The Return of Lord Conistone (28 page)

‘Verena—’ It was almost a growl, from the pit of his being. He used his powerful arms to support his weight as his mouth found hers. Their tongues twined and, as he began to thrust, she matched his every move. Her whole body was centred on the power and strength of his manhood driving primitively, deeply within her, bringing her nearer and nearer to exquisite extremity. She clenched herself around him, holding herself quite still for a single breathtaking moment.

Then she was over the edge.

She was crying out, again and again, as the sheer, wondrous waves of pleasure cascaded through her, and ecstasy
exploded in every sensitised nerve ending of her body. He was with her, riding her, deep within her until she felt him, too, explode, spilling his seed. He lay shuddering, sweat-sheened, against her.

Afterwards he drew her very close, pulling her on to her side, facing him. He kissed her damp skin, her throat, her lips, almost with reverence, letting his fingers trail down the soft curve of her cheek and throat. ‘Oh, Verena. I was so afraid of you knowing the truth. Of losing you’.

‘I understand it all now,’ she told him softly. ‘Everything you did was to save me from knowing that my father was a traitor. You’ve done so much for me, Lucas. But why?’

‘Because I love you. Surely I’ve convinced you of that?’ He kissed her with tenderness. ‘I wanted—no, I
needed
your love in return’.

And she’d given it. So freely.

Then he kissed her again, sweet and long, and held her close, until she slept in his arms. And he wondered, his thoughts dark again, how in God’s name was he going to tell her—everything else?

S
ome hours later, Lucas Conistone eased himself away from Verena very carefully and got dressed again.

He left her sleeping in the tiny cabin, lulled by the now-gentle motion of the waves, and went out on deck as dawn was breaking. Lucas knew this coast well. Yesterday they had rounded the north-west cape of Spain, and now to the south-east he could see the twinkling harbour lights of Oporto and the Portuguese coast in the distance.

Captain Brooks, the grey morning light starkly revealing a complexion raddled by drink and debauchery, was strutting towards him, grinning. Lucas had longed to knock the living daylights out of him since first boarding his ship. But he’d needed this passage to Portugal, couldn’t delay the delivery of the vital information he’d got.

‘We’ll be in sight of Lisbon in less than two days, Mr Patterson,’ said Jed Brooks. He still stank of port. ‘Worth the six guineas, was she, the little wench with chestnut hair? Damned fiery, I should think, beneath that demure exterior. I’d wager she danced a merry jig for you as you shafted her—had her squealing for more, did you?’

The ship rolled suddenly. Lucas, pretending to miss his footing, deliberately lurched sideways to jab the man forcefully in the guts with his elbow. As Brooks doubled over with pain, Lucas lifted one eyebrow in feigned apology. ‘So very sorry,’ he drawled. ‘Not got my sea legs yet, Captain’.

Captain Brooks was still swearing softly and clutching his arms over his belly. ‘Aye, well, Mr Patterson,’ he muttered, ‘you’ll be glad when we get to Lisbon, eh? We all will. Then I’ll be off back to good old England’.

‘Indeed,’ said Lucas politely. ‘I hope you have a—fruitful voyage home, Captain. Profitable, I mean’.

Captain Brooks’s colour deepened. ‘I appreciate your good wishes, sir! It’s been a pleasure having you aboard, gentry like you. And not a word now, to the Customs men, eh, about the fine brandy I’ll be taking back to Portsmouth?’ He mopped his brow with a dirty rag of a handkerchief and gave an ugly wink.

Lucas, his long coat trailing half-open in the breeze, leaned his back against the guard rail, folded his muscular arms across his chest and smiled, though his hooded eyes were still dangerous. ‘Not a word,’ he echoed lightly, ‘as long as you put me, the girl I bought last night and my servant off at Oporto. You see, Lisbon doesn’t quite suit me after all’.

The Captain scowled. ‘Oporto be damned. Lisbon’s my destination!’

‘A pity, Captain. I must say I expected you to be more—accommodating’. Lucas slipped back his coat further, to reveal the two gleaming pistols thrust into his belt.

‘By God, sir, are you trying to threaten me? ‘

Lucas raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. Suddenly Bentinck appeared, too, and in his bulky hand was
an equally fierce-looking blunderbuss. ‘Everything all fit and fancy, Mr Patterson—sir?’

‘Everything’s fit and fancy,’ answered Lucas. ‘Captain Brooks has kindly agreed to set us down at Oporto’.

Bentinck grinned. ‘That’s very generous of ‘im, Mr Patterson, ain’t it now?’

Captain Brooks strode away, angrily muttering under his breath.

Lucas watched him go, frowning. Bentinck hovered; his master, unhelpful, turned to rest his arms silently on the guardrail, gazing at the long grey line of the distant coast. Bentinck coughed. No response.

Bentinck said, ‘Oporto?’

‘It will save days in my travelling time. I must get inland to Lord Wellington and the army as a matter of urgency’.

‘And the girl?’

‘She can take a ship for England from Oporto—with
you
, Bentinck—and be back there safely considerably earlier than if she went on to Lisbon’.

‘Very well, milord. Now, I know you’ll be crucifyin’ yourself, what with her learning the truth about her father—’

Lucas turned to him, his eyes hooded. ‘Thanks to you, if you remember’.

‘Yes, but it was about time she knew it an’ all, milord,’ Bentinck softly exploded, ‘instead of blamin’ you for the whole buffle-headed mess!’

Lucas was silent a moment. ‘She loved him, Bentinck’.

Bentinck pulled down the corners of his mouth in a fierce scowl. ‘He didn’t deserve her love, that’s for sure. But she’s accepted the truth from you? That he was goin’ to sell the British army out to the Frenchies?’

‘I didn’t put it quite as crudely as that. Her world has been overturned. But she’s accepted it as the truth, yes’.

‘And the rest of it, milord? What did she say when you told her everything else?’ Bentinck pushed on remorselessly. ‘The very worst of it?’

Lucas was gazing out to sea again, his fine lips firmly pressed together.

Bentinck swore aloud. ‘You
haven’t
told her, have you? Beg pardon, milord, but you do realise there’ll be all hell to pay when she does find out?’

Lucas turned on him. Though his face was still calm, his eyes darkened to the opaque steely grey that signalled danger. ‘Then I very much hope that
you
won’t be the one to tell her, Bentinck’.

‘Of course not, milord!’ Bentinck said indignantly. ‘What do you take me for, some kind of snitch? But I’m blowed if—’

Lucas cut in. ‘Since our obliging Captain will shortly be taking his ship into Oporto,’ he said softly, ‘it’s time for us to get ready. And—Bentinck—kindly leave Miss Sheldon to me, will you?’

* * *

Oporto amazed Verena, with its colour and bustle. There was little sign here of the war that raged across Europe, as the native Portuguese went about their daily business of fishing and trading around this busy harbour where the River Douro flowed into the sea.

But Lucas warned her, as they alighted from the
Goldfinch’s
boat, that French spies could be anywhere, and that the small British presence here might soon have to be pulled out. For all military resources, he explained, were being concentrated on the race for the much more important city of Lisbon, nearly two hundred miles to the south.

Lucas left her briefly with Bentinck while he went to see the British military attaché. When he returned, he sent
Bentinck off to secure Verena a suitable passage home and quietly told her the news.

‘So far Wellington is ahead of the French. But before the final push for Lisbon, he intends to make a stand in the hills above Coimbra, to slow down the enemy pursuit. He’s planned his route, and this resistance, for months, Verena; his victory very much depends on knowing the terrain’.

She concentrated on every word. Trying hard, for this last hour with him, not to think how she would miss this man: his sweet and tender kisses, his powerful, breathtaking lovemaking.

The time they’d spent together in that cabin would be for ever etched on her heart. She could finally be sure that this brave and honourable man loved her.

Yet every moment with him was still clouded by the knowledge of what her father had tried to do.

Now, she said, ‘So my father’s maps, Lucas, and those descriptions, in his diary…’

‘Will be vital,’ he assured her gravely. ‘No one mapped this country as well as your father did. I’m getting the diary to Lord Wellington as soon as possible’.

And going once more into danger. But it was all part of who he was, how he lived. And she loved him all the more for it.

She must show courage too. She voiced now the thoughts she’d had earlier, as she waited for him, with Bentinck.

‘Lucas, couldn’t the British army come down here, to Oporto? Why go all the way to Lisbon?’

‘Because Lisbon is Portugal’s capital and its heart. It has a vital harbour, and all of it is at this moment being fortified to withstand a long French siege. Wellington knows he’ll draw the French army after him, but it’s intentional. Alongside our Portuguese allies, he can hold the city indefinitely, because he can get reinforcements and supplies by
sea. From there his army can march out again, to retake first Portugal, then Spain. A few months ago, Napoleon looked set to conquer all of Europe, Britain included; but Wellington is the one man who can stop him’.

And her father would have betrayed all of Wellington’s army, and his own country.…

‘Lucas,’ she whispered, ‘how many people know about my father?’

‘Very few,’ he assured her. ‘Like me, they are men who work in secret. They will say nothing’. He put a finger under her chin and tilted up her head so her eyes met his. ‘You must always remember your father was a desperate man, his mind twisted by his misfortunes. Now Bentinck will be back very soon. Are you ready to go,
querida?’

He was glad to see that some colour had returned to her cheeks. ‘Only because I have to,’ she whispered. She put her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his chest, then looked up into his ardent, handsome face. So dear to her. So precious. ‘Lucas. I can only hope some day to be worthy of
your
love.
Your
trust’.

‘You have proved yourself so already,’ he interrupted her, and kissed her sweetly, lingeringly. ‘Come. It’s time to take you to your ship’.

Bentinck, by some miracle, had found a merchant ship sailing for Portsmouth on the afternoon tide. He and Lucas briefly discussed the details, then Bentinck tactfully withdrew.

‘No Captain Brooks, I trust?’ She said it lightly to Lucas, but a shiver rippled through her.

‘No Captain Brooks’. Lucas looked down at her, smiling. ‘Bentinck informs me there are quite a few respectable passengers aboard this one. You will travel in relative comfort’.

‘I would rather travel aboard a complete wreck of a ship,
if you were there to share my cabin,’ she said softly. ‘I will miss you, Lucas’.

‘And I you. I will be back soon. And then…’ he took her hand and pressed it to his lips ‘.…we will be married’.

‘At the Wycherley church!’ she said suddenly, her face alight. ‘Oh, I can see it now! With all the villagers there, and simple flowers from the fields and hedgerows—there will be dancing on the green—’

‘And you will be my harvest bride’. He kissed her tenderly. ‘My amber-eyed harvest maiden’.

Verena stood a moment, looking her last on the scenic city of Oporto and at the steep and hilly country beyond it, which Lucas would shortly be ascending. ‘Do you know, Lucas, where you’ll find Lord Wellington?’

‘Roughly, yes. The attaché told me he’s going to make a stand with his army on the ridge of Busaco’.

She nodded. ‘Busaco’. The name sounded somehow familiar.

‘Have you heard of it?’ His expression was suddenly intent.

‘Isn’t it mentioned in my father’s diary?’

‘No. I’ve read it from cover to cover’.

‘Then I must have imagined it. I’m sorry’.

He sighed a little, then took her hand and brushed it with his lips. ‘No matter. No matter at all. Come,
meu amor
. There is your ship’.

Though the vessel would not be sailing for two hours, she was allowed to board, and she knew Lucas must be eager to set off. She smiled back, though she hated, now, being parted from him for a moment. ‘I will think of you all the time,’ she breathed. ‘Goodbye, Lucas’.

He took her hands. ‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘Always remember that’. Then he tipped her face up towards his and bent to kiss her.

The touch of his lips against hers was sweet beyond bearing. Suddenly she flung her arms around his neck, drinking in the male strength of him, the warmth of his hard body against hers. ‘Lucas! Come back safely!’ she whispered desperately.

Then Bentinck was behind them, clearing his throat with unaccustomed tact, ready to escort her onto the ship back to England. To reality. Pippa and the servants—they would be half-crazy with worry. At least she could rely on Pippa to have the good sense not to have told her mother in London. She watched Lucas until he was out of sight.