“Impatient again.”
“Do stop throwing my heedless youth in my face.”
“I liked it.”
He had, too. It occurred to him that his love was rooted in the Laura he’d known until her marriage. That he hadn’t disapproved of her then, even if he’d teased.
She frowned slightly. “Do you like me less now?” “Devil take it, Laura, don’t take me up on every word. I like you now. I liked you then.”
I didn’t like you when you were married to Gardeyne
. But he managed not to say that.
“Good. And,” she added, “there’s no reason not to go out now to look for boats through a telescope. Dinner can be held.”
“It’s almost dark.”
She grinned at him. “We’re impractical landlubbers. The local people will only laugh at us.”
He found himself smiling back. It was exactly what the Laura of his youth would have said. “Then let’s go and amuse them.”
They headed out again, pausing to tell a servant that they would dine in fifteen minutes. Stephen could feel Laura’s excitement bubbling beside him. Unfortunately, his baser nature translated it into another context.
As they headed into the wind, down onto the pebbly beach, he knew she would be a magnificent lover. That bit like shark’s teeth, because she must have been a magnificent lover to Hal Gardeyne.
As they crunched close to the rippling waves, she held her bonnet in place and raised her face to the wind, reveling in the sensual elements.
“I don’t think Cousin Priscilla would do that,” he warned.
“It’s the latest medical advice. To inhale the vigor of the wind off the sea.” She turned an invigorated smile on him. “It’s wonderful here, isn’t it? I’ve only been to the sea at Brighton, and it’s so busy there. Here it’s more elemental.”
The breeze pressed her clothing against her body. He didn’t need that to know that it was lovely. Her breasts looked soft, as if she wasn’t wearing a corset. The sight didn’t help his sanity. Her mind was on nature, however, not on him, so he tuned his senses to hers. “The sound of the sea on the shore is a complex music, isn’t it?”
She was back to inhaling, eyes closed. “Exciting and soothing at the same time. It’s as if nothing terrible could happen by the sound of the sea.”
People die in the sound of the sea
, he thought, but he didn’t want to spoil her pleasure.
“Yet the sea can be brutal,” she continued. “It can smash and kill, as with the
Mary Woodside
. I wonder how many died then.”
It was as if she’d picked up his feelings. Or, he thought with hope, as if their minds were more in tune than he’d thought.
She turned to him. “You’re very quiet, my friend.”
Friend
.
“Appreciating everything around.”
She looked around, missing his meaning. “Some of the inn windows are lit. We might see something. Where’s the spyglass?”
He took the telescope out of its case, wondering if the damn woman really felt nothing but the magic of the sea and the intensity of her purpose. “To have an excuse to look at the inn, we’d better pretend to admire the ships out there first. Here, you can be the idiot.”
Her laughter danced on the wind. “Very well. Give it to me.”
She dutifully studied the distant bobbing lights. “Do you think we could see France in daylight?”
“I doubt it. My turn.” He took the spyglass and turned it on the inn.
“That’s not fair. I thought we were supposed to pretend.”
“We’ve pretended.”
“Cheat. So what do you see?” She pressed close, as if she could share the view piece.
Devil take it. He could hardly keep the telescope steady as he scanned across windows. “That’s one of their rooms, but the curtains are down.” He could feel her warm breath on his jaw. “Ah!”
“What?”
“Their parlor curtains are open.”
“So what do you see? Talk, Stephen, talk! Or let me have the glass.”
He couldn’t help but grin. “I see Farouk in his blue turban, standing, bowing slightly over the other man, who is sitting down.”
“Dyer is described as sickly. What does he look like?”
“His back’s to the window. Lightish brown hair.”
“Let me see.”
She gripped his wrist and tugged. Her touch, even through gloves, sent such a jolt of raw desire through him that he froze. It was that or grab her into his arms, tumble her down onto the beach, even.
Damnation, he’d never expected this to be so challenging. He’d never expected the fire to burn so fiercely. He was a man of the mind, wasn’t he?
Not the slightest damn bit.
She seized the glass from his hand, stepped apart, and put it to her eye. He watched her. He couldn’t not do so, but at the moment she was unlikely to catch him at it.
A hint of light from the inn and other buildings sketched in her perfect profile, which curls and cream could not distort. Straight nose, but just a little short. Lips full and slightly parted with concentration. Neat, determined chin.
“Farouk’s moving around,” she said. “There could be a child there, out of sight. . . . Oh, no, he’s lowering the curtain.”
She turned to give him the spyglass. “I had quite a good view of Farouk, but we’ve seen him, so we achieved nothing.”
“To solve everything within hours is too much to expect.”
“But we can hope.” He heard a smile in it as she turned back to face the wind and sea.
Over time, the most wrought emotions have to mellow. As Stephen slid the glass back into its case, he felt surprisingly content to be here in the clean wind, soothed by sea music, with Laura at his side.
“If Dyer is a cripple, he can’t be a henchman,” she said. “So we have only Farouk to deal with.”
“We?”
She turned to him. “I will have my part in this.”
“It could turn dangerous.”
“I gave you no permission to protect me.”
“I need none. A gentleman does not let a lady fall into danger.”
“So a gentleman automatically takes command?”
“Yes.”
He could sense rather than see her frown. “You forget our past.”
“I remember it all too well. You were always recklessly impulsive.”
“And you have become intolerably stuffy!”
“Adult.”
“Timid with age!”
Something snapped. He pulled her close and kissed her, quickly, but hard. When he let her go, he said, “I am not so aged as that.”
Her eyes were huge, but in the darkness, he couldn’t read her reaction at all. He had probably just destroyed any chance he had.
“So I see,” she said, and turned to walk back to the inn.
Chapter 24
Darkness, Laura thought, was a friend to the embarrassed and the confused. In daylight, who knows what Stephen might have seen? She certainly didn’t. She didn’t know her own feelings.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. What did it mean when a man kissed a woman in anger? What would have happened if she’d kissed him back?
To the music of the sea rolling rhythmically against the beach and the crunch of feet—his and hers—through pebbles, she made herself accept that to kiss him back would have been disaster. She didn’t even know this man. She hardly knew herself. She’d thought the young, wild Laura past and done with, but now she danced inside her like a possessing imp.
By the time they arrived at the sanctuary of the inn, she could face the light. She had no idea what to say, but as she hoped, Stephen didn’t refer to what had happened. All the same, when Topham popped out of a room, it was a huge relief.
“Sir Stephen, Mrs. Penfold, I want to assure you that Mr. Farouk has created no problems in the week he has been here.”
“It was something of a shock to my poor cousin,” Stephen said haughtily. “Her nerves are not of the best.”
Laura tried to look frail and fearful when at this moment, fresh from sea air and that kiss, she felt anything but.
Topham wrung his hands at her. “I assure you, ma’am, that you have nothing to worry about.”
“So alarming. After all,” she added, dropping her voice to a whisper, “Mr. Farouk cannot be a Christian.”
“Alas, I fear you are correct, ma’am, but I assure you he behaves like one.”
As they seemed to have a perfect opportunity for more questions, Laura asked, “And his employer? What sort of man is he?”
“An English officer!” Topham said triumphantly. “Sadly frail, but an Englishman born and bred. Been in the India service, I gather.”
“Frail, you say? Elderly, then?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. Quite young. Very sad. A war injury, I suppose. His man had to carry him up to his rooms, our ground-floor ones being already taken.”
“Oh, the poor man. I do hope Mr. Farouk takes him out to enjoy the sea air. After just two short strolls, I am feeling much restored.”
“I rejoice, ma’am,” said Topham, beaming. “I’m sure Captain Dyer would be well advised to do the same, but thus far he has remained in his room.”
Laura hid dismay. That would make things much more difficult.
“And doctors?” she asked, deciding that it would be useful to establish Mrs. Penfold as intolerably nosy. “Does he see excellent doctors?”
“Again, ma’am, not so far.”
Laura couldn’t resist a glance at Stephen. Surely a genuinely sick man would consult a doctor.
“But if you need medical advice,” the innkeeper went on, “permit me to suggest Dr. Nesbitt. A most excellent physician and a particular favorite of the ladies.”
“Thank you. So kind,” Laura fluttered, then added, “Do you think poor Captain Dyer might want company? My cousin and I would be happy to take tea with him.”
Topham bowed. “You are the soul of kindness, Mrs. Penfold. I will suggest it to Mr. Farouk, though I must warn you that Captain Dyer has not entertained whilst he’s been here. Your dinner is ready, sir, ma’am, as soon as you wish it.”
“Serve it, then,” Stephen said, and offered Laura his arm.
She placed her gloved hand on his sleeve and they went up the stairs. For the first time, she was nervous to be going into a private room with Stephen, but he acted as if that kiss had never happened.
Very well. If he could act that way, so could she.
“It may be harder to encounter Dyer than we thought,” she said as she stripped off her leather gloves.
“But his staying in his rooms fits with him being a prisoner.”
“So he could be HG! Or if there is a child, someone must stay with him.”
“I doubt they could have a child here with no one aware of it.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
He said nothing else so she escaped to her bedchamber, where she tore off her dull bonnet with a degree of rage. She didn’t understand him, she hardly understood herself, and this matter of HG was likely to be a great deal more difficult than they’d thought. What were they going to do if Dyer remained closeted in his room? How were they to compare him to the portrait?
She puffed out a breath and commanded herself to be sensible. Or at least patient. They’d only been here a matter of hours. She checked her appearance—
Perish it! Perhaps she’d stop looking in mirrors for the duration.
Laura returned to the parlor, where Stephen was leaning on the mantelpiece, staring into the fire. He looked up with a slight, impersonal smile. Some lingering hopes she’d not really been aware of popped like soap bubbles.
“I’ve been considering what we know,” he said. “Dyer’s apparent frailty might be because he was drugged or bound.”
“But unless he’s kept drugged at all times, wouldn’t he cry for help?”
“Then perhaps he’s kept drugged at all times.” She considered it. “That might make rescue difficult. Someone will have to carry him.”
“As Farouk apparently carried him up to his room, I should be able to do the same. He and I are of a similar build, I think.”
She considered his physique, which was no penance. “Yes, so do I.” Both men were lithe but strong. Farouk was probably wider in the shoulders, but not by much.
She began to pace the room. “Do you think there’s any chance they’ll accept the invitation to meet? It would solve everything. Probably not,” she answered herself.
“Especially,” he said dryly, “if Dyer is HG tied to his chair.”
He was looking at her strangely.
“Was that a bad idea?” she asked. “To suggest tea? They have no reason to suspect us.”
He moved away from the fireplace. “It was an excellent idea. Just what a kindhearted lady would do, not to mention a nosy one. But be careful. Keep in mind that Dyer could be both confined to a chair and part of the plot, which is a simple attempt to fleece money from Lord Caldfort.” After a moment, he added, “I don’t want you taking risks, Laura, or letting your hopes rise too high.”
She bit back an instinctive protest. “I know.”
Their dinner arrived then, which was a relief. When the servants left and they sat to the meal, Laura became aware of a new discomfort.
A meal for two, she thought, serving oxtail soup. How very matrimonial—except that she couldn’t remember ever sitting to such a meal with Hal. Whenever they were at Caldfort, his parents, and often others, ate with them. Elsewhere, they’d rarely eaten at home. Only when they were playing host to others, in fact. It made this simple meal at a small table awkward, especially with that fierce yet impersonal kiss still ignored between them.
“So,” she said, when she’d consumed half her soup, “what do we do tomorrow?”
He smiled. “Tomorrow is Sunday, so as a Member of Parliament and a respectable widow, we go to church. It’s always possible that Captain Dyer will be God-fearing, too, but if not, there should be opportunity to gossip.”
She found herself smiling back. “Of course! Draycombe is bound to be in a ferment about a heathen in their midst. And the smuggler is coming to lunch. He will have much to tell us.”