Helen Dickson (11 page)

But he was encouraged by the fact that her lips had answered his kiss. They had been soft and sweet and pliable beneath his own, and he would have liked to stay and educate her further, but seducing Maria Monkton was not in his immediate plans. For the time being, somehow he would have to cool the lust gnawing at his very being and try to forget how soft and sweet she had felt in his arms, to ignore the fact that she had set her hooks into him, and to control the strong attraction that seemed to bind his heart and mind to Maria.

Maria stared at the closed door in a waking dream. How was it possible that after just two days Charles Osbourne could stir feelings she had never felt before? She was fearful of what might happen if he came to her again and seeked to finish what he had started. She had escaped this moment—not entirely unscathed, but nevertheless with her virtue still intact. That state, however, was most tenuous and would not withstand another persuasive, unrelenting assault.

His kiss, his forceful persuasiveness, had been her downfall. He had known full well what he was doing to her, and the memory of what she had experienced in his arms made her plight all the more unbearable and she feared she was destined to remember his embrace for the rest of her life.

And Henry? She had given no thought to him while allowing her mind to dwell on romantic thoughts
about another man. Her emotions were torn asunder, and she could find no peace in the depths of her thoughts. What her heart yearned for went against everything she deemed honourable, and yet she had no control over it.

Maria awoke to the sound of someone knocking on the door. Still drowsy with slumber, it took her a moment to remember where she was. When the knocking came again, startled, immediately she was out of bed, her heart slamming into her ribs, her knees turning to jelly. Pushing back her hair, she padded across the room.

‘Who is it?’

‘Charles.’

Maria stared at the door, reluctant to open it, reluctant to look Charles in the eyes after what had happened last night.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, hearing the tiredness in her voice.

‘You—you startled me. I didn’t expect you…’

‘Really,’ he mocked from the other side of the door. ‘Whom did you expect? It’s late, Maria. If you remember, I told you I wanted to make an early start.’

‘I’ll get dressed. I’ll be down in a moment.’

Charles was already doing full justice to his breakfast when she arrived downstairs. He raised his brows when she slipped into the chair across from him, his expression oddly impassive.

‘You slept well?’ he enquired coolly.

‘Eventually,’ Maria answered quietly, focusing her attention on the food the innkeeper’s wife placed in
front of her and pouring coffee into a mug. She took a sip of the steaming beverage gratefully. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I was more tired than I thought.’

Charles wished he could have let her rest a little longer. But there was no help for it. They must press on if they were to reach Calais that day.

‘You can sleep in the coach. I promise not to wake you,’ he teased gently.

Maria trembled at the gentle confidence she heard in his smiling voice.

As she climbed into the coach for the final stage of their journey, she found herself alone once more with this man who was beginning to have such a powerful effect on her. She had become a bewildered young woman with an added problem and an upbringing that convinced her that what she had let happen and enjoyed with Charles was unforgivable.

‘Maria,’ Charles said, dragging her from her thoughts. ‘Is something wrong?’

Her eyes flew open and his unfathomable light blue eyes locked on to hers. ‘Wrong? I…’

‘Perhaps you’d like to talk about it?’ he asked calmly. She shook her head. ‘You’re afraid. Is it me you fear, Maria? Or something else?’

The way he spoke her name in his rich deep voice had the same stirring effect on her as the touch of his lips. ‘It—it’s about last night when—when you…’

‘When I kissed you.’

‘Yes, that’s it.’

‘And?’

‘I’m afraid of the things you made me feel,’ she
admitted desperately. ‘I don’t understand them. I—realise that to you this is merely a—a dalliance…’

‘Is that so?’ he teased, a lazy, seductive grin sweeping across his handsome face. ‘And you know that, do you, Maria?’

She swallowed nervously. ‘Do you mean it isn’t?’ Visions of being kissed whenever he felt like it rose to alarming prominence in her mind. Hoping that by speaking in a calm, reasonable voice, rather than heatedly protesting his intentions, she said, ‘It’s not that I’m afraid, it’s just that you shouldn’t have done it. It was quite wrong of you, and I would appreciate it if you refrained from—from doing anything like that in the future.’

With a mixture of amusement and admiration, Charles noted her request. With any other woman, such a request would only add to his determination to taste her response to him again—and Maria was no exception. Of that there was no doubt. Maria hadn’t any notion how much control he had to maintain over himself to keep his hands off her, and if the situation arose again his actions would be exactly the same—and Henry Winston be damned.

‘The kiss was harmless, wasn’t it?’

‘I think so.’

‘Neither of us was hurt, were we?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then, there is no reason why we should mention it again, is there?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Good.’

The coach made rapid progress despite the dreadful condition of the roads—the combination of this and the
badly sprung coach was punishing for both occupants. As dusk began to descend they were approaching the coast. Already Maria could smell the sea and she knew they could not be far from Calais.

They entered the medieval walled town, the wheels of the coach rattling over the cobblestones of the narrow, twisting streets. Reaching the Place d’Armes, the main square of the town, with its thirteenth-century watchtower, they veered off down a side street and Pierre halted the coach outside a small tavern that catered for the fishermen of the town. The doorway was low and a red light shone through greasy curtains.

Climbing out, Charles took Maria firmly by the arm and drew her inside. She found herself in a dimly lit, low-ceilinged room where the atmosphere was like a dense fog, reeking in equal parts of liquor and tobacco smoke. There were sailors and fishermen drinking and talking, some breaking out into ribald shouts as the serving girls passed among them, their hands groping and clasping softly rounded parts.

‘Do we have to stay here?’ Maria whispered, terrified in case someone should reach out and molest her in the same way.

‘Stay close beside me and you’ll come to no harm.’

When his eyes lighted on the newcomers, a man rose from his seat at the far end of the room, hoisting a basket on to his back. Maria gasped when she saw him pushing his way towards them through the fog like some weird and menacing Neptune, for he was the most fearsome man she had ever seen. He was a giant of a man with enormous shoulders and fists like hammers. A battered red-and-green cocked hat sat jauntily sideways on his
pigtailed head and a bushy black beard sprouted from his chin. He had a broad face, a wide, fleshy nose that might have been flattened by a blow at some time, and bloodshot eyes.

‘You’re early,’ the man said to Charles in a deep and powerful gruff voice, dropping the basket at his feet. ‘I didn’t expect you for another day.’

‘We made good progress,’ Charles said coolly, taking the man’s arm and drawing him aside, out of earshot of anyone who might be interested in their conversation, which was doubtful, since most had their eyes fixed on a pretty and extremely well-endowed serving wench as she served them with ale.

‘Did you encounter any trouble?’

‘Only once. It could have been worse.’

‘Never mind. You are here now.’

Charles drew Maria forward. ‘Maria, this is Jaques.’

Jaques pulled his hat off and grinned down at her. ‘Honoured to make your acquaintance,
mademoiselle.
’

‘Madame,’
Charles informed him quietly. ‘For the time it takes us to reach England. Can you take us across tonight? If you can, there will be no need for us to find lodging. I have no desire to remain in Calais kicking my heels indefinitely.’

‘Not till daybreak when the tide’s full. Stay here until the early hours and then come aboard. You won’t be alone. There will be other passengers.’

‘I thought there might be. We’ll be down in the harbour in plenty of time.’

Taken by surprise, Maria gave Charles a startled glance. Was this man expecting them? And if so, how could this be? ‘Charles, there are boats crossing all the time to Dover,
and then there’s the packet. I’m sure we would have no difficulty obtaining passage on one of them.’

‘Jaques brought me out from England. Not wishing to draw attention to myself, I asked him to be here to take me back.’

Maria stared at him in amused amazement. ‘Not draw attention? Charles, have you had a good look at the man? No disrespect to you, Jaques,’ she said, meeting Jaques’s eye, ‘but you can’t help but draw attention. You are the most terrifying individual I have ever seen.’

Jaques looked down at her and laughed out loud at her outspoken honesty, not in the least offended by it—in fact, he was openly amused by it. ‘Worry not, little lady. Appearances aren’t always what they seem. I am but a simple fisherman here to sell my mackerel,’ he said, giving the basket a kick with his foot, ‘and as meek as a lamb and quite harmless.’

Maria gritted her teeth and forced herself to look this fearful new acquaintance in the face. ‘I am obliged to go to England, so I will have to take your word for that.’

‘You may rest assured that my boat is seaworthy. I’ve things to do before we put to sea,’ Jaques said, drawing his bushy eyebrows together and addressing himself to Charles in a low voice. ‘I’d be obliged if you told no one you’re to sail with me on the tide.’

Charles inclined his head gravely. ‘I know better than to do that, Jaques.’

Sticking his hat back on his head at random and hoisting the fish basket on to his shoulder, with a final wave of his hand Jaques headed for the door where he turned and looked back at them. ‘The sea is rough
tonight. I advise you to drink some grog while you wait. It’s pretty cold down in the harbour in the early hours.’

Charles turned to his companion and smiled, aware of her trepidation. ‘Jaques was absolutely right. He really is quite harmless unless provoked.’

‘Are you sure about that? Forgive me if I do not share your opinion, Charles. The man bears a striking resemblance to a pirate.’

Charles chuckled low in his throat. ‘The difference being that he has no eye patch or wooden leg—although I suppose on second thoughts he does bear some resemblance to a pirate in that he is a—gentleman of fortune—as well as being a fisherman.’

Something registered in Maria’s mind and she frowned. ‘These people who are to sail with us? Who are they, Charles, and why the need for secrecy?’

‘Because they are aristocrats,
émigrés
already fleeing the country in fear of their lives. For a price, Jaques is willing to take them to safety in England. It’s a good living in these times. Dangerous, yes, but good.’ He glanced around. ‘Now I have met up with Jaques I can send Pierre on his way—although he will probably remain here for now. Apparently he has family living further along the coast and will be glad of a spell of inactivity.’

Outside the inn they were caught up in a fierce gust of wind bringing with it stinging drops of rain and a strong smell of the sea. After they had said farewell to Pierre they went back inside. After partaking of a dish of steaming mutton, taking Jaques’s advice Charles ordered hot rum.

‘Drink some of this. It will be cold on the boat and you’ll be glad of it.’

Maria was not so sure when she eyed the pungent beverage suspiciously. She had never tasted spirits and was on the point of refusing, but Charles bent forwards so that his head almost touched her ear, and he said quietly, ‘Don’t make a fuss, Maria. You’ll get us noticed.’

Bravely Maria swallowed down the hot rum. She gasped and began to cough, which brought a broad smile to Charles’s lips and he slapped her between the shoulder blades, which almost knocked her off her feet.

‘I should have warned you. It takes your breath at first, but it will warm you.’

Maria was coughing too much to reply, but once she got her breath back she discovered that this assertion proved correct. An agreeable warmth infiltrated her body and she found it to her liking. She took another sip, cautiously this time, and seated herself on a settle before the fire to wait until it was time for them to leave.

The deserted harbour under the town walls was just coming to life. Fishing boats were getting ready to leave, and the now-empty fishing baskets heaped on the decks would be brought back filled with plaice and sole, wet and shiny, and granite-coloured crabs.

Jaques’s boat was a small fishing vessel plainly crafted. It looked small and insignificant alongside a brig and two tall-masted frigates, but her very insignificance was a safeguard, as was the single, modest riding light at her masthead.