Marrying Miss Hemingford (18 page)

‘Betrayal is never amusing, dearest,' her aunt said, putting a hand on her arm to calm her.

‘No, Aunt, but I am not at all sure we should believe everything Mrs Tremayne says.' She spoke firmly, but the doubts were there in her mind and would not go away.

‘What has she to gain by spreading a story like that if it is not true?'

‘I do not know, but there is something havey-cavey…'

‘Of course there is, he is trying to hide his shame.'

‘He does not behave like a man with a shameful past. He is far too arrogant for that.'

‘The trouble is that you do not want to believe it.'

Silently Anne agreed, but they had stopped outside the house and the coachman was opening the door and letting down the step, bringing an end to the conversation. Not wanting to renew it after they entered the house, Anne said
goodnight to her aunt and made her way to her bed, where she lay going over every word of what Mrs Tremayne had said, mulling it over, wondering if she could possibly have misunderstood. There was only one way to find out and that was to confront Dr Tremayne and insist that he tell her. But why would he? Why would he admit to what, among the
haut monde,
amounted to a crime? Was that why he had turned his back on society to work among the poor?

She slept at last, but her sleep was disturbed by nightmares. Something grey and slimy was crawling all over her and though she tried to run from it, it followed her as she ran across the strand into the sea. She was swimming, using all her strength to escape, but although she was thrashing out with her legs, she could make no headway and the monster, which seemed to be at home in the sea, was gaining on her, swamping her and she could not throw it off.

Anne woke in a cold sweat to find all the bedclothes in a tangled heap and her pillow on the floor. A golden rapier of sunshine had found its way between the folds of the curtains and was shining on the wall beside her bed.

She smiled ruefully and left the tangled sheets to go and draw the curtains. The sky was streaked with pink and mauve around the rising sun and the sea glittered sharp as a diamond, smooth as silk. Instead of rousing Amelia, who never liked to rise early, she dressed in a blue spotted muslin gown, slipped a silk shawl about her shoulders and, after leaving a note telling her aunt that she had gone for a dip, she crept from the house, making for the beach.

Mrs Smith was beside her bathing machine, mending
one of the brown cotton gowns she provided for her bathers. Anne greeted her and asked after Tildy before paying her money and climbing into the little hut to change. Five minutes later, she had ducked under the sheltering hood and was swimming strongly out to sea. Deliberately she turned and made for the little cove beneath the cliffs from which she knew Dr Tremayne bathed.

There was no one about. She waded ashore and looked about her. The sand was firm and pale, without the blemish of a footmark. No one had been there since the last high tide. She sat down on a rock to wait.

Half an hour passed and no one came. Her disappointment was almost tangible. She told herself firmly that it was only because she was anxious to clear the air, to learn the truth in order that the hospital project could go ahead unsullied by gossip. It had, she upbraided herself, nothing to do with her personal feelings. She rose and paced the sand, wondering whether to return to the bathing machine, glancing upwards to see if anyone was coming down the path from the top of the cliffs. It remained deserted. At the top she could see a building, its windows reflecting the light from sun and sea and she wondered what it was. Suddenly making up her mind, she scrambled up the path towards it.

It was a large house, empty and deserted. Weeds choked the path to the door and the uncurtained windows were festooned with cobwebs. She went closer and, shielding her face with both hands, peered inside one of the downstairs rooms. There was no furniture, except for a table, a cupboard and a few broken chairs but, though everywhere was thick with dust, the room was light and
spacious. Excitement mounting, she ran round to the other side, which fronted on to a narrow lane. There was an oak front door with a tarnished knocker and more weeds growing in the drive. She stood back and looked upwards. It had two solid brick storeys and a row of dormer windows to the attics above those. It was obvious it had not been lived in for years. Why did not bother her, but here was their hospital.

Impatient to find out who the owner was and whether it was for sale or lease, she ran back to the cliff path and skittered down its steep incline to the beach. She was not looking where she was going or she might have stopped herself, but her own momentum carried her down and straight into the arms of Justin making his way up the path. He put out his hands to hold her steady and stop her bowling him over. The suddenness of his appearance took her breath away and for a moment she could do nothing but stand facing him, her breast heaving.

He had just emerged from the sea and was wearing nothing but skin-tight knee smalls. She watched mesmerised as the water ran off his muscular shoulders in little droplets, coursing through the fine hairs on his chest. She felt an almost irresistible urge to reach out and stop one on its way with her finger, might even have succumbed if he had not been holding her at arm's length. ‘Oh,' she said, shifting her gaze upwards to his face. ‘I…' She stopped, unable to think of a single thing to say which did not sound mundane and utterly out of keeping with the moment.

‘Anne…' His voice was hoarse as he looked down at her. The cheap cotton garment she wore was clinging to
the curves of her body like a second skin, except that it did not cover her white throat and only just concealed the pink mounds of her breasts. He released his grip on her arms to reach out to touch the edge of it. She held her breath, waiting for him to push it down off her shoulders, wanting him to do it, to expose her breasts to his gaze. There was nothing in her head except a throbbing desire to meld herself with this man, to become one with him. She waited for him to fling her down on the sand and tear the damp garment from her trembling body, knowing she would do nothing to resist. But he did nothing of the sort. Instead he gave her a rueful smile and slowly lifted it back on to her shoulder. ‘You will catch cold.'

She was shivering, but not with cold. She was on fire with the heat of her passion, a passion she felt sure he had shared until that moment. And now the ardour was gone leaving her raging with disappointment, desire unfulfilled. She felt the tears well in her eyes and blinked rapidly. ‘I am not cold.'

He did not know how he kept his hands off her. She was so desirable, every contour of her body revealed beneath the wet costume, inviting him to explore. Her amber eyes, dilated and shining, drew him in, until he was floundering and it took a monumental effort of will to resist her, to break the spell and turn from her so that she would not see how his own body betrayed him. Did she not know what she was doing to him? His voice, when he spoke, was harsh, denying his weakness. ‘What are you doing here?

‘I came looking for you.'

‘Why?'

She had come to confront him, to quiz him about his
broken engagement, to ask him why he had not told her he was the son of a viscount and why he had kissed his sister-in-law in that intimate way, but the accusations died in her throat. She simply did not care. He had stepped back from the brink, but that did not mean he was not affected and there would be other times. She smiled suddenly. ‘I have been exploring that house.' She pointed upwards. ‘It will make a perfect hospital…'

‘Oh.' It was his turn to be disappointed. ‘Did you know about it? Before you swam out here, I mean. Is that why you came?'

‘No, I was taking a dip and saw the cove and decided to come ashore to rest before returning. If you use this path often, you must have passed the house many times. I am surprised you have not considered it before.'

He wondered how she knew he used the path and if she had deliberately come ashore to meet him. If he had not decided to curtail his swim, he might have missed her. He felt the hand of fate moving his affairs and was not sure he liked it. ‘The idea of a hospital was nothing but a dream until you came.' He paused. ‘Do you make dreams come true, Miss Hemingford?'

‘You called me Anne just now.'

‘Did I? A slip. I apologise.'

‘No, don't do that, it means you are sorry for it. You are not sorry, are you?'

‘Not in the least.'

‘Then when we are alone, I am Anne. And you are…?'

‘Justin. My name is Justin.'

‘It suits you. Do come and look at the house with me.' She held out her hand and he took it and together they
climbed up to the house and walked all round it. Her hand was in his the whole time, warm and comfortable and a perfect fit. He released it to try the door and both were surprised when it opened. ‘Oh, do let's look round,' she said, dancing inside, her bare feet making footprints in the dust.

He followed as she skipped from room to room, exclaiming at each new find. ‘The big room downstairs, and the one beside it, will make the reception areas,' she said. ‘And that parlour at the back, looking out on the gardens, can be your private sitting room. The kitchens are dismal and filthy, but that can soon be remedied.' He listened without comment, marvelling at her enthusiasm, loving her with an ache in his heart that threatened to overturn his resolve.

When they had been over the whole of the ground floor, she insisted on climbing the stairs in spite of the fact that some of the wooden treads were rotting. Fearful for her safety, he took her hand again. They went from room to room and finally stood looking out over the sea from one of the upstair windows. ‘Oh, it is perfect,' she said, turning to him and laughing with an exultant joy that was only marginally caused by the discovery of the house. ‘Do you not think so?'

‘It will need a great deal of work.' He had to keep his mind on the idea of the hospital or he would lose all control. ‘Some of the wood is rotting, half the windows are broken and I noticed some tiles missing from the roof.'

‘Such small matters are easily overcome. Tell me, can you not see it, clean and scrubbed and these rooms lined with beds? They have such wonderful views, they will aid the patients' recovery, do you not think? And the staff can be housed in the attic rooms.' She turned to him, glowing with enthusiasm. ‘What do you say?'

He smiled. ‘Yes, if the fund can afford it.'

‘Oh, I knew you would agree.' And she flung her arms about his neck and kissed his cheek.

He raised his hands to hold her, changed his mind, then changed it again, wrapping his arms about her, not wanting to let go, amused by her exuberance, wishing it might always be so. He wanted to speak to her privately, to tell her about Sophie, perhaps even tell her how he felt about her, but suddenly he felt tongue-tied. Telling her would spoil the moment. He did not want to bring the sordid world of reality into the fantasy world they had created here in this empty, echoing house.

She dreamed of a hospital and it was his dream too, but added to that was another, which meant she would be at his side always, his wife and helpmate. But that would mean denying her the social intercourse of her equals, subjecting her to the life of service he had chosen and how could he ask that of her? If he was to have his hospital, to do the work he had set for himself, he could not have her. He lowered his head to brush the top of her head with his lips. ‘We cannot do anything about it until we have discovered who owns it and if it is for sale.'

‘Then let us do that at once.'

He looked down at her and grinned. ‘Can you imagine the faces of the tabbies, if we go into town dressed as we are? They will all have apoplexy.'

Her laughter pealed out. ‘And you will tell them it is because their corsets are laced too tight.'

‘Oh, dear, I am not forgiven for that, am I?'

‘Of course you are. Aunt Bartrum said you were right.'

‘Did she? The lady goes up in my esteem.' He paused, not wanting to part from her, but knowing the idyll had to end. He had left George Harrison dealing with the early arrivals with the help of a nurse he had hired, but he could not allow him to shoulder the burden all day or his friend would regret promising his help. ‘Come, I will see you safely back to the bathing machine before you are reported drowned. And then I must return to my patients.'

‘Oh.' She was suddenly seized by guilt. She had been gone hours; Mrs Smith would be worried, might even have alerted her aunt. ‘I must go at once.' And she tore down the stairs, out of the house and down the cliff path with him at her heels. They both waded out and dived in as soon as the water was deep enough to swim. It seemed a great deal colder than it had on the outward journey and though it only took a few minutes, she was shivering uncontrollably by the time they reached the spot opposite the bathing machines.

He stopped and moved closer to her, reaching out to take her hand. ‘I shall horrify all the patrons if I emerge here, so I will go back the way I came. Make sure you have a warm bath and a hot drink as soon as you arrive home.'

She smiled as he raised her wet hand to his lips. It was the smile of a conspirator. ‘I think I will not tell of our meeting. I found the house and I will make enquiries about it and bring the matter up at the next meeting of the committee.'

‘And I shall be surprised and delighted.' He turned and swam back the way they had come while she waded out to the bathing machine where Mrs Smith was still plac
idly plying her needle on the top step. ‘I am sorry I was so long,' she said, clambering up into the vehicle. ‘I hope you were not concerned for me.'

‘Oh, no, Miss Hemingford, I saw you leave the water up by the cove, I knew you hadn't drowned.' Her smile was so broad, Anne knew she had also seen Dr Tremayne. ‘But if you don't want to catch a chill, you must let me give you a brisk rub down to warm you before you dress.'