Claire Thornton (8 page)

He was standing behind her, his hands firm and insistent upon her shoulders, his words ringing in her ears.

She didn’t pull away from him. She stared out to sea, feeling her hair whip about her face. The waves kept rolling up the beach, slightly further away now than they had been before. The sky seemed huge, it filled her vision; small white clouds had appeared in the distance.

‘Papa always said—
says
you need good information to make a good decision,’ she said at last.

‘The Earl is a wise man.’

‘So how am I supposed to make up my mind about you when I don’t have any information?’ she demanded, turning to face him.

He smiled almost gently, and reached out to tuck an errant curl behind her ear.

‘You have a lot of information, my lady,’ he corrected her gently. ‘More than most, I might add. You just don’t know how to fit it all together.’

‘It
is
my brother’s life we’re talking about,’ she said, almost pleadingly.

‘Is it?’ he asked, an enigmatic gleam in his brown eyes. ‘Come along, my lady,’ he added, before she could speak. ‘The horses have been standing in the wind long enough, and there’s something you might be interested to see further along the beach.’

She let him put her into the saddle without a word. She
was deeply bewildered by what had happened, and more unsure of herself than she could ever remember being. He had challenged her preconceptions on several levels and she needed time to think.

She gathered up the reins and followed Benoît down towards the tideline. They turned east and Benoît urged Billy into a brisk walk across the wet sands. Disturbed sea birds flew up in raucous flurries, scattering and then returning to their foraging in the glittering water as soon as the horses had passed by.

‘Where are you taking me?’ Angelica asked, struggling to sound as if nothing exceptional had happened.

‘Can’t you guess?’ Benoît shot her a glinting, almost mocking glance.

‘No. How should I know?’ she replied crossly. ‘I hate guessing games.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have embarked upon one, my lady,’ he replied, his voice carried to her on the wind blowing in across the sea. ‘Shall we see how well you can put Dorcas through her paces?’

Angelica didn’t hesitate. She leant forward, all her concentration instantly centred on showing Benoît just what she was capable of. The mare sprang forward eagerly and the bay matched her instantly. The two horses raced along the bright sands while the seagulls wheeled in the sky above them, shrieking their disapproval of such unmannerly disturbance.

There was a wild joy for Angelica in the sudden burst of
speed. After the complications of the past two days this moment of untrammelled freedom was pure pleasure. She knew that when they stopped she would once again have to face all the growing complexities of her situation—but not just yet.

The horses matched paces, and Angelica made no attempt to outdistance Benoît. There had been too many challenges between them already; she did not want even a hint of competition to tarnish this perfect interlude. It was comforting to allow herself the brief illusion that he was merely an undemanding companion, and not…what was he? A friend or an enemy—or a chance met stranger she would never see again after today?

At last the horses slowed, falling back into a canter, a trot and then a walk. Angelica had time to look around and, for the first time, to become aware that she must have left most of her hairpins scattered behind her along the beach. She lifted a hand to her tangled, salt-sticky hair in mild consternation.

Benoît observed her gesture and grinned.

‘That’s a sorry sight to present to your long-suffering maid,’ he teased her. ‘She’ll probably take one look at you and hand in her notice.’

Angelica opened her mouth indignantly, but then her sense of humour overcame her and she smiled wryly.

‘She’ll certainly have something to say about it,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘And she’ll be horrified I lost your mother’s hat. I just hope we don’t meet anyone.’

‘Sir William,’ Benoît suggested wickedly. ‘I believe he often rides on the beach.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Angelica let go of the reins with both hands and reached up to run her fingers through her unruly hair.

Blonde tresses which fell almost to her waist were blowing in unrestrained glory around her shoulders, shining like spun gold in the bright sunlight.

‘What am I going to do?’ she exclaimed in distress as the full enormity of her situation dawned on her. ‘I’ll never be able to find all my hairpins. I can’t ride round the countryside looking like a hoyden!’

Dorcas had come to a natural stop, and Billy followed suit. Benoît dismounted and looked up at her, resting his left hand lightly on Dorcas’s withers.

‘Come down, my lady,’ he commanded her softly, the light in his dark eyes daring her to refuse.

Her breath caught in her throat as she found herself snared in the compelling intensity of his gaze.

‘I can’t do much about your plight when you’re perched several feet above me,’ he pointed out reasonably, although there was a smile playing on his lips which made the blood tingle in Angelica’s veins.

‘I don’t see what you can do anyway,’ she objected, trying not to let him see how powerfully he was affecting her. ‘Not unless you’ve any experience as a lady’s maid.’

‘None at all,’ he said cheerfully, ‘but I’ve plaited a few horsetails in my time.’

For some reason Angelica found his unflattering comparison reassuring, and she unhooked her leg from around the pommel and slipped down into his waiting arms. He set her
neatly on her feet, but continued to rest his hands on her waist for a few seconds. She looked up at him with uncertain blue eyes, not quite sure what he intended, and he smiled crookedly.

‘If you don’t want a repeat of what happened the last time you looked up at me like that, I suggest you turn around,’ he said softly.

Angelica gasped and turned so quickly she nearly tripped over her flowing skirts.

Benoît chuckled and drew her hair gently over her shoulders. She was standing on the lee side of Dorcas, and it was relatively easy to smooth the wild tresses into a manageable handful.

‘You turned your back with unflattering haste, my lady,’ he chided her, his hands light and unbelievably stimulating in her hair. ‘My manly sensitivities are deeply wounded. I had no idea you found my attentions so objectionable.’

Angelica gripped the stirrup leather for support and closed her eyes. She felt trapped between the mare and Benoît. She wanted to step briskly away from Benoît’s hands and declare that she could fix her hair for herself. But she remained standing where she was, caught under the spell of his seductive touch which sent delightful shivers running up and down her spine.

Despite the tangles in her sea-blown hair he managed to divide it into three relatively equal portions without causing her too much discomfort. Then he plaited it neatly and Angelica was almost disappointed when she realised he had finished.

‘Hold that.’ He put the heavy braid over her shoulder and she obeyed without question. She heard a faint ripping sound and glanced round in surprise to see him tearing a strip from his handkerchief.

He grinned and she caught a glimpse of his strong white teeth.

‘You may not appreciate my lovemaking, but you can’t deny I’m resourceful,’ he said outrageously.

She blushed and turned her head away as he took back the braid and tied it firmly at the end. Then he folded it under and tied it again at the top of the braid, creating a relatively neat club of hair at the nape of her neck.

‘Not bad,’ he said judiciously. ‘Although I don’t think your maid is going to be afraid of the competition.’

‘I don’t know how I’m going to explain it,’ said Angelica as she turned to face him, desperately trying to strike a normal note. ‘First your mother’s hat, now this.’

‘You can blame it on me, if you like,’ Benoît offered generously. ‘You can tell them I pulled out most of the pins when I kissed you.’

‘What?’
Angelica pressed her hands against her burning cheeks, a victim of so many conflicting emotions she didn’t know which one to give voice to first.

‘I could pretend that nothing untoward happened between us earlier,’ Benoît said deliberately. ‘No doubt that would be the gentlemanly thing to do.’ He met her disturbed gaze with a half-mocking, half-challenging light in his brown eyes. ‘But the sooner you get used to the idea that I did kiss
you—and that there’s a very strong likelihood that I’m going to do so again before long—the better we shall proceed.’

‘Oh!’ Angelica whirled away from him. ‘How can you be so
unfeeling?
I came to see you in good faith—to ask for your help. And you…you…’

‘Took advantage of your innocence?’ Benoît supplied helpfully when words failed her. ‘Abused your trust? But you didn’t come to Sussex entirely in good faith, did you? You’re a strange mixture of trust and suspicion, my lady. On the one hand you question my motives and my integrity at every turn—and on the other you are content to wheedle an extra night under my roof and ride out with me alone as if you have no fears for your safety in my company. Should I be flattered or insulted?’

Angelica shot him a quick glance, feeling quite unable to answer his question. She drew in a deep breath, trying to regain her self-control.

‘I believe you were going to show me something, sir,’ she said, with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘Or was I mistaken?’

‘No, you weren’t mistaken.’ From the dark gleam in his eye she knew she wouldn’t be permitted to continue with her evasion indefinitely, but at least she had won herself some respite.

‘Take a look around and see if you can guess where we are,’ he said.

She glanced at him frowningly and then stepped away from the horses, not really sure what she was supposed to
recognise. The beach hardly seemed any different than it had done further west. The tide was still going out behind her, the wet sand gleamed, and whispering, thin-grassed sand dunes rose up before her.

‘I don’t…it was
here!
’ she exclaimed as light suddenly dawned. ‘
This
is where Papa had you at his mercy!’

‘As you say,’ said Benoît dryly, although there was a hint of appreciative amusement in his eyes at her phraseology. He wasn’t naïve enough to suppose her unflattering description of the incident had been entirely accidental.

‘Tell me what happened!’ she demanded.

‘Your father came along the tideline, just as we have done,’ said Benoît, apparently quite willing to tell the tale. ‘He knew the tide was coming in, and he guessed we’d used it to cover our tracks and send Sir William off on a wild-goose chase.’

‘He was a match for your devious schemes,’ Angelica declared proudly, her blue eyes shining.

‘Obviously,’ said Benoît, grinning at her evident satisfaction. ‘When he got to about there—’ he indicated a point a few more yards down the beach ‘—he found the tracks going inland, so he followed them. I was waiting to intercept anyone who did so.’

‘And he vanquished you!’ said Angelica, with relish.

‘Although I don’t remember him taking such an unholy pleasure in his victory as you are doing,’ Benoît remarked dryly. ‘But it’s true he didn’t have a kiss to avenge.’

‘You never give up, do you?’ said Angelica wrathfully. ‘Since I have not the slightest intention of allowing the
incident to be repeated, it would be more courteous—and more tactful—if you would let the matter drop.’

‘That sounds remarkably like a challenge, my lady,’ he said good-humouredly.

There was a bright, unreadable light in his eyes, and she caught her breath as he took a step towards her. She was convinced he was going to kiss her. But he went past her and picked up the mare’s reins.

‘We should be moving on, my lady,’ he said politely. ‘The day is passing, and I wouldn’t want you to exhaust yourself before your gruelling journey home tomorrow.’

‘You are very thoughtful,’ said Angelica through gritted teeth, wondering why she suddenly felt so deflated.

‘Just trying to be a good host,’ he replied self-deprecatingly. ‘I’ve never had a member of the aristocracy grace my home with their presence before. I want to take good care of you.’

Angelica bit her lip, not sure whether to be amused or indignant. He met her gaze, a hint of warm understanding as well as the familiar, glinting humour in his brown eyes, and she felt reassured. He held out his hand and she went over to him immediately, letting him lift her once more into the saddle.

It was impossible to feel entirely relaxed in his company, he was too unpredictable. But he wasn’t boring and she did, instinctively, trust him. He was unconventional and frequently disconcerting in his manner, but if he’d wanted to
take advantage of her she’d given him the perfect opportunity—and he hadn’t made use of it.

By imperceptible degrees, her opinion of him was rising. It might well be reasonable to entrust Harry’s safety to him. She still refused to entertain the notion that she had any other reason for being interested in Benoît Faulkener.

‘L
ook.’ Benoît interrupted her thoughts. ‘It’s the mouth of the Arun,’ he explained, as Angelica glanced at him questioningly.

He had led her a few more yards along the beach while she’d been reflecting on his personality.

‘Over there—’ he pointed diagonally inland, across the river ‘—is Littlehampton. Arundel is three or four miles north—as the crow flies, not as the river bends. And there—’ he gestured across to a construction on the east river bank ‘—is the battery which is supposed to defend us from Napoleon’s invading hordes.’

‘Won’t it?’ Angelica asked, catching the note of dismissal in his voice.

‘It might,’ said Benoît sceptically. ‘It used to be armed with ten eighteen-pound guns, but they replaced them with several thirty-six pounders a few years ago. It’s not in the best state of repair, but it does command both the entrance to the river and the eastern shoreline. Anyone stupid enough
to sail within range is liable to get a good hammering—always supposing that it is sufficiently well manned and that the gunners are awake.’

‘But if there was any danger of such an attack it would be adequately manned, wouldn’t it?’ Angelica persisted.

The invasion scares of earlier years had pretty much passed her by. It was only standing here, on the exposed foreshore, that she suddenly realised how vulnerable England might be to a seaborne offensive.

‘Possibly,’ Benoît conceded, throwing a quick glance in her direction. ‘But it’s almost irrelevant. The best way of gaining control of the river would be to land a party of marines on
this
bank. They’d be protected from the guns by the dunes. They could work their way inland and eventually attack the battery from behind. Once it was taken, the French would have free passage up the Arun.’

‘My God!’ Angelica exclaimed in horror. ‘You make it sound so easy!’

‘Make no mistake, my lady,’ said Benoît calmly, ‘it would be easy. I would engage to do it with a handful of men.’

‘Then why isn’t something done?’ Angelica demanded forcefully.

‘Because they’d have to fortify this bank,’ said Benoît reasonably. ‘Which would take money and a determined effort by the Board of Ordnance. It’s not that they don’t know the dangers—they just don’t have the resources to tackle them.’

Angelica looked around almost wildly, as if she half-
expected to see hordes of armed Frenchmen emerging from the dunes.

‘They won’t come tonight,’ said Benoît confidently, seeing the alarm in her expression.

‘How can you be so sure?’ she exclaimed nervously.

In London, safe within the security of the Earl’s town house, the dangers of the war had seemed very remote. She had been afraid for Harry serving in one of the King’s ships, but she had never experienced any personal sense of threat. Even Sir John Moore’s devastating, three-hundred-mile retreat, which had ended in the Battle of Corunna less than two months ago, had had little impact upon her enclosed world.

Benoît grinned at her obvious alarm.

‘Instinct,’ he said unhelpfully. ‘Don’t worry, my lady,’ he added more gently. ‘I think there’s very little danger of Napoleon landing an army on English soil.’

Angelica frowned, reassured by his words, but irritated that he hadn’t bothered to explain further. It was annoying that he should assume a brief comment from him would be enough to calm her anxieties. She coiled a few strands of Dorcas’s mane idly around her finger.

‘It’s hard to make up my own mind when I have so little information to work with,’ she said slowly. ‘Why not?’

‘Because even Frenchman can’t walk on water.’

‘What?’ She looked at him suspiciously, afraid he was laughing at her, but there was no indication in his expression that he was mocking her.

‘It’s not easy to transport and disembark an army,’ he enlarged upon his answer. ‘It took a week or more for Wellesley to disembark of our troops in Mondego Bay last year—and they didn’t have to contend with an attacking local militia while they were recovering from seasickness and reassembling their guns.’

‘
Would
the local people fight?’ Angelica said doubtfully. ‘Wouldn’t they run away? Sir William says the county is riddled with lazy, disaffected…’

‘Possibly,’ said Benoît dryly. ‘But the same men who take up cudgels to protect their livelihood from Sir William, might show equally little respect to anyone trying to invade their homes—don’t you think?’

They had begun to ride slowly back along the beach, retracing their path, although the sea had further retreated and they no longer disturbed the wading birds at the water’s edge.

‘Think of the logistics of organising a full-scale invasion,’ Benoît continued as Angelica frowned, trying to get to grips with what he was saying. ‘Even supposing Napoleon has enough seaworthy vessels suitable for transporting a reasonably sized army—and I doubt very much if he does—he doesn’t have enough skilled seamen to sail them. The French navy has never recovered from its losses at Trafalgar.

‘It may be relatively easy for individual boats to slip back and forth across the Channel, but can you imagine the chaos of two or three hundred transports all sailing on the same tide—scattering, colliding and foundering in the unfamiliar waters along our coast? No, Napoleon may dream of march
ing on London, but I’m sure he’s putting more faith in the destructive power of the Decrees he issued at Berlin and Milan.’

He paused then, shooting a quick glance at Angelica out of the corner of his eye before allowing his attention to rest on the shoreline ahead, as if there was nothing more to say.

Angelica waited for him to explain what the Decrees were, realised he wasn’t going to do so without prompting, and drew in a deep, rather exasperated breath. It was not so much that she wasn’t interested in what he was saying, but she was slightly humiliated to discover how little she knew, and at how much of a disadvantage her ignorance placed her.

‘Ah, yes,’ she said brightly. ‘I remember hearing something about Napoleon’s Decrees, although I can’t quite remember…’

‘At Berlin he outlawed all trade between England and French-controlled lands, whether in English or neutral ships,’ said Benoît, only a slight twitch of his lips indicating that he was aware of her feelings. ‘That was in November of 1807, and it effectively cut us off from the European carrying trade. Then at Milan, about fourteen months ago, he issued a new set of Decrees which outlawed any neutral vessel which submitted to a British search or touched at a British port.’

‘But surely, if our navy is so superior…!’ Angelica protested, shocked. ‘How can he hope to enforce—?’

‘Ultimately, I don’t believe he can,’ Benoît replied grimly. ‘But the Decrees have certainly had serious consequences for British shipping and manufactories. The cotton weavers
of Manchester rioted last year because the disruption of their industry had reduced them to starvation.’

Angelica stared blindly ahead, heedless of the increasing chill in the wind. Manchester was as remote from her experience as the Caribbean, but it was dawning on her that the war involved far more than the well-publicised battles fought on land or sea.

‘We have retaliated, of course,’ said Benoît, relenting from the black picture he had been painting as he saw her disturbed response to it. ‘After the Berlin Decrees, England blockaded all European ports from which she was excluded, and only allowed neutral ships to use them if they also touched at a British port and paid a reshipment duty on their cargo.

‘And don’t forget that the French are suffering from the effects of Napoleon’s blockade as well. All those goods they’ve come to rely on—sugar, coffee, cotton, spices, dyes, tobacco—are now in short supply. Unless they resort to accepting smuggled goods,’ he added blandly.

Angelica looked at him sharply.

‘Is that how you justify smuggling?’ she demanded, momentarily wondering if that was what all this information had been leading up to.

‘I’m not a smuggler,’ said Benoît flatly, his face expressionless.

Angelica bit her lip. There had been no hostility in his tone, but she felt as if a door had clanged shut in her face. It was quite clear that, however much general information he was prepared to volunteer, he wasn’t going to be pro
voked into revealing more personal details by such a clumsy sally.

‘You certainly seem to know a great deal about the subject,’ she said, forcing herself to smile unconcernedly.

‘Any man who reads the newspapers and keeps himself reasonably well informed would know as much,’ he replied, and she saw the gleam of his white teeth as he grinned.

She was reminded, once again, of his elusive resemblance to a great black wolf. He revealed only what he wanted to reveal, and his response was always unpredictable.

‘We will win, won’t we?’ she asked suddenly. It was the first time it had ever occurred to her to wonder.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said confidently.

‘How can you be so sure?’ she demanded.

‘Because however many markets Napoleon closes to us in the Old World, we will always be able to open up more in the New World,’ he replied, with absolute certainty. ‘It has already begun with the islands we’ve taken from our enemies in the West Indies. We will survive for as long as we maintain control of the sea—and we will win as soon as we can put an army on continental soil that’s capable of consistently defeating the French.’

‘And when will that be?’ Angelica asked curiously.

Benoît shrugged. ‘I’m not a soldier,’ he replied. ‘I cannot give an informed opinion on that. All I can say is that, although we took a beating last year in Spain and Portugal, we also won a couple of victories that prove once and for
all that Napoleon’s army is not invincible. Further than that, we shall just have to wait and see.’

Angelica sighed. It wasn’t an entirely satisfactory answer, but there didn’t seem to be much she could say to it. She glanced around, noting, with mild surprise, that Benoît had turned inland before they’d reached the same track they had originally followed to the beach.

‘It’s quicker,’ he said, answering her unspoken question. ‘The day is losing its bloom and you must be getting cold, my lady. I wouldn’t want to be accused of giving you a chill. Besides, we mustn’t overtax your strength—you’ve got a long journey ahead of you tomorrow!’

Angelica swallowed a hasty retort, aware that she was being deliberately provoked and determined not to rise to it.

‘What do you mean, Thomas has taught Billy to count?’ she asked, remembering something he’d said earlier, although carefully blocking from her mind the context in which he’d said it. ‘Surely the most accomplished horse would have difficulty…?’

Benoît laughed. ‘When we get back, I will arrange a demonstration,’ he promised her. ‘I’m sure you’ll be impressed, my lady.’

It took a long time for Martha to restore Angelica’s hair to some kind of order, and she grumbled at her mistress throughout the ordeal.

‘How could you be so heedless…so lacking in common
decency…to go stravaging around the countryside without a hat on your head and your hair looking like a bird’s nest?’ she exclaimed, as she tried to untangle the knots. ‘You’re not a gypsy, my lady! What would the Earl say if he knew about this?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Angelica, a hint of rebellion in her voice, ‘but since he’s never going to find out it doesn’t matter, does it?’

‘And how could it have happened?’ Martha persisted, ignoring Angelica’s words, although she had no intention of ever betraying her mistress’s lack of conduct to anyone, least of all the Earl. ‘Your hat blowing away I can understand—this wicked wind—but your hair! I always take care to fix it firmly. I know how you bounce about when you’re excited. You’ve never managed to achieve the elegant carriage suitable for a lady in your position. Who did it up again?’

‘Mr Faulkener,’ said Angelica, boldly meeting her maid’s eyes and desperately trying not to let a blush betray her.

‘Did he, indeed?’ said Martha dryly, her eyes resting thoughtfully on Angelica’s glowing cheeks. ‘I suppose letting your hair down was part of your ploy to discover more about him, was it? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, my lady!’

Angelica coloured uncomfortably; very little escaped Martha’s sharp gaze and Angelica wondered just how much her maid had guessed about her ride with Benoît.

‘So how have
your
investigations been going?’ she asked brightly, trying to change the subject. ‘Is this house a haven
for smugglers, or is there an innocent explanation for what happened last night?’

Martha sniffed disapprovingly.

‘To think that a respectable woman like me should have to stoop to such devious behavior,’ she said sourly. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m not accustomed to playing the part of a spy, my lady. It’s not what I’m used to.’

‘Oh, Martha!’ Angelica exclaimed, caught between laughter and exasperation. ‘You’re used to doing whatever it takes to keep Harry and me out of trouble. You know you are!’

Martha smiled austerely as she finally succeeded in dragging a comb through Angelica’s tangled hair.

‘There can’t be much regular smuggling organised from this house,’ she said, as disapprovingly as if she’d just announced it was a den of iniquity, ‘not by the master, at all accounts. He doesn’t spend enough time here.’

‘What do you mean?’ Angelica said quickly. ‘I know he’s recently returned from the West Indies, but—’

‘This is the first time he’s spent more than a few weeks at home since his father died, two years ago,’ Martha continued, as if she hadn’t heard Angelica’s interruption. ‘According to what I hear, he’s worked his way up from ship’s boy to junior partner in a shipowning business. Very proud of him below stairs, they are.’

Angelica stared at her maid, quite speechless for several moments. Martha smiled with grim satisfaction at her mistress’s astonishment.

‘It seems he went to sea when he was fourteen years old,’
she said. ‘By the time he was twenty-one he was master of a merchantman trading to the West Indies. He was employed by a man called Josiah Crabtree, who had a fleet of four ships. Very fond of Mr Faulkener the old man is, seemingly. Mind you, he has good reason to be—Mr Faulkener brought his ship safely through a hurricane after he’d only been in command a few months.’