Claire Thornton (7 page)

‘What do you expect when you receive secret visitations in the night, and then tell Sir William you didn’t hear anything but the wind!’ Angelica demanded wildly, abandoning all caution.

To her surprise, Benoît didn’t seem particularly disturbed by her accusation. She had expected an angry denial, but instead he stared frowningly between his horse’s ears for a few moments.

‘That must have been your maid,’ he said curtly. ‘Your room faces the front, but she slept in the attic. I heard she’d been asking a lot of questions this morning.’

‘How do you explain that, sir?’ Angelica challenged him, her chin lifted defiantly.

Her heart was beating uncomfortably fast, and her agitation communicated itself to the mare who tossed her head nervously, but Angelica was determined not to be overawed by her companion.

‘I don’t intend to explain it at all,’ Benoît replied evenly.
His expression was distant and uncommunicative. ‘What happens in my house is my business, my lady.’

Angelica shook her head in frustration, her golden curls trembling beneath the brim of the hat Mrs Faulkener had lent her.

‘Then we are back where we started,’ she said in angry exasperation. ‘You will not explain, and my doubts will not be satisfied until I receive some earnest of your good intentions.’

‘My word should be good enough for that,’ said Benoît chillingly. ‘You would not make such a demand of your father—or of Sir William.’

‘But you have already proved yourself to be a liar!’ Angelica exclaimed, firing up instantly. ‘If you can lie to Sir William, why not to me? You don’t need to remind me that you don’t have honourable blood in your veins—you’ve proved that already!’

Benoît pressed his lips together in a thin, furious line. Beneath his tan he was very pale, and his hand gripped the reins almost convulsively. Angelica was light-headed with the effects of her own anger, but she was dimly satisfied that she had finally provoked a strong emotional response from him. He wasn’t laughing at her any more.

‘I wonder if you really understand the meaning of the word honour, my lady,’ he said harshly. ‘Do you? Tell me—is it to risk the lives of men, whose names you don’t even know, in a search for vain-glory? Or to call out and kill a passing acquaintance for some supposed slight? Or does it mean betraying men who have known and trusted you all
your life to satisfy one man’s momentary frustration? Is that what it means, my lady?
Tell me!
’

His eyes, as they met hers, were granite-hard and uncompromising. He was icily furious and he was allowing her no quarter in their argument.

No one had ever confronted Angelica like this. Her social status and sex meant that on inconsequential matters she was used to having her opinion politely deferred to, and she had rarely had an opportunity to discuss more profound matters with anyone—even her father. The Earl had always indulged his daughter, but he would never have considered it appropriate to enter into a serious debate with her. Benoît’s obvious willingness to do so was a new experience for her.

‘No,’ she said faintly, feeling very shaken, but unable, in all honesty, to disagree with him. ‘Of course not.’

Benoît stared at her for a long, unyielding moment. She looked away, unable to meet his flinty gaze.

‘Do you suppose that Sir William really wanted me to tell him the truth, this morning?’ Benoît said at last, some of the uncharacteristic roughness smoothed from his deep voice.

‘What else…?’ Angelica looked at him in bewilderment, grateful that he was no longer so freezingly angry. ‘He was furious with you.’

‘He very often is,’ Benoît said equably. ‘But he’d never have spoken to me again if I’d told him what he wanted to know—he respects loyalty, if nothing else. And I don’t imagine you would have had much time for me either if I’d turned informer.’

Angelica’s eyes fell beneath his sardonic gaze. She knew there was an element of truth in what he’d just said.

‘We live in a complicated world, my lady,’ he said more gently. ‘It is not always easy for even the wisest man to decide on the best course of action.’

‘I know that!’ Angelica’s temper flared up again at the almost indulgent tone in his voice. She hadn’t enjoyed being challenged by him, but she preferred it to being treated as a child. ‘Don’t patronise me, sir! I am not a fool! And my original point still remains. I do not know anything about you except that you were once rash enough to put yourself at my father’s mercy. I would like to know exactly how you intend to rescue my brother.’

‘Since I do not yet know myself, you are likely to have to wait some time for that information, Lady Angelica,’ Benoît replied blandly. He seemed to have his own temper well in hand now.

‘My God! You’re insufferable!’ Angelica exclaimed. ‘I have never known a more conceited, arrogant, cocksure…’ Words failed her as she tried to describe his infamy.

‘Have you run out of insults already?’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘I’m sure there’s a dictionary in the library at home. You will have to look up some more.’

For the last few minutes the horses had been ambling along a narrow, tree-lined lane, but Angelica had been too engrossed in their argument to pay much attention to her surroundings. Suddenly the lane petered out and the beach
opened up before them, stretching out to east and west in a long, smooth expanse of shimmering sand.

Angelica was taken completely by surprise, and Benoît smiled faintly at her obvious amazement. She sat and gazed about her, utterly forgetful of his last provocative comment. Her riding skirts rippled in the sea breeze, and she could taste the salt in the air. It wasn’t the first time she had seen the sea. She had visited Brighton several times with the Earl, but their family estates were in the midlands, and her first glimpse of the sea after such a long absence was an exciting experience for her.

She slipped her foot free of the stirrup and slid down to the ground, almost without realising what she was doing, and let Benoît take the reins from her without a murmur of protest. She picked up her skirts and crunched down over the large round pebbles onto the firm sand, her eyes fixed wonderingly on the horizon.

In some small, logical part of her brain she knew there were places on the south coast where France was closer than London—but staring out to the horizon it didn’t seem so. It seemed as if the glittering expanse of water might go on for ever.

She could see the white wings of seagulls as they soared above the waves and then dipped down with raucous calls to the surface of the water. She could smell the dried seaweed on the stones, crisp with salt and sand, and hear the rolling murmur of the waves. The sea was going out, and wading birds crowded the tideline, hurrying back and forth in a never-
ending quest for food. The glistening wet sand was ridged and furrowed with the regular pattern of the waves, and here and there a pool of seawater reflected the light of the sky above.

She walked down the beach, heedless of the wind tugging at her skirts and whipping her hair into her face. She’d almost forgotten Benoît, and he made no effort to remind her of his presence as he followed her, leading the two horses.

Then the wind snatched her borrowed hat, bowling it along the shining sands at a brisk pace.

‘Oh!’

She clutched ineffectually after it, and then picked up her skirts, intending to run after it.

‘Leave it!’ Benoît caught her by her upper arm, swinging her around to face him, laughing at her consternation.

‘But I can’t lose your mother’s hat!’ she protested. ‘She’s been so kind to me.’

‘I doubt if it will be wearable, covered in salt,’ Benoît pointed out, grinning. ‘It won’t be difficult to replace.’

‘I suppose not,’ said Angelica doubtfully.

She was acutely conscious of his grip on her arm. It was cold on the beach, but the warmth of his hand seemed to burn through the sleeve of her habit. He was standing very close to her, and the wind whipped her skirts against his legs, almost as if to bind them together. She knew she ought to withdraw herself gracefully from his grasp, but she looked up and met his eyes and couldn’t quite bring herself to do so.

A few minutes ago she had been arguing with him more fiercely than she had ever quarrelled with anyone except her
brother, but there was no anger in his expression now. There was an unfamiliar but exquisitely disturbing warmth in his brown eyes as they rested on her face. He dropped the reins and lifted his other hand to her waist.

‘The horses will run away,’ she said, hardly recognising her own voice. A pulse was beating rapidly in her throat. She could scarcely breathe with the pressure of unfamiliar anticipation.

‘They’d go back to the stable if I told them to,’ said Benoît, with soft confidence. ‘But they won’t run away.’

‘Just the kind of trick a smuggler would teach his horse,’ Angelica said breathlessly, still trying to maintain some resemblance of normality, as he drew her a little closer towards him.

‘Blame Thomas, not me,’ Benoît replied, smiling. ‘He gets bored when I’m at sea. He even taught Billy to count.’

‘What—?’

Angelica’s surprised exclamation was cut short as Benoît drew her neatly into his arms. He held her breast to breast, his dark face dizzyingly close to hers for an electrifying moment.

‘This time there’s no doubt your eyes are open,’ he said, half-humorously. ‘Remember that, when you next accuse me of not being a gentleman.’

‘I don’t…’

Benoît’s mouth covered her parted lips and stifled whatever it was she had been going to say. Shock held her rigid for several seconds. She had never been kissed like this before, and nothing in her previous experience had prepared her for dealing with such a situation.

The wind wrapped her skirts around them, locking them together. She could feel the heat of his body burning through her clothes. He was holding her firmly in his arms. She was acutely aware of the power in his lean, hard-muscled body, but his lips were gentle and persuasive on hers. Her heart was racing; strange, exotic warmth slowly filled her veins. Her empty hands opened once or twice in vague uncertainty then, almost of their own volition, they slid up over the ridged black cloth of his sleeves to rest on his shoulders.

She felt his tongue stroke her lower lip in sensuous exploration, and a fresh wave of burning sensation flooded her. She closed her eyes, feeling disorientated and exhilarated. She had nothing to compare this experience with, and no way of moderating her response to him.

His hold on her tightened. He slid one hand sensuously up her back to bury it in her windswept golden curls, dislodging a few hairpins as he did so. She trembled at his touch, clutching erratically at his shoulders. Her legs felt weak and she leant against him, needing his support.

The muted roar of the sea and the harsh cry of the gulls receded to the edge of her awareness. Benoît filled the whole of her consciousness. Her lips were swollen and throbbing with the desire he had aroused in her—and then he slipped his tongue gently between them and she felt as if her heart stood still.

Nothing had prepared her for the intimacy of this moment. His tongue confidently explored her mouth, gently probing, overwhelming all her senses. Part of her wanted to pull away
and protest at the liberty he was taking, but another part of her wanted to surrender completely to his lovemaking.

Her arms slipped around his neck and she clung to him, her lips parted to allow him the soul-shattering intimacy he sought, not actively returning his kiss, but not denying him either.

It was Benoît who at last drew back, and she could hear his ragged breathing as he continued to hold her against him, her face resting against his shoulder. Her heart was hammering in her ears, she was deaf and blind to the world around her. She was content to remain in his arms for a several long moments before reality finally reasserted itself.

Then she lifted her head in horror as she realised what had happened and tried to wrench herself out of his grasp. He held on to her firmly.

‘We’ll both fall over if you do that,’ he murmured provocatively. ‘Which might be quite pleasant, but I’m sure it’s not what you have in mind.’

Angelica gasped in embarrassed, furious indignation and helped him unwind her traitorous skirts. Then she stepped back quickly and lifted her burning eyes to his face.

He grinned at her, a rakish light in his eyes. He was slightly flushed beneath his tan, but he was once more his customary controlled self.

‘Don’t blame me, my lady,’ he said before she could speak, an unexpectedly humorous lilt in his deep voice. ‘I only meant to snatch a quick kiss. It was your own passionate nature that betrayed you.’

‘How
dare
you?’

Sudden fury blazed through Angelica. Her overexcited emotions were in a complete turmoil, and she was too keyed up to think clearly. The only thing she knew for sure was that it was all Benoît’s fault. Without stopping to think, she struck out wildly at him.

He caught her wrist before her hand connected with his cheek.

‘Let me go!’ she spat at him, pulling away from him and nearly stumbling over her skirts.

‘No.’

She tried to wrench her arm out of his grasp with a vicious twist and his hold on her tightened until she winced.

‘Stand still, Angelica,’ he said sharply, almost as if he was talking to a naughty child.

She obeyed him, partly through surprise at his tone, and partly because she was startled by the use of her name.

‘I haven’t hurt you, and I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said calmly, releasing her wrist. ‘Believe it or not, both your morals and your person are quite safe in my hands—so don’t attack me because your ideas about yourself have been thrown into confusion.’

She stepped back, rubbing her wrist absentmindedly as she glared at him.

‘Look!’ He reached out and spun her round by her shoulders, moving so fast that she didn’t have time to protest ‘There’s a whole world out there.’ He faced towards the horizon. ‘Different people with different cultures and even dif
ferent ideas of honour. Don’t accept everything you’ve been told about life without question. Make up your own mind.’