The Wolf's Promise (20 page)

A log collapsed, hissing in the hearth and he turned his head sharply towards the sound.

‘Who's there?' he demanded fiercely—but nobody answered.

At last his rigid muscles relaxed and he pushed himself up onto his knees, groping clumsily around him. He was in a strange room. He had no idea where any of the furniture was, or what obstacles lay before him.

His hand encountered a shard of glass, and he snatched it back. He had lost his spectacles in the fall and now they were broken, crushed by the heavy globe. His finger was cut and he sucked it painfully, a bitter, childish wreck of a once proud man.

But his pride would not allow him to remain huddled on the floor. They would come back, and he must be ready. He would get out of here—and then he would destroy the smugglers' whelp-turned-upstart shipowner.

He felt about more cautiously, and crawled across the floor until he bumped into the edge of a chair. He hauled himself up into it and dragged in several rasping breaths. His white hair was dishevelled, but his tragic, livid face was as set and unyielding as a teak mask.

Angelica ran blindly across the lawn, stumbling over her skirts in her unthinking attempt to get away from her father. She tripped and fell headlong, lying among the broken daffodils beneath an old oak tree. She'd been winded by the fall, and she made no effort to get up again. She rested her head on her arms and drew in deep, shuddering breaths.

Her father's unforgiving, uncontrollable rage had torn her apart. She hated to see him like this—a tragic mockery
of his former self. Sometimes she thought it would have been better if he had died when the carriage overturned.

She closed her eyes, trying to calm her churning emotions, and slowly became aware of the sharp smell of broken daffodil stems beneath her arms. She could feel the damp grass beneath her cheek, and there was a robin singing a liquid melody in the branches of the oak tree above her. It all seemed quite unreal to her.

She didn't hear Benoît's footsteps, but she was instantly aware of his presence beside her. She didn't raise her head, but she felt his hand on her shoulder, then he lifted her to her feet.

She looked up at him, her eyes large and hollow in her pale face. He returned her gaze quietly, profound, penetrating concern in his dark eyes. She was dimly aware of the tension in his lean body, but she was too preoccupied by her own feelings to pay much attention to his.

‘I keep hoping things will get better,' she said wearily. ‘But they won't, will they? The Papa I used to know has gone. You were right. He
was
a fine man. But now…' Her voice trailed away into hopelessness.

‘Now he's had to endure more than three helpless days of worrying about you,' said Benoît, almost matter-of-factly.

Angelica was jolted out of her gathering despair by his unexpected comment.

‘Are you blaming
me
for what happened?' she demanded, in surprised disbelief.

‘No,' he said immediately. ‘Come and sit down.'

Angelica resisted his guiding hand. She was staring at him with doubt, and a hint of rebellion, in her blue eyes.

‘I wasn't criticising you,' he said quietly. ‘I don't believe you have anything to reproach yourself with.'

‘How generous of you!' Angelica snapped, swinging away from him, her latent anger with her father finding a ready outlet. ‘
You
are not the arbiter of my conduct. You have no
idea—
' She broke off abruptly, biting her lip.

She hadn't cried earlier, but now she felt close to tears.

Benoît looked at her searchingly.

‘No, I don't,' he replied, more curtly than he usually spoke. ‘Despite what you'd said, I wasn't prepared for such a profound change in the Earl. Are such episodes commonplace?'

‘Not…exactly,' said Angelica unsteadily, turning slightly away from Benoît.

She reached out and touched the rough bark of the tree trunk, almost as if she was seeking comfort from its solidity.

After a moment Benoît covered her hand with his. She felt the warm pressure of his fingers and looked up, blinking back her tears.

‘He
hates
his blindness,' she said, her words tumbling over each other as she finally voiced her anguish. ‘He
hates
his helplessness, and he
loathes
being dependent on others. He has become cruel and vengeful. He lashes out at the slightest provocation. He's had more than a dozen valets since his accident! Poor Mr Hargreaves—' She broke off, her voice strangled by a sob.

‘We'll worry about poor Mr Hargreaves later,' said Benoît firmly. ‘Does he lash out at you?'

‘Sometimes. Never like today.' Her voice caught on a sob as she struggled not to burst into tears. ‘Perhaps he's right. I
was
a coward when I didn't tell him myself I was coming—but I couldn't face an argument with him.'

‘Harry's safety was your priority,' said Benoît reasonably. ‘You can't blame yourself for putting his interests first. You've put your father first for a long time.'

‘He
needed
me,' she said brokenly.

She looked up at Benoît, her pain and sense of betrayal nakedly exposed in her blue, tearfilled eyes.

She had tried so hard to take care of the Earl since his accident. She had turned her back on her own life and friends when he'd made it plain he didn't want strangers around him. She had endured his impatience and lack of gratitude without complaint and in the end she had been desperate for Harry to return home to them.

Harry was always jolly and lively. Harry could cheer anyone up. She had pinned her hopes on the possibility that he might be able to conjure Lord Ellewood out of his black, despairing moods. She was miserably aware of her own failure to do so.

But now her love and devotion had been rewarded by anger and cruel recriminations. Her father's rage had been out of all proportion with her offence. How could he have accused her of such dreadful things? He'd even said he was
glad
he could no longer see her!

She could hear still hear his grating voice as he heaped reproaches on her stricken head.

Liar… Coward… Not worthy of the name you bear.

Was that what he really
believed?

‘How
can
he not know I did it for his sake, as well as Harry's?' she whispered bitterly. ‘I've never been disloyal to him.
Never!
I thought—if only Harry came home…I knew it couldn't go on. It's been so…
killing!
'

‘Yes, I see,' said Benoît slowly. ‘What are you going to do now?'

‘What do you mean?' Angelica swung round to face him, a startled question in her eyes as she wondered if he was retracting his earlier words in the library. ‘You said…'

‘And I meant it,' Benoît assured her softly. ‘Although I hadn't intended to raise the subject in such a blunt way.' He paused, looking down at her with quiet intensity and she felt her heart skip a beat. ‘Will you marry me, Angelica?' he asked, his voice very deep.

She gazed up into his warm brown eyes, seeing in them the love and support which she needed so much. She had never dreamt that he would propose to her under such circumstances. The joy and excitement she had anticipated feeling at this moment were inevitably muted by the situation—but not her love for Benoît. The burden of anxiety she had been carrying for so long seemed to grow lighter as she realised how willing he was to share it with her. She sighed with deeply felt happiness.

‘Yes,' she said simply. ‘Oh, yes. I will.'

Benoît smiled, his usually guarded eyes blazing with triumphant love. He reached out to take her in his arms and she felt the tension leave his lean body. She suddenly realised how difficult he must have found the scene in the library. His debt to the Earl and his desire to protect her from Lord Ellewood's anger must have torn him in two different directions—just as Lord Ellewood's black moods had been tearing her apart for so long.

She put her arms around him and hugged him fiercely, thanking him wordlessly for his understanding, his love and his support. His hold on her tightened, and for a moment she was content to stand within the circle of his embrace—but she could not forget her father, still waiting in the house. Until she had achieved some kind of reconciliation with Lord Ellewood she could not truly contemplate the future.

‘What do you want to do?' Benoît asked at last.

‘I don't know.' Angelica lifted her head and looked at him, seeing from his expression how well he understood her conflicting emotions. ‘I'm not sure if I can face talking to Papa again right now,' she admitted with bleak honesty.

‘He travelled all the way from London to find you,' Benoît reminded her gently. ‘You said yourself he'd never left the house before—'

‘Because he was
angry
with me!' Angelica interrupted bitterly. ‘I'd hoped it wasn't so, but—'

‘He was also afraid for you,' Benoît reminded her. ‘His first words were to ask if you were safe. He's had no choice but confront his handicap these past few days,
mon aimée,
and that can't have been easy for him. I don't imagine he's had much sleep since you left either. When he's had time to calm down, you may find he's much more rational.'

‘Perhaps.' Angelica bit her lip irresolutely.

She knew that there was probably a great deal of truth in what Benoît said; but she still felt hurt, betrayed and disappointed. There had been too many times when Lord Ellewood had spoken crossly to her when she'd only been trying to help. Too many times when he'd taken his frustration out on those around him, and she'd been helpless to intervene. Mr Hargreaves was only the last of a long line of people who'd suffered from the Earl's lack of tolerance.

All the small, daily frustrations and disillusionments of the past eighteen months melded together to create a core of revolt in her heart. She didn't want to go back to her father—to apologise, explain and try to make amends. She was tried of trying. It was his turn now.

She looked back at Benoît and he read her thoughts in her unguarded, almost defiant blue eyes.

She didn't have to go back to see the Earl if she didn't want to. She no longer had to explain anything to her father—and she could be as stubborn as Lord Ellewood when she chose.

Benoît smiled faintly.

‘I've noticed a distinct family resemblance between you before,' he remarked dryly. ‘If I were in your shoes,
mon amour,
I would feel angry and resentful—and very hurt. But it may still be worth trying to talk to him.'

Angelica sighed, glancing towards the house, wondering
what her father was doing now. She knew Benoît was right. She had to try to make peace with the Earl. If she didn't, she would never forgive herself.

‘Yes, I know,' she said. ‘I'll talk to him.' There'd never really been any question that she would do so, but she'd needed a few minutes to collect her courage and her resolution. ‘I was so surprised and pleased when you told me he'd left London,' she added, with resolute optimism. ‘Perhaps things
will
be different now.'

The Earl didn't know how long he'd been sitting in the library when he heard low voices in the hall. He had experienced a frightening kaleidoscope of emotions during his long, dark isolation, but now he was bored and impatient. He was used to being obeyed instantly—being ignored was a new experience.

He couldn't leave the library because he wasn't prepared to go stumbling around a strange house, his helplessness plain for everyone to see—but he hated not knowing what was going on. He didn't know where Angelica was. He didn't know what Benoît was doing and his volatile temper had begun to stir again.

He turned his head as the door opened.

‘Who's there?' he demanded fiercely.

‘Henry!
Old friend!
' Sir William strode across the room and seized the Earl's hand before Lord Ellewood could react. ‘I'm so glad I haven't missed you. I came as soon as I heard you were here!'

He shook the Earl's hand warmly between both of his. The pleasure in his voice was unmistakable. If he was shocked by his old friend's appearance his cordial tones didn't betray it.

‘William?' said Lord Ellewood, almost tentatively. He had forgotten Benoît's reference to the magistrate and he was taken completely by surprise by Sir William's arrival.

‘“Blunderbuss Billy”, more like!' Sir William gave a crack of self-deprecating laughter. ‘Dammit! I was sorry to hear about Harry—though it sounds as if he's more than a chip off the old block. Gave the Frogs a good run for their money by all accounts!'

He pulled up a chair beside the Earl and sat down.

‘How do you know about Harry?' Lord Ellewood demanded, frowning.

‘Angelica told me. By George she's turned into a fine young woman,' said Sir William enthusiastically. ‘Gave me a rare dressing-down for trying to discuss family business in public. I had no idea you knew young Faulkener. If anyone can get Harry out of France, he can!'

The Earl bit back a hasty retort. He wanted to deny all knowledge of Benoît, but he had sufficient control of his temper to realise that it wouldn't be wise. Whatever Angelica had been doing in Sussex over the past three days, she had been with Benoît Faulkener. It would not do her reputation any good if her father publicly denounced him.

‘I met him several years ago,' he said shortly. ‘Where did you see Angelica?'

‘At the inn, in Littlehampton,' Sir William replied, sounding surprised. ‘It's a pity you didn't send her to me, she would have been much more comfortable waiting for Adam at the Manor.
That
was a surprise, by God! I thought the boy was dead! You needn't worry about him though. I've got him safe at the Manor—and no Froggie agents will have a chance to pig-stick him there.'