Claire Thornton (12 page)

Was he smuggling? Or was he involved in something else? She looked around at the dark, shadowy landscape. Her eyes were unable to pierce the gloom for more than a few yards, and she suddenly felt afraid.

She remembered their talk of a French invasion earlier that day—and all the stories Sir William had told of smugglers terrorising or murdering people who had inadvertently surprised them at their work. Her heart began to beat faster as she realised she might have done a great deal more than simply make herself look foolish with this impulsive escapade.

She almost turned the mare for home then and there, but a tiny core of stubbornness within her refused to give up.

She rode on cautiously, glancing nervously around at the shadows. The sound of the mare’s hooves suddenly seemed very loud, and she was uncomfortably conscious of how conspicuous she was perched on top of a tall horse in such flat countryside.

She had been a fool. It was time to turn back and hope no one would ever be the wiser—

Suddenly a dark shape loomed out of a nearby thicket, and a man lunged towards her.

Shocked, icy fear clutched at Angelica’s stomach. Images of smugglers and wild-eyed French invaders filled her mind.
She dragged on the reins, putting her heel to the mare’s side in an unthinking, desperate attempt to get away—but the man seized the bridle and Dorcas submitted to his low-voiced command.

Angelica clung to the saddle like a panic-stricken limpet. Terrified thoughts of rape and murder drove every other consideration from her mind. She was determined not to let him haul her down. As long as she remained on Dorcas’s back she should be able to get away—
if only he’d let go of the bridle!

She slashed fiercely at her assailant with her riding crop, her actions made vicious by desperation. The mare snorted and tried to shy away—Angelica was jolted and bruised against the saddle pommel. The man moved fast in the darkness. She could hardly see him, and she’d had no warning of his intentions when he grabbed the crop and wrenched it out of her hand. Pain speared up her arm, startling her into an unwary cry of distress. Panic threatened to overwhelm her as she realised she was now almost defenceless.

‘Angelica! Get down!’ Benoît commanded in a furious undertone, barely controlled anger throbbing in his words.

She gasped in sobbing relief as his voice penetrated her terror and slid down into his arms, her legs all but giving way as her feet touched the ground. He half lifted, half dragged her into the shadows of the thicket, leading Dorcas with them. The other two horses were already there, standing like statues, though Angelica was in no condition to notice that fact.

‘Quiet!’ he whispered urgently in her ear.

He was holding her tightly from behind, one arm locked around her waist. As she drew breath to speak he clamped his other hand over her mouth. She was already thoroughly alarmed and now she experienced an irrational fear that he was going to suffocate her. Her heart hammered with fright. She’d known he was strong, but his strength had never been used against her before, and she was terrifyingly aware of how helpless she was in his arms. She struggled desperately, trying to kick back at his shin, but her long skirts impeded her.

‘Quiet!’ he commanded again, in the same imperative undertone, but his hold on her relaxed slightly, and Angelica’s panic began to subside.

She became aware of the silence of the horses, and the tense expectancy in Benoît’s body. Then she heard the muffled sound of hooves and realised that a sunken lane passed by on the other side of the thicket.

Benoît lifted her slightly in his arms and turned so that he could look in the direction from which the sounds were coming. Hidden in the shadows, staring out at an oblique angle towards the lane, Angelica could just see the dim silhouettes of ponies and men pass by.

There were more than fifty men in the gang, some of them carrying staves across their shoulders. They marched through the dark night in confident silence, as if they had an inalienable right to do so. Angelica knew that if they were surprised by Sir William they would fight; at least one of the magistrate’s men had been seriously injured in a battle against smugglers—and another had been killed.

She closed her eyes, chill with horror as she realised that, if Benoît hadn’t intercepted her, she would have ridden straight across the smugglers’ path. What would they have done to her?

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Benoît demanded furiously, when there was no longer any danger of them being overheard.

‘I… You were wearing a black cravat,’ said Angelica lamely, in a small voice.

She was still badly shaken by the realisation of how stupid she had been and in no condition to deal with his fury.

‘For God’s sake!’ he exploded, his anger no less potent because it was so quiet and so controlled. ‘What the devil did you think you were going to achieve? Do you know what might have happened to you if I hadn’t been here? That gang has at least two murders to its credit already!’

Angelica bit her lip, tears filling her eyes. It was hard to defend herself because she knew she was in the wrong, but it was equally hard to apologise when he was so angry with her. The situation was made even worse because she couldn’t see his face—all she could feel was his rigid, furious grip on his arm.

‘I can take care of myself,’ she declared, trying to put a spark of spirit into her voice and dismally failing.

‘Not out here,’ said Benoît categorically. ‘What the hell am I going to do with you?’

‘I was right, you aren’t visiting Sir William, are you?’ Angelica accused him, instinctively deciding attack was the
best form of defence. ‘You have no business scolding others when you make such a habit of lying yourself!’

‘You little vixen!’ said Benoît tautly. ‘That’s the last pert answer I’m prepared to take from you—lady or not! If you’re going to trail around the countryside after me like a bitch in heat, then it’s time you learnt to take the consequences!’

‘How
dare
you?’ Angelica struck out blindly at him, infuriated and bitterly insulted by his words.

She landed a glancing blow on the side of his face, then he dragged her into his arms. She struggled, pummelling at his chest and shoulders, and his hold on her tightened until she could barely move. She couldn’t see his face, and she felt trapped by the black shadows of the thicket and the unyielding force of his arms.

‘Let me go!’ she commanded in a low, throbbing voice.

‘No.’

She tried to wrench herself out of his arms, but it was impossible. She tried to kick him, but her long skirts and his well-made leather boots protected him from any harm.

‘
Let me go!
You have no right—’

‘Haven’t I?’ he interrupted harshly. ‘It’s too late to play the part of an aloof noblewoman, Angelica. I’ve made allowances for your innocence and your loneliness. But if you want to be treated like a lady, then you shouldn’t act like a trollop following an army!’

‘I didn’t…!’ she gasped, more shocked and hurt by his words than offended.

‘For God’s sake!’ he ground out. ‘Is this what you came looking for? Because if it is—by God you can have it!’

She caught her breath in protest as his lips found hers with ruthless efficiency in the darkness. Her arms were still trapped against his chest. He was holding her so tightly that she couldn’t move and she could barely breathe. Shadows encircled them and the wind tugged at their clothes. His kiss was rough and almost punishing and offered her no escape. She struggled to resist him, appalled at the overwhelming surge of passion and anger she has unwittingly aroused in him.

She could feel the rigid tension in his body. She was dimly aware that his fury had very little to do with the fact that she had been trying to spy on him—or even that she’d accused him of lying to her.

Then, somehow, the nature of his kiss seemed to change. From being fierce and unforgiving on hers, his lips become warm and passionate. He was still holding her in a hard embrace, but one hand slipped up to cup the back of her head, and she felt her heightened, aroused senses begin to respond to him.

His lips were demanding as he claimed her open mouth, but he was no longer trying to punish her, and she felt a familiar, insistent tempo begin to pulse through her body. She clutched at the lapels of his coat, no longer struggling in his embrace.

Then he let her go—so suddenly that she stumbled back and fell, landing in a heap on the wet grass.

She drew in a gasping breath and dragged a shaking hand over her mouth, more confused than ever by his unexpected action. He was standing over her, and she looked up at him, sensing rather than seeing his presence in the darkness. She could heard his rapid breathing, but she was almost beyond coherent thought or feeling.

At last he crouched down beside her. She felt his hand near her face and flinched away, unsure of what he intended.

‘Ne vous inquiétez pas,’
he murmured reassuringly, and his touch was gentle on her cheek. ‘I’m sorry,
mon ange.
I was angry, but I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

‘I…’ Angelica began, but she couldn’t continue; she simply didn’t know what to say.

‘Get up.’ Benoît gripped her arms and lifted her to his feet. ‘You mustn’t sit on the grass,’ he said, wry amusement in his voice. ‘You’re going to be cold enough before this night is over without being wet through as well.’

‘Why?’ Angelica asked vaguely.

She was less interested in the implication of his words, than she was in what had just happened between them. How could he be so furious one minute and so gentle the next? Then she remembered what he’d said about her acting like a bitch in heat—or an army trollop—and her whole body burned with embarrassment and distress. Was that how he thought of her?

‘I can’t send you back on your own,’ said Benoît reasonably, apparently unaware of her inner turmoil.

‘Not with both the Gentlemen out and Sir William and
his men no doubt playing their dangerous game of hide and seek. And I don’t have time to take you home myself—you’ll just have to stay with me.’

‘No. I meant why did you…?’ she began uncertainly.

‘There isn’t time,’ he replied, briskly but not unkindly. ‘Not now. I’m already running late. And with so many others apparently heading for the same beaches things may turn out to be more complicated that I’d anticipated. Dammit! Perhaps I ought to send you back. Dorcas knows her way home—’

‘No!’ Angelica protested instinctively. ‘Please…’

‘All right. Come on.’ He made up his mind quickly and threw her up into the saddle almost before she was ready.

She fumbled for the reins as he mounted his own horse.

‘Pull your shawl back over your head,’ he said quietly. ‘At least you had the sense to hide your hair,’ he added with mild amusement. ‘You might turn into a useful companion-at-arms yet!’

T
hey arrived at the beach not far from the place Benoît had brought Angelica to that morning—although he avoided the lane they had used before.

He travelled quickly but cautiously, and Angelica was aware that he was alert for the slightest unusual or potentially threatening disturbance. She didn’t try to talk to him. She kept Dorcas close by his side, determined not to do anything more to anger him. She desperately wanted time to think about what had happened in the shadows of the thicket, but at the moment it was better not to let her attention be distracted.

The open fields ran almost down to the beach. Only a line of trees at right angles to the sea offered any shelter. Benoît paused in the lee of the trees, where the dense confusion of brambles provided some shelter from both the wind and prying eyes, and swung down from his saddle. Angelica hesitated, then dropped down to join him. He’d soon put her back on the mare if that’s where he wanted her.

The wind had momentarily dropped, but Angelica could hear the sea, crashing on the sands not far away. The tide was in, just as it had been nearly twelve hours ago when she had first come to the beach. She could feel the damp air on her cheeks and taste the salt on her lips, but her vision was limited by the lack of moonlight. Only the cold, pale stars twinkled in the distant heavens. She wondered if this was how it had been for her father, when he’d tracked and found Benoît so many years ago. She was suddenly glad she had come.

‘Stand here,’ said Benoît briefly, moving her into position with firm but not unkind hands. ‘And don’t let your skirts blow in my face.’

She did as she was told, although it was only when she heard steel striking against flint that she realised he was using her body as a shield. The light flickered so briefly she doubted if even someone watching for it would have noticed it, and then he covered it and stood up.

“What is that thing?’ she asked softly, indicating the strange object he was holding.

She’d barely had time to see it, but she already had her suspicions about its use—Sir William had told her of such things.

It was made of two tubes of metal. A short, rather stubby vertical tube with a conical lid, and a longer, tapering pipe, which extended at right angles from the side of the first tube and which could be covered and uncovered at will.

‘Spout lantern,’ said Benoît shortly. ‘Stay here.’

She heard his boots on the pebbles, then she saw his dim outline against the paler sea as he stood on the beach. She
guessed he was signalling, but the spout lantern meant that the only light visible was directed out towards any waiting boats. No wonder smugglers used them. The penalties for being caught signalling out to sea were severe—and even innocently lighting a pipe on the beach could get a man into trouble if the wrong people saw him.

She waited, shivering and hugging her shawl tightly around her head and shoulders. The wind had picked up again and it tugged viciously at her skirts.

She could hear the roar of the sea, much rougher tonight than it had been during the day. Nothing happened for a long time, and she huddled against the mare’s shoulder for warmth and comfort.

She couldn’t believe where she was or what was happening to her. Nothing in her previous experience or wildest imaginings had ever prepared her for the events of this evening. She didn’t know which was more unbelievable—the fact that less than an hour ago she’d seen a band of armed smugglers march within a few feet of her—or the strange and unprecedentedly intimate relationship she was developing with Benoît.

No one else had ever had such a profound effect on her behaviour, or so completely disturbed her peace of mind. She should be sleeping quietly in her bed now, not avoiding smugglers and riding officers on a black, windswept beach. What had he done to her that she could so unthinkingly abandon all modesty and decorum to follow him to an unknown destination?

She looked towards Benoît, and then beyond him, strain
ing to pierce through the murky night and see what lay ahead for them. The stars above began to dance and blur before her overtaxed eyes; the shadows grew even darker and took on strange and alien shapes. She was no longer sure what was real and what was imagined. She gripped the comforting leather of the saddle, grateful for Dorcas’s placid and solid presence. She had no intention of letting Benoît discover how nervous this long wait was making her.

Then she blinked, and lifted her head, hardly able to credit that she’d just seen the signal. The light flickered again, and then the sea was dark once more.

Angelica left the horses and the shelter of the trees and stumbled down over the shingle to join Benoît. He turned sharply at the sound of her approach.

‘It’s me,’ she said softly, and sensed rather than saw his relaxation of tension. ‘Are they coming?’

‘Assuming we haven’t confused our signals,’ said Benoît dryly. ‘I’d hate to find we were the unintended recipients of several hundred tubs of brandy meant for the Gentlemen we saw earlier!’

‘I know we’re not smuggling,’ said Angelica, shivering at the possibility he’d just raised, and wondering where the men they’d seen earlier had gone. ‘But what are we doing here?’

‘You astonish me, my lady,’ said Benoît, and she heard the gentle mockery in his voice. ‘When I’ve done nothing more questionable than offer you a glass of brandy you accuse me of smuggling, and when I’m standing on a moon
less beach sending signals to an unidentified vessel you acquit me of the crime! Here!’

In the darkness, she realised he had shrugged himself out of his greatcoat, and was holding it around her shoulders. She slipped her arms gratefully into the sleeves and hugged it tightly about herself.

‘I’d say I’m sorry you’re cold,’ he said softly in her ear, his arms enfolding her from behind. ‘But you shouldn’t be here in the first place. How am I going to explain this to your father?’

‘You won’t have to explain anything,’ Angelica protested, not sure what he meant.

The warmth of his body against her back was unbelievably comforting, and the soft caress of his breath against her ear sent a delicious tingle rippling down her spine. It was incredible that only a short while ago he had been rigid with fury at her.

‘Papa won’t know I followed you,’ she murmured breathlessly as Benoît’s lips brushed her cheek, devoutly hoping that she spoke the truth. ‘All he wants you to do is rescue Harry,’ she added rather incoherently.

‘But what about you, my lady?’ Benoît said softly, pushing her shawl back from her face.

‘I want you to rescue Harry too!’ she whispered, trying to maintain at least the pretence that they were having a normal conversation.

‘I know.’ Benoît began to explore the warm, delicate skin of her neck with soft, intimate kisses.

She gasped, and quivered responsively as glowing rivu
lets of pleasure radiated out from beneath his lips. Her eyes were open, but in the dark, lofty night there was nothing to see; she could only feel his arms around her, and hear his low voice reverberating through her body as he spoke to her, his mouth almost touching her skin.

‘Is that all you want from me,
ma douce amie?
’ he teased her, reaching across the front of her body to cover one of her hands with his as she clutched at his greatcoat.

‘Of…course.’

She was still locked in his arms, the heat of his body burning through her back, his lips wrecking devastating delight beneath her ear. She was even beginning to forget why they were standing on the beach.

‘Liar!’ he murmured provocatively, biting gently at her earlobe. ‘Besides, I might feel compelled to tell the Earl about this escapade myself.’

‘What?’

She gasped with horror and tried to turn in his arms, but he prevented her quite easily. Fortunately she’d been too breathless to exclaim loudly, but it didn’t stop him from admonishing her for her indiscretion.

‘Shush!’ he murmured infuriatingly, the familiar note of laughter audible in his low voice as he settled her comfortably in his embrace once again. ‘Remember where we are! Besides, why not tell your father?’ He returned to his thrilling explorations of her earlobe, his tongue running gently over the sapphire earring she had been in too much of a hurry to take off. ‘Lord Ellewood might have some practical sug
gestions to offer about not wearing jewellery when tracking potential smugglers!’

Angelica drew in an indignant breath, but before she could speak Benoît lifted his head alertly.

‘The boat’s coming,’ he said quietly, releasing her from his arms.

She looked out to sea. She couldn’t hear anything beyond the familiar crashing of the waves, but she had no doubt Benoît was right.

‘Go back to the horses,’ he ordered, and went down to the tideline.

She started to walk up the beach, looking back over her shoulder, still not sure what to expect from the approaching boat. It was clear that Benoît was meeting someone, presumably one man who would ride the spare horse he had brought. But she still didn’t know who the man was, although she was beginning to guess
what
he was.

She was still glowing from Benoît’s embrace. The cold wind didn’t seem so bitter any more. She smiled wryly. Twenty-four hours ago she would never have believed that she could care so little about whether Benoît was involved with a spy. But now she was far more concerned with how he felt about her, and how she felt about him. The man in the boat was just an unwelcome interruption to their conversation.

She hugged the greatcoat. She was much warmer than she had been. She reached the edge of the shingle and turned to look back at the sea. She could just hear the slap of oars on
the water, and see the dark shadow of Benoît as he spoke to the men in the boat.

Then, somewhere to her right, she heard a man shout out. His harsh voice ripped through the peaceful, empty night—alien and frightening. His cry was followed by a pistol shot, raised voices and more shots.

Angelica jerked round in stunned amazement, staring blindly into the dark night. The noise was coming from further west. She blinked as she saw the brief flash as a pistol was fired. Her heart was racing in disbelief and alarm. She had almost forgotten the men they’d seen earlier, but now the danger from the smugglers had been made sickeningly real. A full-scale battle was taking place between Sir William and the smugglers only a few hundred yards down the beach!

‘Angelica!’

She’d been momentarily frozen with horror, but at the sound of Benoît’s voice she snatched up her skirts and ran towards him.

As she did so, she was vaguely aware of someone whistling—then Benoît seized her around the waist and dumped her without ceremony in the boat.

Another man, no more than a faceless shadow to Angelica, helped Benoît push the boat into deeper water, then they were rowing out into the black void of the Channel.

The boat rocked and pitched on the windswept waves. Angelica was quickly soaked with seaspray, and half-deafened by the thudding of her heart and the crashing of the
water around her. Her skirt was already sodden from where it had trailed in the sea as Benoît lifted her into the boat. Four men manned the oars, with another at the tiller, and she huddled as small as she could, trying not to get in their way.

She had been terrified when she’d first encountered Benoît, but now that real danger threatened she felt more excited than afraid. She had no idea what would happen next, or where they were going—but she was with Benoît. She knew he would take care of her.

She could hear low voices as Benoît talked to the other passengers in the boat, but she couldn’t distinguish what they were saying. This was the man they’d come to meet. She wondered who he was, but instinct rather than the evidence of her senses told her that he was hurt and in pain.

The black bulk of the cutter loomed suddenly above them. Benoît gripped her arm.

‘We’re going on board,’ he said quietly. ‘Take off my coat, it’ll get in the way. And take care as you climb up, there’s no hurry now.’

‘I’ll be all right.’ She stood up, swaying as the boat pitched, grateful for his steadying hands on her waist.

She slipped out of the greatcoat, then picked up the front of her heavy woollen skirts and held them clenched between her teeth. The creak of the wet wool in her mouth made her want to gag, but she knew it was safer than trying to spare one hand to hold them up and she daren’t trip over them.

‘Good girl,’ said Benoît. ‘Here.’ He guided her to the ladder and she seized the rung.

It was a terrifying moment as she stepped out of the rocking boat, but she hung on grimly and then made the short climb. As she reached the top unseen hands seized her and helped her over the side of the cutter.

‘Good evening, miss,’ said a dry voice. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’

‘For me also,’ Angelica replied, staggering slightly as the deck tilted. ‘Thank you.’

She was grateful for her companion’s roughly steadying hand, but she wished she could see him more clearly, and she felt very isolated now that she was no longer near Benoît.

She could only discern the dim outline of the man, just enough to know that he was of average height and stocky build. He spoke with an unmistakable Sussex burr and she guessed from his voice and his stance that he was no longer young. She wondered immediately if he had been one of Toby’s cronies.

‘What happened?’ he asked sharply.

‘I don’t know exactly,’ she said, not sure how much she ought to say. ‘There was a…disturbance…further down the beach, then we came back with the boat.’

‘We heard shots,’ he said grimly. ‘Blunderbuss Billy’s busy tonight.’

He turned as a dark shape appeared over the side. Angelica just had time to realise that Benoît was carrying a man over his shoulder before her companion went to help lift him into the cutter.

‘Hell!’
The wounded man almost cried out as his leg touched the deck and she heard his quick, hissing intake of breath as he tried to suppress his agony.

‘He can’t walk,’ said the stocky man, almost dispassionately. ‘I said he was foolish to try to land, but he insisted. What are you going to do?’