ‘I happen to think you’re very sweet.’
Raising her eyes, she looked across at him. She felt a sudden quiver run through her, a sudden quickening within, as if something came to life. Something was happening to her, something golden and wonderful, and when she spoke she could only stammer, ‘H-how did you manage to get out of the prison? Did you escape?’
‘No. I was released when war broke out with the Prussians. When thousands of patriotic volunteers went to defend the revolution their departure from Paris provoked concern about the prisons, which were crowded with counter-revolutionaries who might threaten a city deprived of so many of its defenders. Already there was a rumour spreading that they were plotting their escape and would avenge themselves on the remaining defenders and hand Paris over to the Prussians.
‘Marat, a powerful member of the commune, declared that the enemy within must be destroyed before the invader could be repulsed. He called for the conspirators to be put to death. Armed bands began visiting the prisons, and the advance of the enemy gave an excuse for the mob to vent its hatred in an orgy of bloodshed.
‘There was absolute mayhem as improvised courts were set up to try prisoners. Hundreds of counter-revolutionaries were killed—and a large number were released. Miraculously I was one of them. I didn’t hang around to find out why. I immediately left Paris and headed for the coast, where I managed to find a boat to take me across the Channel.’
Laura was not ignorant of what had been happening in Paris. Since these ‘September massacres’ which Lucas spoke of, the French troops had halted the enemy advance. On September 21st the convention had abolished the monarchy, and the next day it proclaimed the republic. She had listened to Lucas calmly, deeply moved by everything he had told her, but she had the distinct feeling that there was a great deal more he had left unsaid.
‘We will speak no more of this now,’ Lucas said, ‘and not a word of it to anyone.’
‘You can rely on me not to breathe a word. I promise.’
Lucas’s eyes warmed. ‘I know. Despite betrothing yourself to Carlyle, the way you have behaved during my absence proves to me that you are a person one can depend on in a crisis.’
He watched the youthful, graceful line of her neck at the back of which her hair nestled, soft and shining. He saw the sensitiveness of her small hands folded in her lap, and the dark sweep of her long, curling eyelashes against her flushed cheeks, and wondered why he hadn’t noticed before. ‘You have spirit and courage, Laura. I commend that. In fact you are a complete contradiction in terms and appearance.’
‘A contradiction?’ she queried, looking slightly bewildered.
‘I already know that you are direct and intelligent—and quite lovely. I saw that before I married you, and it appealed to me even then. You give the impression of being rather delicate, weak and extremely vulnerable, yet I believe you are both strong and determined—and more than a little obstinate. I suspect you are not always the easiest person to get along with.’
Encouraged and warmed by his words, she tilted her head to one side, a slow smile tempting her lips. ‘I have my moments,’ she told him.
‘Oh?’
‘Now and then,’ she said.
He chuckled, and then said, ‘Have you any idea how lovely you look tonight, in your fetching blue gown?’
There was a soft, caressing note in his voice that almost turned Laura’s bones to water. She looked at him and smiled, enjoying the warmth and the intimacy of their conversation. ‘I am exactly the same person I was when you went away. I have not changed.’
