Exile's Return (8 page)

She touched her cheek in the approximate position of the scar on his face. ‘That, probably.'

Daniel fingered the old injury, sustained in battle, not in any act of piracy. ‘Ah. A childhood accident.' He assumed a solicitous expression and leaned toward her. ‘I hope you don't think me impertinent, but your circumstances seem somewhat strained.'

She shook her head and looked around the room. ‘I don't know what I'm going to do, Master Lucas. I've lost everything. And now he has taken the children.'

‘And are they your children?' Daniel enquired.

Her throat visibly contracted and she shook her head. ‘They are my sister's children. Their mother is dead and they have just lost their father. I am all they have left … apart from that
man
.' She spat out the last word as if it left a vile taste in her mouth and tears spilled from her eyes again. The woman was a veritable water well. ‘What are they going to do without me?'

Daniel's lips tightened. Even if their new guardian was anyone except Tobias Ashby, it seemed a heartless act to separate the newly orphaned children from the one person in their lives who loved them unconditionally.

He signalled the innkeeper for another glass of port and Agnes consumed it as she had the first — in one gulp. She pushed the disordered curls back behind her ear. It did not improve her appearance.

He thought in normal circumstances she probably had very fine hazel eyes and an attractive smattering of freckles across a neat, pert nose. That nose was now scarlet and her eyes bloodshot and red-ringed.

She cleared her throat and said in a voice, thick with her recent grief. ‘I crave your pardon, sir. You've been very kind, but I've troubled you long enough. Please return to your business and do not concern yourself for me any more.'

Daniel shook his head. ‘I'm not leaving ‘til the morning. Can I at least buy you a meal?' Her lips parted for a moment, revealing neat, even teeth. She sighed deeply and lowered her gaze. ‘You are very kind, sir, and I would welcome some company this evening, even though I may not be at my best.' She ran a hand through her disordered hair and looked up at him again, the ghost of a smile catching at the corners of her mouth. ‘Perhaps allow me a moment or two to restore myself.'

Daniel smiled and inclined his head. ‘It will be my pleasure. Take whatever time you need. I'll be waiting here.'

She stood up, running her hands down the stained and crumpled skirts of what had once been a gown of a fine quality green wool. He watched her weave between the tables and stools, the two glasses of port evidently taking effect, and ordered a flagon of the landlord's finest red wine.

Perfect
, Daniel thought.
This could not have worked out better if I had planned it.

***

Agnes sat on the edge of the bed in the empty room, her locket open in her hand. It contained nothing more than a curled lock of soft, blonde hair, taken from Henry's head the first time she had trimmed his baby curls.

She snapped the locket shut and replaced it around her neck while she considered her options. She could not just sit by and let the children be taken away from her without a fight. She had promised James, and more than that she was bound in blood to the fate of Lizzie and Henry. Somehow, she had to find her way to Charvaley. Maybe, away from his masters in London, Tobias could be persuaded to let her stay.

She took a deep, steadying breath. She had to be realistic. She didn't know the way to Tobias's better nature, or even if he
had
a better nature. She could be of no assistance when it came to the location of the gold, but, what was it he had said? “… You've a pretty face. By all accounts you have already bedded an Earl. It shouldn't be too hard to find yourself another protector …”

What if Tobias Ashby himself would be prepared to be her protector? What if she swallowed what little pride she had left and afforded him the opportunity? The very thought of him touching her made the gorge rise in her throat and she retched port into the slops bucket.

Wiping her face with a cold, wet cloth, she sat back on her heels and considered her current situation. Alone, penniless, and friendless, she stood little chance of making it out of London, let alone as far as Charvaley.

She glanced at the door to her room. She already had a protector waiting for her in the parlour downstairs. Could he be persuaded to provide her with the means to get there? When it came to feminine wiles, she had no tricks. She had always considered herself rather plain, and James had never once told her otherwise. Her mere presence at his table had been all the invitation he had ever needed.

Rising to her feet, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window and wondered how one threw oneself on the mercy of a total stranger looking like she did at this moment. She had been wearing her best gown to attend on the Committee and now it was covered in mud and worse.

She gave a bitter laugh. No man would want her looking as she did. Her fingers touched the locket and she wondered if Lucas would buy it from her. If not, she had no choice but to seek out a gold dealer in the morning and sell it for whatever she could raise.

She changed into clean petticoats and a respectable bodice with fresh collar and cuffs and arranged her disordered curls as best she could, washed her face again, pinched her cheeks to force some colour into her wan face, and forced herself to smile.

Drawing herself up straight she left the bedchamber, now so silent and empty without the children, and made her way back to the inn's parlour.

Lucas — she couldn't remember if he had told her his first name — waited for her as he said he would. He rose to his feet in a single, lithe movement and gestured at the chair across the table from him.

For a moment her nerve failed her. How could she even think about throwing herself on the mercy of a man she knew nothing about?

She supposed some women might find him handsome, with his brown hair, dark tanned face and high cheekbones. James had been fair and, to be honest, softer. In fact he had been starting to go to fat, not that she would have ever said anything to him. She found the hard planes of Lucas's face and the strong mouth more than a little intimidating, and Henry was right, the scar did make him look piratical.

Outwardly though, his clothes were those of any respectable man of business. His jacket of good quality dark blue wool had been well cut in the latest fashion to set off his long, lean body. He wore the more fashionable falling bands in place of a collar and expensive lace trimmed the froth of cloth at his wrists. A man who took some pride in his appearance and had the means to purchase the best.

His grey eyes rested on her face. Something in those light depths, the colour of an icy stream, made her shiver.

Just as she considered making her apologies and fleeing to the safety of the bedchamber, he smiled, softening the cold eyes and curling those well-cut lips. Small lines creased the corners of his eyes and her moment of doubt vanished.

‘Do I meet with your approval?'

She flushed, looked down at her own mournful gown, and thought of her pale and wan face. As a seductress she had a lot to learn. Staring at your quarry like a rabbit facing a fox was probably not a good way to begin.

She cleared her throat and forced herself to look up at him again, a smile fixed to her lips. ‘I was thinking that you must have spent a great deal of time in warmer climes than ours, sir. I have never seen a man so dark.'

Lucas shrugged. ‘I have travelled extensively, Mistress Fletcher.'

‘Are you a merchant?'

Something flashed in the grey depths of his eyes. Amusement?

‘A merchant? In a manner of speaking, perhaps,' he said with an almost studied insouciance.

The more she looked at him, the more piratical he appeared for all his fine clothes. A sword hilt crowned with a jewel of deepest green winked at her, and she could have sworn from the line of his well-cut jacket that he carried a pistol tucked into his belt.

It would be madness to throw herself on the mercy of this man. What was she thinking?

She steeled herself. ‘You have been very kind. Thank you for settling my account. There really was no need … I will repay you.'

His eyes creased at the corners as he smiled. ‘Of course you will, Mistress Fletcher, but for the moment you are my guest. Will you at least sit and eat with me?'

He gestured at the flagon of wine and a large pie that now took up most of the space on the tiny table. Agnes's stomach growled in appreciation.

‘Please help yourself. The world's troubles will seem easier on a full stomach,' he said.

A man's response, that,
she thought.
Food — the panacea to all evil.

She seated herself with all the grace she would have used at James's table.

‘I lied,' she said after several mouthfuls.

‘Lied?'

‘I do not have the means to repay you. I have nothing. Not a groat.'

‘I know,' he said and leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his cold, grey eyes narrowed. ‘I am not looking for you to repay me in coin, Mistress Fletcher.'

Agnes swallowed, taking his meaning. Men – they were all the same. What choice did she have?

She cleared her throat and met his gaze. ‘I know I am indebted to you and whatever you want of me I will give you gladly, but I ask one more thing in return.'

‘That is?' The man's mouth quirked at the corners and a seething resentment rose in Agnes. Here she was practically throwing herself at him and all he could do was smile?

‘You assist me with the means to reach Charvaley, in …'

‘Lancashire?' he answered for her.

‘You've heard of it?'

His mouth tightened and he sat back. ‘Yes. What particular means do you have in mind?'

‘Money to buy a passage on the Liverpool coach?' she suggested, having not really considered how one travelled the countryside without the benefit of a private conveyance.

He nodded. ‘I could do that, or … ' he paused, his eyes narrowing.

‘Or?' she prompted.

‘I could take you myself.'

Agnes's heart skipped a beat. ‘You would take me to Charvaley?'

‘Yes. That is what you want, is it not?'

‘Yes,' she whispered, her fingers circling the gold locket. ‘More than anything but why would you wish to go such a distance … for me.'

He studied her for a long moment, the tips of his fingers steepled, as if in deep consideration. He laid the palm of one hand down on the table. ‘I think we should be honest with each other, Mistress Fletcher. We share one thing in common … a mutual … shall we say,
dislike
… of Colonel Tobias Ashby. I have long-outstanding business with him and you wish to have the children restored to you. We have a common cause … a common enemy.'

The grey eyes took on the sheen of polished steel, and despite herself she shivered. ‘Can I ask what your business with Tobias is?'

‘No,' he said.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if it involved the death of Tobias Ashby, but something in his hard face warned her not to ask such a question. If she agreed to go with him she was truly throwing in her lot with the devil.

He studied her face without blinking. ‘Are we agreed?'

She opened her mouth intending to say ‘No', but it was a soft ‘Yes,' that fell into the tense space between them. Yes she would go with this strange man. What alternative did she have? None. He sat back. ‘Good, we are agreed. Now eat your supper. We will leave tomorrow morning.'

She stared at her plate, unable to comprehend what had just passed between them. Just like that, he had agreed to take her home, but he still had not named his price. She glanced up at him, but his face told her nothing, and she decided that if this man could reunite her with Henry and Lizzie, whatever he wanted would be a price worth paying.

With her dilemma resolved, she demolished the food put before her.

He watched her as she brushed the last crumbs from her lips.

‘I like a woman with a good appetite,' he said.

‘I was hungry,' Agnes said stiffly.

‘Evidently. Now to business, Mistress Fletcher.'

‘Business?'

‘Yes, I need to know a little more about you. What, for example is … was … your relation to Lord Elmhurst?'

She frowned. Clearly the man knew more about her than she did of him.

‘I was sister to the late Earl's wife. My sister Ann and her husband, James, took me in when my brother died.' She cleared her throat. ‘After Ann died, the children came exclusively to my care and charge.'

‘And now the Earl is dead you say you have lost everything?'

She looked down at the old, dark wood of the table, incised with initials and dates of ancient inn patrons. She traced one such initial, a J carved with almost intricate delicacy.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I have nothing to my name. James, apparently, died without a will.'

‘And your brother … he died in the King's service?' His voice had dropped almost to a whisper.

She looked up. ‘In a manner of speaking. He went into exile after Worcester and died in The Hague a few years later.'

The man's mouth tightened and his hand rose to the scar on his face.
An unconscious gesture
, she thought, but it told her everything she needed to know.

‘You were there?' she asked.

He flicked his gaze over her shoulder to an unseen object behind her head, and for a moment she thought he would not answer.

‘Yes,' he said in a clipped tone, ‘I was there. One last question, and you will forgive my impertinence but it is important that we are honest with each other … were you mistress to the late Earl?'

Every fibre in her body screamed out in outrage at the audacity of the question, but held by his cold, grey eyes all she could say was ‘yes'. She swallowed and lifted her chin in defiance. ‘But if you think to bed me, Master Lucas, I would have you know that I … '