Helen Dickson (10 page)

‘But—Caroline being of English blood, would they have executed her?’

‘English law would not reach her in France. It’s immaterial to the revolutionaries. Just to serve a member of the aristocracy—in any capacity—is enough to send them to the guillotine. As the Comtesse de Mournier, Caroline would be no exception. Before we parted, Anton made me promise that if I managed to secure my freedom I would go to the convent and take Caroline and their child to safety in England.’

‘He asked that of you—even though he knew you would be risking your life?’

‘I would do it again if I had to.’

‘So that was why you returned to France.’

He nodded. ‘And why I wanted no one to know I was alive for the time being. When the mobs stormed the prisons and I was released early in September, I was in no fit state to wander around France with a vulnerable, heavily pregnant woman—Caroline was not expected to be delivered of her child until mid-September, you understand—and I had no desire, nor was I qualified, to play the part of midwife.’

‘But—I still don’t understand. Caroline is safe now. Why this need for secrecy? Can she not go to her own family in London?’

‘No. For the time being that is out of the question.’ His answer was sharp and final. ‘Roslyn will provide a safe haven for mother and son. While they are here and no one knows their true identity, they will be safe. I have a responsibility towards Caroline and the child. Nothing can make me forget that. But it is Louis I fear for now he has inherited his father’s title. There is someone in France who will not rest until he has eliminated him. He is not safe even in England.’

‘But what difference does all that make now? The old regime is over. The Mournier estate will be forfeited by the republic. And who is this someone you speak of—whose hatred must be so bitter that it can drive him to harm a tiny baby?’

‘Envy is a common enough reason—greed an even bigger one. These are the motives that prompt Jean de Mournier, who is Louis’s cousin, to commit murder. He is a man possessed with fanatical revolutionary ideals—a good republican, who has been spurned by the Mourniers because of it. With Louis out of the way and Jean next in line, when the troubles in France settle down he would have a valid claim to the estate—and no doubt succeed in obtaining it, with promises of sharing the income with his fellow citizens.’

‘Do you know this cousin of Louis’s personally?’

‘I do—unfortunately. In the past, before the revolution, he often visited London in his pursuit of pleasure. But what worries me most is that he was frequently to be seen in the company of Edward Carlyle, and it was for that reason that I considered it wise to keep my return secret for the time being. I wanted nothing to stand in my way of returning to France.

‘And now, should Carlyle find out that Caroline is at
Roslyn when he discovers I am alive, because of our past differences and his desire to avenge himself for being cheated out of all he hoped to possess by marrying you, I have no doubt that he will quickly supply Jean de Mournier with the information.’

Laura paled and stared at him, while she absorbed the shock of what Lucas had said. ‘It would appear you are swimming in dangerous waters, Lucas, for by the sound of it you are up against two pretty ruthless characters. But I don’t ever recall Edward mentioning Jean de Mournier to me. Do you think he will come to England looking for Louis?’

Lucas nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘I am certain of it. When I collected Caroline from the convent I was told that already someone fitting Jean’s description had been asking questions. It is essential that both she and Louis are kept safe until they can return to France one day.’

‘But it may be years before it is safe for émigrés to go back. And, besides, Caroline may not want to.’

‘You may be right, but the Chateau de Mournier still belongs to Louis. No one can dispute that, and I mean to abide by my promise to Anton and see him restored to his rightful home.’

The promise Lucas had made was a good enough reason, Laura thought as resentment and anger flared inside her, but on recalling the conversation she’d had with Caroline earlier she was unwilling to accept the young woman’s presence at the manor for an indefinite period. She was miserably aware of the cause of her anger, and it shamed her that she should feel a screaming jealousy of the woman Lucas might have married but for her.

‘So, you are to provide Caroline and her child with a suitable haven from a worrisome relative. And—am I to understand that they are to stay here until France has settled her problems and they can go home?’

‘For the present.’ Lucas stared at her hard, his expression
wary and grim, his eyes narrowed as he studied her with an unnerving intensity. ‘Do I detect a hint of sarcasm in your remark, Laura?’

‘Only if you choose to,’ she replied. She held his stare with a gleam of battle in her eyes, knowing that even as she spoke she was being selfish, that she was handling this all wrong, and that it was because she loved him that made such bitter jealousy twist her heart.

Even with the distance of six yards between them, she saw the tenseness in her husband’s face and manner. A moment of strained silence passed, a silence inhabited by the living presence of the fire, the scent of wood filling the hall. And then she sighed, fighting the conflict raging through her with a wistful smile. ‘I’m sorry. I’m tired. Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear.’

‘Then perhaps you should,’ Lucas remarked coldly. The rigid muscles of his jaw showed his anger clearly. It would have done credit to an executioner. His face was still, but his eyes were a brilliant, quite dangerous colour of silver.

‘Lucas—I am sorry. All this has come as something of a shock.’

‘I can understand that, but I cannot understand your irritation,’ he said, raking his hand through his hair in agitation. ‘Your objections are unseemly and misplaced. I believe you do not understand the trauma Caroline has been through. She has lost her home, her husband, and she fears she might lose her child. I promised Anton I would take care of her, and as my wife you have certain obligations to me to assist me in this.’

Laura stiffened. ‘Obligations? Is that how you see it?’ Her eyes began to snap and her jaw clenched wilfully.

‘That is what marriage is about. I shall expect your cooperation in all this—for Caroline’s sake if not for mine.’

‘Naturally, I should be glad to be of service to her.’

‘Service? Laura, you are not a servant.’

‘No, I’m not—and I hope you will remember that in the days ahead.’

She glared at him. Her wits had been well flayed throughout the past six days, and her skin had hardened too much to absorb this verbal attack. Lucas was so completely assured in his masculine world that he could have his own way in whichever way he chose, however painful she might find it. No doubt he considered she had played lady of the manor for too long, and now he had returned her wishes were unimportant.

As he looked at her Lucas understood in full measure what all this would mean to Laura, and it raised his pity, but it did not temper his manner. ‘Caroline and Louis are here and here they stay, until the time comes when it is safe for them to go to their family in London. So for the time being they are our guests and will be treated as such.’

‘I may have many faults, Lucas, but disrespectful and rude I am not,’ Laura flared, infuriated by his imperious tone. ‘Do you imagine me to be so heartless that I would treat a woman who is a guest in this house, who has been through what Caroline has, with such discourtesy?’

Lucas’s brows drew together, and his eyes were bright with anger. ‘I hope not. At this moment Caroline and Louis are more important than anything else. What is happening in France is a disaster of incalculable consequences. Louis and children like him represent the salvation of that country. It is imperative that he is kept safe. He belongs to a family that has played a large part in the proud history of France, a family that is steeped in the history and tradition of that country.’

In three long strides he closed the distance separating them. His body was rigid, as if he was holding himself very much in check, and for the first time she saw how strained he looked, as if he, too, had been through a terrible ordeal these past six days.

‘France will never be the same again,’ he went on. ‘I
know that, and no doubt when the time comes a claim will have to be made in the French courts with proof of Louis’s identity. But no matter how long it takes, I will not renege on my promise to Anton. I will continue to safeguard his son’s inheritance—with my life, if need be. So if you can find it in your heart to spare some moments each day to spend with Caroline, I am sure she will be most grateful.’

There was an edge to his voice that stopped Laura in any further heated discussion about Caroline. She felt incredibly tired and confused, and in no mood to do battle with her irate husband. Turning from her, he went towards the stairs, pausing and looking back when she spoke.

‘You’re wrong, Lucas. I do understand, and I did not mean to sound as if I do not want Caroline here—indeed I did not. Far from wresting you from your promise to Anton, I shall do everything I can to assist you.’

Lucas sensed that the fight had gone out of her, but her expression remained antagonistic. However, he could see the pain behind the defiance in her dark eyes, and his anger cooled. Stiffly he nodded his thanks and turned from her once more.

Laura followed his tall, powerful form with her gaze until he had disappeared into the darkness at the top of the stairs. Her expression was wistful, her yearning for him written all over her face.

Wearily she returned to Caroline and the child, relieved to find them still sleeping. She looked down at Louis; such a small scrap of a thing, with his cheek resting on his tiny fist, he was blissfully unaware of the battle raging round him. Restlessly she moved to the window. Turning back the curtain, she peered down into the cove. The night was dark, the moon hidden behind thick cloud, but she could still make out the tiny, ghostly figures moving about. She was painfully aware of what was taking place, fear and some instinct making her close the curtain and step back.

Other, unseen eyes were observing the activities in the cove. Lucas stood in the darkness of the turret room, looking down. He could make out the shape of a vessel out in the bay, and the black figures moving quickly about the water’s edge as they concentrated on their night’s work—men from Roslyn and various parts of the district, who banded together on nights such as this. Tinners, who had a reputation for violence and lawlessness equal to that of the man who organised them, were joined by others of menial occupations. They were mostly poor men, who were the beneficiaries of smuggled goods.

Smuggling to them meant the difference between subsistence and near-starvation. After nights such as this their tables could boast an illicit bottle of French brandy, there being none finer, only to be afforded by the nobles in their rich houses.

Lucas watched them work quickly and methodically, knowing they did so under the supervision of Edward Carlyle. They carried the contraband up the beach to the packhorses and wagons waiting in the shadows, which slipped away swiftly and silently over the moor. It would be taken across the Tamar into Devon and, by carefully planned stages, find its way to London and the wealthy men’s tables.

Not until the work was done did Lucas turn away. His face was set and grim, with a deadly glitter in his grey eyes. Carlyle was in for a rude awakening if he thought he could go on smuggling on such a grand scale. Edward Carlyle might have got the better of him once, but he would not beat him again. Lucas vowed that he would see him hang from a rope’s end before he was done.

A
fter a sleepless night and feeling a great need to be by herself and to feel the wind on her cheeks, Laura, enveloped in her cloak, left Caroline and Louis in the capable hands of Mrs Treneer, and went down to the cove. The wind was gusty and blew with velocity and strength. The noise of the huge crested waves as they curled over and broke in bewildering confusion against the needle-like rocks in the bay and the curve of the land, bursting into plumes of white foam, was deafening.

There was no evidence to be seen of the night’s activities, the tide having removed all trace. Laura breathed in deep gulps of cold air, glad to feel the wind as it caught hold of her hair and whipped it wildly about her face. She watched the noisy gulls planing over the cliffs, and the thick bank of cloud, black and menacing, rolling in from the sea.

Feeling utterly miserable, bewildered and alone, she thought of the situation back at the house. For the first time ever she was beginning to regret her marriage to Lucas. Caroline had not loved Anton, so why had she married him? Was it because Lucas was no longer free, that the field was no longer open to her? Lucas hadn’t wanted to marry her, Laura, that was true, but there had been no way
out. She sighed dejectedly, kicking at the wet sand and pebbles with her shoes. What had happened had not been her fault, so why did she feel such a burden of guilt?

With these thoughts tormenting her she walked along the water’s edge, the wind buffeting her from all sides. Pausing for a moment, she stared dreamily at the turbulent sea, telling herself that whatever had happened two years ago was in the past and it would be unwise to probe into it. In doing so she was in danger of reviving an old relationship, and if she wasn’t careful she could very well drive Lucas back into Caroline’s arms.

With the sound of the wind filling her ears, she was not aware of Edward’s approach until he spoke, startling her out of her wits. She spun round, then gave a sharp exclamation. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘This is indeed an unexpected and pleasant honour,’ he drawled. ‘Since you declined to see me at the manor, I decided it was time to seek you elsewhere.’

‘What do you want?’ Laura enquired tersely, unaware of just how lovely she looked, with her colour whipped high and her hair curling riotously in the wind. Edward was dressed soberly, a black hat pulled down low over his brow and his coat collar turned up to shield him from the wind. There was a whiteness about his tense lips that bespoke anger and intolerance.

‘To speak to you,’ he said in answer to her question, having to raise his voice over the howling of the wind.

In truth, his curiosity had been pricked as to the identity of the man and woman who had arrived on the vessel during the night. Émigrés, possibly, escaping persecution in France. The appearance of Laura and John Treneer told him they were expected, but the fact that the man and woman had come direct to Roslyn Cove under cover of darkness made the whole incident suspicious.

‘I know you often come down to the cove early,’ he went on, ‘so I waited, hoping to see you.’

‘I have nothing to say to you, Edward, so please go,’ Laura said, forcing the words to her lips, hating the smile that twisted his mouth.

‘But I have something to say to you. I hope that now you’ve had time to think about us, Laura, you are in a more reasonable frame of mind,’ Edward said, for he didn’t believe she wouldn’t marry him, and thought that she would come to her senses.

‘Reasonable? You have the most astonishing effrontery,’ she gasped, her face as cold and hard as marble. His airy tone whipped up her anger. Suddenly his attractive, insolent face maddened her beyond bearing. ‘And there is no
us
any longer.’

‘If you are going to tell me again that you don’t want to marry me, don’t. I don’t want to hear it. I have no intention of freeing you from your obligations.’

‘Please don’t persist with this, Edward.’

‘You must admit it is a tribute to my fondness of you.’

Laura glared at him. She hated him now—the smile on his lips, the glint in his eyes. ‘Fond? That is a large admission from you. The fact that you covet my fortune does not constitute the greatest bond of affection in the world.’

She eyed him with contemptible distaste. Undeniably handsome he might be, and yet the soul that animated these looks was a chilling quagmire of deceit and wickedness, a desperate mire of selfishness and greed. She knew that now. It was a soul its owner would readily sell for a handful of gold. And to think she had promised to be his wife!

Laura turned to walk away, but with brutal force Edward’s hand shot out and gripped her arm, spinning her round to face him. Fear almost stopped her heart.

‘In the name of God, Edward! Let me go,’ she cried vehemently, wrenching her arm from his grip. ‘I meant what I said. You and I are finished. I no longer feel anything for you—and what I did feel was not strong enough to base a marriage on. Nor will I unite myself to a man
who flouts the law at every tide. I know things about you now that I did not when I agreed to be your wife, otherwise I would never have allowed you near me let alone considered your proposal of marriage. It is no game you are playing. It is a deadly serious business. What you do is illegal, and I will not be associated with such practices. Smuggling does not interest me, and now, more than ever, I intend to keep clear of it.’

Edward’s eyes narrowed menacingly. Throughout his life he had adopted the role that most suited his ends, and the life of a successful, much feared smuggler, an adventurer, appealed to his vanity. He had become involved as a youth, and his success had intoxicated him, making him want more. He knew how to negotiate the best bargains with the French, and how to make those beneath him tremble and dance to his tune.

Laura’s revulsion for his trade angered him, causing the muscles in his cheeks to tense as his gloved hand gripped the riding crop he carried. When he spoke his voice was vicious. ‘I flout the law, as you so charmingly put it, because the mine does not provide me with a living, and I could not endure the poverty in which I would have to live without my other activities, which, as you have seen for yourself, are highly lucrative and allow me to live with all the comforts of a rich man. Riches and power are the only true source of happiness. Can you really imagine me saving and scrimping and becoming threadbare?’

‘No,’ Laura replied coldly, her look one of complete disdain. ‘I can’t.’

Edward’s expression became hard with purpose. ‘With our combined assets we will be the envy of every noble in London. So you will do as I tell you,’ he hissed.

Her rejection had brought alive in him an obscure menace Laura had never seen before, and his spiteful smile chilled her to the bone. Speaking of money had narrowed
his eyes to thin slits. His face was flushed, and she saw for the first time how deeply his greed for riches affected him.

‘Everything could be so different if you ceased being foolish,’ he said.

‘And you less vile,’ she countered cuttingly. A sudden gust of wind snatched the words from her lips, but she was angry and battled on. ‘You really are quite devious, aren’t you, Edward? If you think I am made of the same stuff as you and your friends, you are mistaken,’ she said, having to shout to make herself heard. ‘You’ve changed. I’m beginning to see you for what you are. Under your fine looks you are a self-centred, arrogant and cold opportunist. What happened to all that charm I saw when you were so anxious to marry me? How stupid you must have thought me. Deep down I always knew it was my wealth you wanted, not me.’

‘Nevertheless, you agreed to be my wife, and I will not release you from your promise.’

‘If I had any hope that you might feel anything for me at all, that would have taught me,’ she retorted bitterly, feeling her face go hot with anger. ‘What do I have to do? Do I have to give you what you want or you will hurt me? Is that what you are saying? What a poor creature you are. You insult me, Edward, by making me the object of your game. You want me less than my possessions—my husband’s possessions, I must point out. How it must gall you to realise you cannot enjoy his fortune.

‘Everything was going so well for you, wasn’t it? But, you see, what I haven’t told you is that I couldn’t marry you now even if I wanted to. If I did I would most likely be condemned to the nearest lock-up for bigamy.’ To her horror, realising what she’d disclosed, Laura fell silent, immediately regretting her outspoken remark uttered in the heat of the moment. All Edward’s attention was riveted on her, and she knew he would not let what she had said pass.

‘What the hell do you mean by that?’

Suddenly a shadow appeared on the sand behind Edward. Laura started violently, and stared at the tall figure of her husband, blinking nervously at him, wondering where he had come from, and why she hadn’t seen him approach when she had her back to the sea.

When Lucas had seen Laura walking alone on the beach from his turret-room window, he had suddenly become driven by a desire to make amends for his harsh words of the previous night. Taking a route from the manor to the caves known only to himself and John, he had hurried down to speak to her. He was none too pleased to discover that someone else had beaten him to it, and when he saw who that someone was his anger had taken hold like an impatient stallion.

From a distance he had seen Carlyle grasp Laura’s arm, and the sight had sent every colourful oath he could think of running through his mind. Carlyle was a violent man, and a dangerous one, and from now on Lucas would make sure that his wife was far removed from him.

‘Behold, Edward Carlyle!’ Lucas said coldly. ‘Blackguard, thief and murderer.’

Something in the voice penetrated Edward’s consciousness, turning him ice-cold. The voice was that of Lucas Mawgan.

The voice of a ghost.

He spun round to stare up into glacial silver eyes. Taken wholly by surprise, he lost all the colour from his face, and it was obvious that he was wary—if not a little afraid—of the man he now faced. Now he fully understood what had been behind Laura’s remark. Lucas Mawgan’s face of strikingly fine dark features was set as hard as the granite of the surrounding rocks, and looked as dangerous.

‘You!’ Edward gasped. His white face was convulsed by a spasm of violent rage, his eyes bulging at this revelation. He was deeply shocked to discover that, after all his efforts to get rid of him, Lucas Mawgan was still alive.

‘Surprised, Carlyle? Afraid? You should be,’ Lucas ground out, a murderous expression on his face. ‘And if you ever lay a hand on my wife again, by God you will regret it. I have never killed anyone in cold blood,’ he stated. ‘But then, I have never been so tempted before.’

Looking into that harsh, sinister face, and the eyes, glittering and alive with rage, that were boring into Edward’s, Laura fully believed he could, and would, do it. Relief that he had come and something like fear were etched on her face, but they had no softening effect on her husband. Clenching his jaw so tightly that a muscle jerked in the side of his cheek, he addressed her coldly.

‘You shouldn’t be down here. Return to the house.’

Laura’s eyes flamed with revolt at being dismissed like a naughty child. ‘But I—’

Lucas’s jaw tightened at this final piece of defiance. ‘You’re trying my patience,’ he warned in a silky, ominous voice. ‘Go.’

Frustrated by his commanding tone, Laura clenched her fists. She glared at him as their eyes parried for supremacy in a silent battle of unspoken challenge. She was the one who looked down first, and without further argument she swivelled on her heels and headed back to the manor.

Edward was struggling to control his manic fury as he watched her go. Something about Mawgan’s personality made him feel at a disadvantage, which was a unique experience for a man accustomed to unquestioning obedience and servility from all those around him. Standing barely three feet apart, the two men measured each other like two terriers. Not until Laura was out of earshot did Edward speak, having had a moment to recollect himself.

‘Thief and murderer, you called me. These are serious crimes you accuse me of, Mawgan, which cannot be acted upon without proof.’

‘I have all the proof I need, Carlyle,’ Lucas said, ‘and I will act when and how I choose. I ought to kill you now,
for what you and your murderous band did on the night you butchered a boatload of men and two women and left me for dead. It’s no more than you deserve. The behaviour of the lot of you was that of uncivilised barbarians.’

‘Then do it,’ Edward sneered, his eyes glaring murderously at the other man. ‘Kill me, if that’s what you want. But just remember you’ll hang for it. And what will your widow do then?’

Despite the consequences of succumbing to such a violent action, Lucas was sorely tempted. He thought what a pleasure it would be to slowly strangle the life out of Carlyle, as his had been strangled over the last two years. But there were more ways than one of skinning a cat. The revenge he would eventually take would be small compared to the enormity of Carlyle’s crime against him, but nevertheless it would be within the law and bring him satisfaction.

His mind flashed back to the night the boat that had been bringing himself, half a dozen émigrés and a cargo of contraband to England had been attacked and boarded by Carlyle and his men to capture her cargo a few miles out from Le Havre. No one had been more astonished than he on seeing his neighbour. Brandishing a pistol, Carlyle had worn the delirious smile of a man possessed and exalted by what he knew he was about to gain. When everyone on board had been slain and he himself knocked senseless and thrown into the sea, the smugglers had removed the cargo and scuppered the boat, never thinking anyone would survive.

‘When I sank that lugger, I should have stayed to make sure you didn’t resurface. Dead men tell no tales—isn’t that what they say?’

‘True, and that was your mistake. In this instance three of us survived.’ Lucas smiled thinly when Edward looked at him sharply. ‘Yes, Carlyle. There are three of us to incriminate you and your men.’ Lucas knew the other two
survivors had died, one aboard the French ship that had rescued them, and the other who had made it to tell his tale in London had been fatally wounded in a tavern brawl months ago, but Carlyle wasn’t to know that. Let him sweat a bit longer.