‘Are you living here?’ Harriette demanded, realising that she would never get her cousin to admit his fault.
‘No, of course not.’ His head tilted quizzically, considering his words. ‘You mean, the Tower Room, I suppose. I
have
spent some hours there. It was necessary to light the lamp.’
‘Wiggins is perfectly capable of following orders.’
‘As he did.’ The slightest frown between his brows. ‘You’re very suspicious suddenly. Have you lost your taste for smuggling? Do you no longer trust me?’ His sharp glance swept her face.
Perhaps she was making too much of it all. Harriette sighed, feeling no inclination to argue with her cousin and set herself to make amends. ‘Forgive me. It’s just that I didn’t expect to find the goods quite so—obvious.’
‘It’ll be moved tonight, I promise.’
‘I don’t want it to happen again, Zan.’
His expressive brows rose. ‘And what has happened to put you in so bad a frame of mind? Have you quarrelled again with the noble Earl?’
Pain struck her heart anew. ‘No.’ She would not, could not talk about it.
Alexander kissed her cheek, patted her hand where it lay on his arm. ‘Come on, then. Let’s sample a glass of our Gentlemen’s endeavours and you can tell me why you’re here and how long you intend to stay. I knew you’d come back. Venmore’s not the man for you, you know. We’ll run the contraband together again. You and me, just as it was.’
But as she retraced her steps back into the Pride, Harriette decided that she would not tell Alexander too much, just enough to keep him satisfied. Why should she have to explain why she had returned to her own home? Furthermore she did not believe him that the contraband had been hastily stored in open view through necessity and false alarm. There was more than one consignment here. If her suspicions were true, this was part of a planned campaign.
So why not push the issue? Too tired, too wary of Alexander’s flippant mood, Harriette chose careful retreat, at the same time damning herself as a coward. But now she was back she would put it all to rights.
It would take her mind off Luke.
Although one of Alexander’s accusations had hit home. Smuggling and contraband had lost their interest for her.
Even so, it would be good to take
Lydyard’s Ghost
out and let the wind and sea obliterate her sorrow.
What was Luke doing now? Would he miss her? Harriette doubted it.
With a glass of brandy at his elbow and a pen in hand, Luke tried unsuccessfully to banish Harriette from his mind and concentrate on the necessity of his being in Port Les Villets in three days’ time, at noon.
Lydyard’s Ghost!
The image of the smart cutter swam into his mind. It could be the answer to all his problems after all. He tried to imagine what Harriette would say if he asked her to launch it for him and allow him to sail to France.
He could imagine all too well!
His uneasy musings were interrupted by Adam’s arrival. Luke considered telling his brother to go to the devil, but one look at his face dried the words on his tongue. The boy looked uneasy, his hand white-knuckled on the library door as if unsure whether to enter or retreat, and it struck Luke that he has spent little time in—well, how long?—in paying any attention to his younger brother. On the other hand this was not the best time for Luke to have to deal with some youthful prank that had gone awry. So he would put him off.
‘Adam? Did you want me? I’m too busy at the moment unless it’s urgent.’
‘It is. Or so I think. Whether you’ll tell me, I’ve no idea.’ Adam scowled, tight-lipped. ‘You’re always too busy.’
Arrested by the tone, Luke eyed his brother. His face was set in mutinous lines, an unexpected and entirely unusual snap of anger in his eyes. ‘What should I tell you?’ he asked carefully.
‘Whatever’s going on that you’re keeping from me.’
‘I’m not sure I understand…’
‘Yes, you do.’ Adam advanced. ‘
Something’s
going on. I’ve waited, hoping you would take me into your confidence, but you won’t. And where’s Harriette? Harriette’s been gone for days and you haven’t said where, or when she’ll be back. What’s going on, Luke?’
‘Ah…’ Taken aback at Adam’s vehemence and uncanny accuracy, Luke was lost for a suitable explanation.
Adam seemed not to notice. ‘And now I’m accosted by some foreign ruffian, on my own doorstep would you believe, embroiled in God knows what. Is it spying, Luke? Is that it? I can’t believe it of you, but…’
Luke breathed out slowly. Where should he start? How little could he say?
‘Why won’t you talk to me, Luke?’ Adam demanded, dragging up a chair and leaning his elbows on the desk before him. ‘You’re too damned unapproachable! I’m not a child to be cosseted or fobbed off. I’ve kept silent this far because it’s as plain as day you’re in trouble, but I can’t any longer. And don’t tell me I’m too young!’
With a sigh, Luke rose from his chair, poured another glass of brandy and handed it to the young brother who had suddenly grown up without his noticing.
Adam took the glass, but did not drink or let up on his attack. ‘Are you going to tell me? Where’s Harriette?’
Recognising the inevitable, admiring the courage that it must have taken for Adam to challenge him in this manner, Luke resumed his seat. It was all true. He had been taciturn, withdrawn, often unavailable, something he must put to rights. His lips curved in sardonic contempt. ‘Yes,’ he replied bluntly, facing his demons. ‘I’ve already lost Harriette. I daren’t push my brother away, as well.’
‘Harriette? Lost her?’ Adam stared at Luke’s face. ‘She’s
left
you?’
Unable to sit, Luke put down his glass, to stand at the uncurtained window, to look down unseeingly into the dark of the Square. ‘She’s gone back to Lydyard’s Pride.’ He fought to keep the announcement flatly unemotional. Instead it sounded bleak and final.
‘She couldn’t stomach the secrecy, either, I suppose?’
‘No.’ There was nothing else to say. And then he remembered and swung to face Adam. ‘You said you were accosted on the doorstep. Who stopped you?’
‘I’ve no idea. A man was waiting in the Square. He watched me, and followed me until he saw me about to open the door. He stopped me on the steps.’ Adam hesitated. ‘I think he might have been French by his accent. He said I must give this to you—and only you.’ He held out a twist of paper. ‘What’s going on, Luke?’
Without answering, Luke opened it. Then clenched his fist over it, crushing it.
‘This changes everything.’
‘Who’s it from?’ Adam demanded.
Luke looked across, reading the new lines of cynicism in his brother’s face and relented because he had run out of options. ‘Well, you wanted to know, so here’s the truth. This is what your honourable brother is involved in. The note is from a French prisoner of war called Captain Henri, a man who broke his parole and whom I helped to escape back to France.’ Then watched as the look of horror crept over Adam’s face.
‘You didn’t! You helped a Frenchman on parole to escape?’
‘I did.’
‘For God’s sake, Luke!’ Now Adam was on his feet
again. ‘Are you out of your mind? Are you indeed in league with the enemy? I would have denied it with my last breath, but—’
‘Yes, I helped a French Captain to escape,’ Luke broke in. Suddenly he was desperately weary of the whole affair. He picked up his own forgotten glass of brandy and drank deeply.
‘Luke!’ Adam was aghast. ‘You would help them? When Marcus was killed by a French bullet?’ Then, seeing the pain in Luke’s eyes, ‘What does Captain Henri say that’s so important to you? And I warn you, I’m not leaving this room until you tell me what’s going on.’
‘Adam…’
‘I’m your brother, and if you’re in trouble, then you can’t expect me not to want to help, can you? I know I’m not Marcus—’ his voice almost broke ‘—but I’m as old as he was when he joined the Hussars. I’m old enough to play my role in whatever
this
is.’
‘I know you’re not Marcus,’ Luke replied gently. ‘You are a man in your own right.’ It was just another wound in Luke’s heart that he had not taken Adam’s loss into account, and had played his hand so badly in this game. Unable to think of any argument against it, Luke sat his brother down, another glass of brandy to hand for both of them, and told him all.
Before retiring for the night, Luke ordered up the curricle for the next morning. What does Captain Henri say? Adam had asked. It was the faintest light on the horizon, contained in that one brief note. It might make his subterfuge all worthwhile.
Jean-Jacques Noir was not to be found in Port Les Villets as he had stipulated for the meeting. Instead he was putting up at the inn in Port St Martin. It seemed that Monsieur Noir was planning another wild goose chase to
lure the Earl of Venmore and his guineas to France, another ambush.
But Port St Martin might just be the key to turn the lock. Because Port St Martin was the base of Harriette’s French smuggling connections. Harriette could get him there, without Noir being aware of it. And she could get him out again.
But to achieve that, Luke would have to tell her the whole, abandon all his pride, all his so-called good reasons for carrying this burden on his own shoulders, and ask her for her help. It meant his using Harriette, where previously he had refused to involve her in something so redolent of deceit and treachery. It would also mean that he must trust her, perhaps with his own life, and with that of an innocent young woman whose future happiness rested in his hands.
What about Harriette’s own life? Would you so cavalierly put that in danger?
Luke trod the stairs to his room, wishing he would not find it empty. No, he would never put Harriette’s life in danger. He might consider stepping into a trap himself, because his conscience demanded it. He might risk his own life, he might fail to rescue Marie-Claude de la Roche. The whole outcome was uncertain and shadowed in doubt. But of one fact he was adamant. Harriette’s life must not be risked. The thought that she might be hurt in any way was more than he could tolerate.
‘Will she do it?’ Adam had asked.
‘I don’t know.’ It was a harsh admission. ‘I don’t deserve that she should believe me or come to my aid. I have not treated her well.’
For his pride and his intransigence, Harriette would be justified in consigning him with a few well-chosen words to the devil. He could only hope that she would be mag
nanimous enough to listen to his offer, an offer he would make to her in return for her help. He detested it, it would bring him no happiness—nor did he deserve that it should—but it must be done. Need, sharp and edgy, to hold Harriette in his arms and heal her hurts, crawled under his skin, but Luke knew that he must make amends and give her what she desired, whatever the cost to himself.
H
arriette climbed the steep cliff path to Lydyard’s Pride, enjoying the freedom of loose jacket, boots and breeches. To dress à la mode was impossible if she wished to launch the cutter, with a hand to sails and tiller. She smiled grimly—the blue taffeta with its ribbons and delicate lace would just not
do
as, with Gabriel Gadie’s help, she had sailed
Lydyard’s Ghost
across the bay and along the coast, glorying in it, with no one to watch or criticise or question her actions.
What would Luke say if he saw her…?
Abruptly she turned her thoughts away, watching a pair of kittiwakes diving and tumbling together in the stiff breeze. It was nearly a week now, since she had left Grosvenor Square. Which had been entirely her own choice, so how could she not accept the consequences of her action? If she had ever harboured any secret longing that Luke might come to find her, they had long since died. Harriette shrugged her shoulders under the rough cloth of the jacket, as if she could dislodge its weight and the weight from her heart. The moisture on her cheek owed nothing to the
sharp cold as the wind buffeted and tugged at her garments, or to the spray from the rocks below.
Harriette entered the house through the kitchen quarters where Wiggins, enjoying a glass of port at his mistress’s expense, struggled to his feet in consternation and Jenny, blushing, dropped a rapid curtsy. She continued along the corridor towards the entrance hall, pulling off her cap to shake free her hair.
‘Harriette!’
She halted, suddenly breathless, at the voice. ‘Adam?’
He loped forwards, as full of easy confidence as if he were greeting her at Grosvenor Square, to salute her cheek. ‘You look windblown.’ He chuckled, eyes alight with mischief. ‘And
different
! Shall I admit it? I didn’t truly believe you when you told me you were a smuggler. Now I do! Will you let me sail with you in your cutter?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ve been…But what are
you
doing here?’
‘I brought him.’
Luke
.
At the sound of his unmistakable voice, cool, smoothly confident, devastatingly attractive, Harriette’s breath caught in her lungs, her heart leapt with a dazzling rush of sensation. It seemed to her that all the blood drained from her skin to leave her cold and shaky. Even her bones felt brittle. Slowly, she turned to face him as he walked towards her. And saw immediately that his habitual air of self-assurance was not as firm as she had expected. There was a tension in him. A wariness, an uncertainty.
But then all she could see was the familiar elegant figure clad in a superbly fashionable blue coat and well-cut breeches. His boots were polished to perfection, but no
darker or more polished than the rich dark hair, black as a raven on the cliffs. Harriette allowed her gaze to travel over the austerely handsome features. The many-caped greatcoat that bushed his heels, drawing her attention to the height and breadth of the man who had haunted her dreams and her waking hours. His presence filled the room, as he filled every one of her senses. How could this have happened in so short a time? A month ago she had not even known him.
I know you
, was all she could think.
I know your touch, your taste
.