The Wolf's Promise (6 page)

‘I don't believe you,' she said flatly.

He laughed aloud, an unexpectedly full-bodied sound which only served to strengthen the image of piracy in her mind. She had a confused image of him standing on a quarterdeck, a cutlass in his hand, as his crew boarded a helpless merchantman.

‘You're the second person to call me a liar this morning!' he remarked. ‘Now Sir William knows I'm so lacking in the honourable qualities of a gentleman that I'm unlikely to call him to book for his words—but what about you, my lady? I can't
call
you out, but I could
turn
you out. Oh, no,
you're leaving anyway so that threat lacks force. How would
you
suggest I obtain satisfaction?'

A familiar, slow smile played on his lips, and the challenging gleam in his dark eyes was very evident now. He was standing relaxed, yet poised, and there was no mistaking the provocative way in which his gaze lingered on her eyes, her hair and her rosy lips.

She gazed back at him, her blue eyes wide and questioning, her lips parted slightly in surprise. She had tried to convince herself that she had misinterpreted what had happened earlier; but the fiery spark of intimacy she had sensed between them in the dining room was even stronger now—and this time there was no maid to interrupt them.

Despite her attempt to remain cool and detached, Angelica's heart beat out an uncontrollable rhythm of excitement. Men had flirted with her before, but never like this—if Benoît was flirting. He had not uttered a single elegant compliment. But she could feel the virile power of his personality, even across the few feet of empty space which separated them. It half-frightened her, but it also made her blood sing.

She had spent the whole of her life comparing other men to her father—and none of them had ever measured up to him. She didn't know whether Benoît was a smuggler, though he was certainly involved in some shady business; he might even be a French spy—but dealing with him could never be boring.

She turned slightly away from him, resting her fingers
gently on a large globe. She'd finally recovered her self-possession, and it was time he learnt that she couldn't be overawed by a quick tongue and a bold look. She was the Earl of Ellewood's daughter—not a giggling chambermaid.

‘I don't know, sir,' she said lightly. ‘I believe, in an affair of honour, it is the gentleman who receives the challenge who has the choice of weapons, is it not?'

‘Are you suggesting you have already challenged me, my lady?' Benoît raised one quizzical black eyebrow. ‘I thought it was the other way around.'

‘Is it?' She paused, her hand poised delicately just above the globe, a faint smile on her lips. ‘In that case, I will choose no weapons and thus you will have no opportunity to show me your mettle.'

‘A very feminine solution to the problem,' he retorted. ‘It ensures that you can accuse me of any dark deed you wish, secure in the knowledge that if I dispute your interpretation, you will refuse to pick up my gage.'

‘If you were a gentleman…'

‘But we have already established that I am not.'

‘…you would not contradict a lady's opinion,' Angelica concluded serenely.

‘But think how insulted you would feel if I were foolish enough to imply that you are incapable of understanding complex ideas,' he retaliated. ‘I've made that mistake once already, my lady.'

‘So you have.'

With a quick flick of her wrist, Angelica set the globe
spinning. Oceans and continents flashed beneath her hand, merging into each other as the world revolved.

She had a giddy feeling that she had set much more in motion this morning than she fully realised. She didn't know how to stop it and she didn't know if she wanted to do so. She hadn't realised just how frustrated she had become with the enclosed life she'd led for the past eighteen months.

Benoît reached past her and stilled the globe with a deft touch.

‘I've always had an ambition to circumnavigate the world, but perhaps not at quite such a breakneck speed,' he observed dryly.

‘You mean you haven't already done so!' Angelica exclaimed in mock amazement, seizing gratefully on the change of topic.

‘Not yet. As I believe I've mentioned several times, I've been earning a living. But one day I fully intend to sail in the wake of Vasco de Gama.' Benoît turned the globe slowly beneath his hands, lightly tracing his planned course over the surface of the polished wood.

Angelica glanced at his face. For a few moments his features were in repose, neither challenging nor concealing anything. His eyes rested on the world as if he thought it was a wondrous place—and life an endless adventure.

She looked at the picture on the chimney breast and wondered, a little wistfully, if she would ever have the opportunity to see the colours of that glowing world with her own eyes. Harry had, and she knew her father had, but it had
never occurred to the Earl to tell her about them—and now he was blind.

Benoît reached over and picked up a letter from the desk. He offered it to her.

‘This is for your father,' he prompted her, when she didn't immediately take it.

‘What does it say?' she asked, receiving it rather reluctantly and noticing that it was already sealed.

‘My lady!' Benoît exclaimed. ‘Do you make a habit of enquiring into other people's private correspondence?'

‘Papa will ask me to read it to him, I might as well know what it says now,' Angelica replied, a dull note in her voice.

Some of the brightness seemed to have gone out of the day. Ahead of her lay only a weary journey back to London, an unpleasant interview with her father explaining what she'd done—and then a long wait to find out if Harry really would be be rescued.

‘That's his privilege,' Benoît agreed, unperturbed. ‘He sent me a letter and I have replied directly to him. That's my privilege. It might also make him feel less humiliated by the situation if he has the opportunity to break my seal himself.'

‘Yes, perhaps,' Angelica replied almost inaudibly. She doubted if her father would appreciate Benoît's tact. He loathed his dependence too much to be consoled by such courteous gestures.

She weighed the letter in her hand, remembering her earlier doubts about Benoît. She found it almost inconceivable
that he might be intending to betray Harry to the French—what good would it do him? The information that Harry wanted to escape was hardly going to be news to his captors. But she did wish he had given her firmer assurance about what he meant to do.

She looked up and found that he was watching her, a half-smile, and perhaps a question, in his eyes.

‘You were right, sir,' she said slowly, ‘it was a very tiring journey yesterday. It's lucky the storm didn't break earlier in the day. We had enough trouble jolting over the ruts and boggy places in the road as it was.'

She went over to the front window, looking out at the driveway and the bobbing, yellow daffodils. There were one or two shallow puddles on the ground, reflecting the blue sky above.

‘I confess, I am a little daunted at the prospect of setting out again so soon,' she said hesitantly, as if reluctant to admit a weakness.

‘Come now, Lady Angelica,' Benoît said bracingly. ‘This doesn't sound like you. What happened to being “equal to your responsibilities”? I'm sure you won't let a little discomfort stand in the way of your duty. Besides, the Earl's carriage is very well upholstered.'

Angelica bit her lip. She disliked intensely the role she had created for herself, but she couldn't think of any better excuse to stay at Holly House another day.

‘I'm sure the journey to London must seem infinitesimal to a man who has sailed halfway round the world,' she said
grittily, ‘but to me it is not so. I do not enjoy having to admit such foolish sensibility to a stranger, but the prospect of climbing into the coach again this morning fills me with horror.'

‘Now that I can believe,' Benoît said appreciatively. ‘It's always best, when telling lies, to stick as close to the truth as possible.'

Angelica swung round indignantly, sparks in her blue eyes.

‘Were you planning to challenge me?' he asked softly, before she could speak. ‘I warn you, my lady, I will pick up the gage.'

He was standing beside the desk with the still vigour which characterised him, simultaneously relaxed yet alert. There was an intelligent, amused understanding in his brown eyes which was very disconcerting.

Angelica hesitated, thinking better of what she'd been going to say. She knew she was on shaky ground. Her own nature would not allow her to play the part of a nervous, vapourish female, even if she wanted to do so; sooner or later she would betray herself.

‘Nevertheless, I would be grateful if you would allow me to intrude upon you another night,' she said, as serenely as she could. ‘If the weather remains dry the roads will be in much better condition tomorrow. It will be easier for the horses.'

‘Of course, we must consider the horses,' Benoît agreed smoothly, a gleam in his eye. ‘But how long will the Earl tolerate the absence of his daughter? I should hate to have Sir William come storming in here accusing me of kidnap
ping you. He might suspect me of trying to hold the Earl to ransom for your safe return.'

Angelica gasped. Not once, in all the time she since had decided to deliver her father's letter herself, had that possibility occurred to her.

‘You wouldn't!' she exclaimed, caught between indignation and disbelief.

‘I might, under certain circumstances,' Benoît said reflectively, startling her even further. He smiled at her expression. ‘No, my lady, you're quite safe with me,' he assured her. ‘But I think we might send a message to your father that you're still here. He must be more aware than most of the possibility of accidents on the road.'

Angelica nodded, unable to argue with Benoît's suggestion. For all his black moods, she knew the Earl was probably desperate with worry for her. It upset her that she was causing him so much distress. But it was an unbelievable relief to have escaped briefly from the dark, gloom-enshrouded house in Berkeley Square. One more day could not hurt.

‘I'll tell my mother you are staying while you write a note to the Earl,' said Benoît briskly. ‘Feel free to use the desk. We'll send him my letter at the same time.'

‘Oh…' Angelica wanted to protest, but she couldn't think of an unexceptional way to resist his eminently reasonable suggestion.

‘You will have to curb your curiosity in that respect a while longer,' said Benoît, with dry amusement, removing it neatly from between her fingers. ‘Excuse me, my lady.'

He went out, leaving Angelica alone. She looked around, her eyes drawn once more to the brilliant painting over the fireplace. She was staying for Harry's sake, she told herself. There was a great deal about Benoît Faulkener that still needed investigation before she could finally trust her brother's life to him.

But was there also something here for her? She spun the globe idly, and then noticed for the first time the model of a ship standing alone on its own table. It was beautifully made, with a well-polished hull, delicate spars and intricate rigging. She went over to it, hardly daring to touch it. It was resting on a wooden plinth, but the sails billowed as if it were scudding through the waves, free and unrestrained.

For eighteen months the Earl had rarely left the familiarity of his own home. For the first time she wondered if he would be happier if they travelled; if he could feel the wind on his face even though he could no longer see it bending the trees? It had to be so.

When Harry came home they would
make
Lord Ellewood emerge from his self-made prison. They would take him out so that he could sense the teeming world all around him, and they would
make
him start living again. Because if they didn't, she could not bear to contemplate what the future would be like.

She remembered suddenly that she was supposed to be writing him a note, and hurried back to the desk, half afraid that Benoît would be back before she had finished.

‘W
ell, my lady,' said Benoît, when a messenger had been dispatched with two letters for the Earl, ‘how would you like to spend the day of repose you have won for yourself? In a comfortable chair by the fire—or perhaps you'd rather lie down for a few hours?'

‘You are very considerate, sir,' Angelica replied coolly, trying not to let him provoke her, ‘but I think I could endure a little more activity than that. Perhaps you might permit me to look at some of the books in this well-stocked library.'

Benoît inclined his head politely, an ironic gleam in his eyes.

‘Be my guest,' he said graciously. ‘Are you very fond of reading, my lady? If you tell me your taste, I may be able to select just the thing for you.'

‘I have read a great deal to Papa,' said Angelica.

She wandered over to the nearest shelves, idly running her fingers along the leather spines of the books. Then she
paused, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the shelf as she looked up at the rows and rows of books.

‘You haven't read all these?' she said suspiciously.

‘By no means,' Benoît replied urbanely. ‘Most of them belonged to old Mr Fanshaw, the previous owner. He had very eclectic tastes, not all of which I share. But there are also my father's medical books, and I have added others on subjects which interest me.'

‘The Great Discoverers—the New World?' Angelica guessed, glancing at him for confirmation of her suggestion.

‘Among other things.' Benoît watched, smiling slightly, as Angelica looked back at the shelves.

Her dusky pink gown was more subdued than the blue she had worn the previous evening, but nothing could dim the vivid glory of her hair. Her full-breasted figure radiated energy and a barely contained zest for life. She didn't belong in front of rows of dusty books.

Then she sighed, clearly unaware that she had done so, and Benoît frowned, his eyes narrowing a trifle as he studied her.

Angelica had just realised that she was sick of books and everything they stood for. There had been too many days and nights when she had read endlessly to her father from texts that she didn't understand or that didn't interest her.

Books had become the only substitute for life the Earl was prepared to accept. He was more willing to listen to the words of long-dead philosophers than the voices of old, and once-valued, friends. Angelica turned abruptly away from the shelves.

‘On the other hand,' said Benoît smoothly, before she could speak, ‘if you don't feel too bruised from your journey yesterday, perhaps you might like to explore some of the surrounding countryside.'

Angelica glanced at him, startled and not quite sure of his meaning.

‘I take it you do ride?' he said, lifting an enquiring eyebrow.

‘Of course, but—'

‘Then since this is your first visit to this part of the country, I would be honoured to show you around,' he offered politely.

He spoke in the unexceptional tone of a good host doing his best to entertain a difficult guest, but there was an amused glint in his eyes as if he had read Angelica's mind and knew exactly how she felt about a day spent in the library.

‘The scenery isn't spectacular, but we're quite close to the sea,' he added encouragingly.

‘I know,' Angelica replied dryly, wondering why he always managed to make her feel at a disadvantage.

He grinned, unabashed at her implicit allusion to smuggling.

‘What do you say?' he asked, the challenging light in his eyes almost daring her to decline his offer.

She hesitated, meeting his gaze with fearless, lucid blue eyes. She already knew she was going to go riding with him—it would be far too craven-hearted to refuse his im
plicit challenge—but she couldn't help wondering, briefly, about the propriety of his suggestion. She stifled her conscience with the thought that she was extremely unlikely to meet anyone she knew.

Above all, the prospect of riding freely in the crisp open air was irresistible, and she was suddenly filled with exuberant anticipation. She smiled, her expression lighting up with unexpected radiance, her blue eyes almost dazzling with luminous excitement. She met his gaze without reservation, unaware of the impact her happiness might have on him.

‘I would be delighted, sir,' she said eagerly. ‘Oh!' Her face fell. ‘Unfortunately I didn't foresee the need to bring a riding habit. I'm afraid…'

Benoît had been watching her internal struggle to justify riding with him with an appreciative half-smile. But now he was gazing at her with an arrested expression in his eyes, almost as if he had been taken by surprise by something. He seemed to absorb her last, disappointed words with an effort, but then he responded with his customary competence.

‘I dare say my mother will be able to make good that deficiency,' he said briskly, ringing the bell. ‘I will have a couple of horses saddled and we will set out as soon as you are ready, my lady.'

Angelica had no time to reflect on the wisdom of her decision. Besides, she was too excited at the unexpected treat in store for her to worry overmuch about propriety. She
dressed as quickly as she could in the old-fashioned riding habit Mrs Faulkener lent her, eager to get out of the house and anxious not to keep Benoît waiting.

‘Well, it's not what I like to see you wearing, and it's to be thanked that no one we know will see you in it, but it will do,' said Martha grudgingly, although she was secretly pleased to see the renewed glow of life in Angelica's eyes.

Angelica's preoccupation with her father's problems—and her increasing anxiety about him—had worried Martha. But she had been unable to think of any advice which might help.

‘Oh, Martha, it's fine!' Angelica protested buoyantly, hastily checking her appearance in the mirror.

The riding dress was charcoal grey, severely cut and very plain. It was a trifle too loose around her waist, and it fitted very snugly across her bust, but it was undoubtedly smart. The doctor's wife had had style—still did have, Angelica reflected. There was nothing of the vulgar, provincial housewife about Mrs Faulkener.

Angelica cast one more glance at the mirror and turned to leave the room, but at the last minute she paused. She picked up her reticule and took out the letter from James Corbett, slipping it safely into a concealed pocket in the capacious riding skirts. It was the most valuable thing she possessed, and somehow it seemed to bring her closer to Harry. Besides, if it came to an argument with Benoît about how he was going to rescue her brother, she wanted to have all the facts at her fingertips.

It was wonderful to be outside in the fresh air. There
wasn't much warmth in the March sunshine, but the sky was still a clear blue. The damp cobblestones in the stableyard glistened in the bright morning light and the horses were glossy and sleek. Angelica hadn't been riding for a long time, and she could hardly contain a thrill of anticipation at the prospect ahead of her.

‘It's a beautiful day!' she exclaimed, almost dancing in her sudden light-heartedness.

‘I can't argue with that,' said Benoît more sedately, but smiling at the vivid picture she made in the sunlight. ‘This is Billy,' he added, rubbing the silky nose of a neat bay gelding. ‘My mother named him. She said she perceived a resemblance to Sir William in his countenance.'

‘Oh, no!' Angelica protested instinctively. ‘I mean…'

The bay turned its head at the sound of her voice, flicking his ears disapprovingly. Then he struck the cobblestones a couple of times with an impatient forefoot and pulled against the groom's restraining hand.

Angelica laughed. ‘I think I can see what she means,' she confessed.

The groom grinned and spoke chidingly to the horse.

‘And this is Dorcas,' said Benoît, patting the shoulder of a quiet chestnut. ‘She's my mother's mare. Allow me to put you up, my lady.'

He was standing right beside her, and she was suddenly deeply conscious of his nearness. Her heart began to beat faster and she knew she was blushing.

‘Thank you,' she said in a muffled voice.

She was grateful that her face was turned away from him, and that she could blame any colour in her cheeks on the exertion of mounting.

He tossed her up with an easy, confident strength which landed her securely in the saddle. He stepped back and watched as she gathered up the reins. She was very aware that she was under observation and tried to compose herself, as well as her mount.

She told herself fiercely that she mustn't allow her natural excitement at this welcome moment of freedom to blind her to the more serious issues at stake. And she certainly mustn't let Benoît Faulkener use his undoubted charm and quick wits to put her at a disadvantage.

Despite that, she had to resist the urge to fidget under his gaze, and she knew she was blushing even more rosily than before. She was unbelievably relieved when at last he nodded, as if satisfied, and swung himself up onto the bay.

‘Thank you, Thomas,' he said.

The groom stepped back and watched them ride out of the stableyard.

Angelica was suddenly aware that she was going to be quite alone with Benoît. In the past a groom had always accompanied her whenever she went riding, but Benoît had apparently given no thought to the matter.

She wondered for a brief, almost panic-stricken moment whether she should insist that her coachman accompany them. In the circumstances it would be a perfectly reasonable request, but she decided against it almost immediately.
Benoît might do his best to disconcert her, but she had no real fear that he might molest her—and it would be easier to find out more about him if no one else was within earshot.

She glanced at him surreptitiously. He was sitting erect yet relaxed in the saddle, holding the reins in one hand, his other hand resting lightly on his lean, well-muscled thigh. He hadn't troubled to wear a hat, and his raven hair glinted in the winter sunlight. He was gazing south over the water meadows, his deep set eyes resting on the horizon, momentarily forgetful of her presence.

She could easily imagine him on the deck of his ship, looking out across the sea-swell. Her heart stirred within her at the picture she had conjured up, and she realised in stunned disbelief that she felt sad that it was a sight she would never see in real life.

‘What is your respectable business?' she asked abruptly, trying to banish the disturbing vision.

Her question recalled his attention to her, and he flicked a quick look in her direction. There was a humorous gleam in his brown eyes, and a tantalising smile played on his lips.

‘I would tell you anything you want to know, my lady,' he declared, ‘but are you not afraid that once I have done so we will have nothing left to talk about?'

‘Don't be ridiculous!' she snapped, flushing, determined not to let him make fun of her. ‘This situation may be amusing to you, sir—but it isn't to me! My brother's life is very important to me. I'm not prepared to entrust it to someone I know so little about.'

He turned his head towards her, one black eyebrow raised interrogatively. There was a direct, challenging glint in his eyes which she found very disturbing.

‘Are you suggesting you no longer want my help in rescuing Harry?' he enquired silkily, and she could sense the sleeping wolf within him beginning to stir.

Her thoughts were thrown into chaos, for she had not expected such an uncompromising response to her hasty remark. She glanced away, trying to regain her composure, and then looked up to meet his eyes.

‘I don't wish to offend you,' she said steadily, ‘but you have given me little reason to trust you. You're right, I did, quite unintentionally, overhear some of your conversation with Sir William this morning. He must have known you for many years, and if he has doubts…' her voice faltered slightly ‘…doubts about…'

‘Ah, yes, if Sir William harbours doubts about me I must be a treacherous, blackhearted scoundrel,' Benoît interrupted smoothly, a disquieting smile on his lips. ‘What exactly do you fear, my lady? That I am not equal to the task of rescuing Harry? Or that, having done so, I might sell him back to the French? I presume from a comment Corbett makes in his letter that they don't know he is the Earl's son. I might be able to get a very good price for him—although I dare say I could force a higher one from your father.'

Angelica bit her lip, unable to face the expression of aloof contempt in his eyes. There was an undercurrent of
fierce inflexibility in his voice which she had heard once before, and which was very difficult to confront. She had inadvertently angered him far more with her cautiously worded doubts than Sir William had with his intemperate accusations. She lifted her head, flags of bright colour flying in her cheeks, confusion in her wide blue eyes.

‘Why are you so offended by my natural apprehension?' she demanded hotly. ‘Sir William called you a liar and you laughed out loud! All I know about you is that you were once a smuggler and that you will tell me nothing of how you intend to help Harry—and you act as if I have bitterly insulted you by asking a few questions! If you were in my place wouldn't you want some indication of your good faith?'

Silence followed her impassioned words. The blue dome of the sky arched above them, and a strong breeze whispered through the damp grass beneath the horses' hooves. It was a very flat, open landscape. Even in the bright sunlight it could not be called cosy, and it was easy to imagine how a grey sky and biting wind could transform it into a bleak, desolate wilderness.

There was a frown in Benoît's eyes, and his lean, aquiline face seemed particularly hawk-like as he turned his head to meet Angelica's heated gaze.

‘It hadn't occurred to me that you might try to sell Harry to Papa,' she added bitterly.

‘I know,' said Benoît coldly. ‘You are not very consistent in your anxieties, my lady.'