Highwayman Husband - Хелен Диксон - Chapter Four Читать онлайн любовный роман

Chapter Four

O nce alone, Laura stripped off her clothes and slipped into a deep-pink silk robe, tying the sash about her waist. Sitting at the dressing table, she studied her face in the mirror. She was almost twenty-one years old, and little of the girl who had come to Roslyn remained. The fresh glow of innocence had been replaced by a patina of cool sophistication. Two years of hard work and living in Cornwall had given her maturity, had transformed the girl Laura into a woman.

When Lucas had brought her to Roslyn, after he had done his duty she’d had no doubt that her husband of three days would eventually return to London to his former pleasures and leave her buried in Cornwall without family or friends. It had never entered her head that he would disappear out of her life altogether—permanently, she had thought. And now…now he was back.

It was inevitable that prison had changed him in several ways, as it must change many once carefree men. His time spent in that French prison must have been like a malevolent humour festering inside him, destroying hope of survival, faith and self-respect. But all humours of the flesh could be healed—now the prison walls had fallen away, and, though the healing process might take time, time was the greatest healer.

But how did she feel about him?

The truth hit her. Physically she was no more immune to Lucas Mawgan now than she had been when he had dazzled her in London, blinding her to every other man. She could withstand his anger but not his smile—the smile that had shattered her heart two years ago. When she had lain with him she had almost swooned as he had taken her into his arms, convinced that something glorious was going to happen to her. Despite what had followed and her searing disappointment regarding that intimate side of marriage, despite everything that had happened in between, he could still twist her entire being into exquisite knots of yearning, just as he had done then.

The following morning, in possession of an unfamiliar exhilaration, and feeling vibrantly, gloriously alive, Laura rose and went downstairs, inwardly convinced that her mood would stay that way from now on. The house was quiet, the sun streaming in through the latticed windows set beneath Norman arches. She paused and gazed fondly at the familiar surroundings, elated that she would not be leaving it to marry Edward.

Roslyn Manor had at one time been a castle, built in Norman times. Over the centuries a certain amount of conversion and rebuilding had taken place, but parts still remained of the original castle, the most prominent being the square, battlemented tower at the opposite end of the house to the hall. From the hall a wide stone staircase rose to the long gallery on the first floor, built during the Tudor period to connect the hall with the tower, offering a splendid view of the sloping gardens and the sea beyond.

Laura had come to love the Mawgans’ ancestral home. As she moved about its rooms she could feel the past and the people who had inhabited the house closing in on her, and Lucas was an essential part of it. With the rooms beneath the long gallery not in use, she kept few servants—just John and his wife, her maid, Susan, Martha, two gardeners who lived in Roslyn village, George, the groom—a huge, strong figure of a man with muscles like a bear’s and fists like a prize fighter—and his son, Joss, who helped his father with the work in the stables.

Seeing no one, humming a little tune, Laura passed through the hall and stepped into the kitchen, finding John alone. He was preparing a breakfast tray for her and looked up when she entered, his face wearing its usual impassive, solemn expression. She breathed in the delicious smell of fried bacon and toast.

‘Good morning, John. Is there something to eat? I’m absolutely starving.’

‘Good morning, my lady. I knew you would be, so I prepared your favourite—bacon, eggs, steamed mushrooms and buttered toast. You’ll want tea, too, I suppose.’

‘At least two cups.’

John always addressed her as ‘my lady’. At first she had felt uncomfortable with it and asked him not to, but he had slipped back into it and she had got used to it. She picked up a piece of toast to munch on as she went into the dining room. Seating herself at the table that commanded a splendid view of the sea and coastline, she found herself confronted with a huge vase of flowers—blue delphiniums and huge white roses, their petals like soft velvet and still moist with early-morning dew. ‘Why, John, you’re spoiling me. They’re lovely.’

John gave her one of his rare grins. ‘Only the best, my lady.’

Spreading a napkin over her lap, she waited as he placed a heaped plate in front of her and proceeded to pour the tea. ‘You look pleased with yourself this morning,’ she remarked casually, knowing he was waiting for her to mention the previous night’s events, and the part he had played, but she enjoyed teasing him so delayed the moment.

He cocked a quizzical brow. ‘Pleased?’

‘Mm. Maybe it’s the weather. It does look an exceptionally fine morning.’

John made a pretence of glancing out of the window. ‘Aye, so it does.’

‘I must say I’m surprised.

His eyes were upon her as he placed a cup of tea in front of her. ‘You are?’

‘Mm,’ she murmured, taking a forkful of egg and placing it in her mouth. ‘I fully expected you to be still in bed—following your extraordinary exertions last night.’ She glanced up at him obliquely. ‘I congratulate you. You are a consummate actor. It was quite a performance you put on—in fact, you were very convincing. You fooled me completely, and poor Sir Edward was all at sea.’

‘That was the idea, my lady.’ He shrugged. ‘What could I do? ’Twas an emergency.’

‘And your master is a bully and quite unscrupulous, I know,’ she stated, with a smile on her lips.

‘I fear that be so, my lady—but ’twas exciting.’

‘I gathered that,’ she quipped, spearing a piece of bacon. ‘With a pair of pistols levelled at Sir Edward and poor old Amos—whom you scared half to death, I might add—you seemed to be enjoying yourself. Although I visualised someone a mite younger in the part.’

‘A man’s as young as he feels, I always say, my lady.’

‘Of course,’ she agreed amiably.

‘Shocked, are you?’

With a mushroom halfway to her mouth, she paused and glanced up at him. ‘Shocked? A little—and surprised. But you should have told me we have a guest,’ she said, popping the mushroom between her lips.

‘Guest, my lady?’

‘Yes, John. And where is our guest? Still abed, I expect. Where does he sleep, by the way?’

‘In the turret room, and he was up and out at first light.’

‘Was he? Where did he go?’

She followed John’s gaze out of the window and along the coast to Stennack’s engine house with its tall chimney in the far-off distance, built precariously on the edge of the cliff. The mine, closed now for a good many years, was owned by the Mawgans. It was the deepest and richest mine in the area, with tin and copper brought up from its deepest workings—from the southern reaches beneath the sea itself—until tragedy had struck and the sea broke in, claiming the lives of twenty men and boys. Their bodies were still down there. No one had been able to get them out. After that the deep workings had been abandoned to the sea.

John had told Laura that the mine was always dear to Lucas’s heart. Before he had left for France he was seriously considering reopening it, and had employed mining experts to give him advice.

Savouring the knowledge of having Lucas back at Roslyn where he belonged, Laura finished her breakfast. Then, with a happy spring in her step, an apron tied around her trim waist and a need to do something constructive with her day, Laura went to the part of the house that had not been used in two years. Perhaps it was time to take a look and see what needed to be done.

Entering the passageway beneath the long gallery, she closed the heavy door behind her. It squeaked loudly on its hinges, and she made a mental note to ask John to oil them. The passageway was dark and eerily shadowed, with doorways leading to several rooms. At the end a large window outlined a smaller doorway where a stairway led down to the cellars. This entrance was never used, since the cellars could be reached from the kitchen. Seeing that the door was ajar, she went towards it. As she peered down into the dark the silence was tomblike, the mournful wail of the rising wind intruding upon the stillness. A cold, dank draught wafting up from below invaded her clothing, and with a shiver Laura pulled the door closed.

Going from room to room, she assessed what had to be done, pulling the dust covers from furniture and artefacts. Becoming warm from her labours, she loosened the neck of her wool dress and rolled up the sleeves. Working her way back to the first room along the passageway, upon entering she paused to catch her breath. Dust clung to her apron, resisting her efforts to brush it away. Wiping the perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand, she inadvertently smeared the black smudge that was there into a long streak.

The room, with ghostly shapes of furniture spread with dust covers, was wanly lit by the faint October light. With her hands on her hips she paused in the centre and looked about her.

Still holding the carving, she moved towards the stone fireplace, recalling the first time she had wandered through these rooms. How captivated she had been by the many aspects of the manor, and the many fine objects and personal effects of Lucas’s forebears that it housed. A portrait of a woman hung above the mantel, and the resemblance she bore to Lucas was unmistakable. The lady was his mother.

Suddenly, feeling a presence and that someone’s eyes were boring holes into her back, she turned. Her heart gave a leap of surprise and a certain excitement. Lucas was standing in the open doorway, one shoulder resting negligently against the door frame and his arms folded across his chest, casually watching her, still and patient, staring at her with a brooding, sombre gaze. Dressed for the outdoors, from the jacket to the high, trim boots he wore, with his unruly locks of raven-black hair tumbling wildly over his forehead, he looked impossibly handsome, she thought, feeling her heart quicken at the sight.

‘Good heavens! You almost scared the wits out of me!’ she exclaimed, experiencing a rush of emotions, among them pleasure and surprise, wondering how he had managed to appear without being seen or heard, there being no stairway to the upper storey and no outside door in this part of the house. A tingling that she could not explain crept up her spine. ‘Have you got unnatural powers that you can appear unobserved? John said you were out.’

‘Why,’ he said, relinquishing his stance in the doorway and approaching her slowly, his eyes sweeping over her dishevelled, rather soiled appearance, and her shining hair that was escaping the confines of its pins, ‘were you looking for me?’

‘No. I was curious, that was all,’ she said. He seemed extraordinarily tall as he came nearer. He paused within reach and stood looking down at her, his eyes on her face. He was studying her with those strongly marked eyebrows slightly raised. His clear gaze was penetrating, and Laura felt uncomfortable beneath it.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said, ‘nor did I expect to find my wife looking as if she’d just crept out of a dustbin.’

Vaguely irritated by the intensity of his inspection, Laura glanced down at her soiled apron. ‘I suppose I do look a sight, don’t I?’

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, casting a casual glance about the room.

‘These rooms have hardly been touched in two years, and I thought that now you’re back you might want them reopening.’

‘Why close them in the first place? Did you take exception to cleaning them?’

Stung by what she mistakenly took to be a reprimand, Laura bristled. ‘Not at all. Why not close them? I didn’t need them. The house is enormous, and with just myself living here it hardly seemed worth keeping servants to clean empty rooms. Every now and then I see to it that a superficial cleaning is done, and fires lit during winter months to keep them aired.’

With a look that betrayed a mild degree of amusement he nodded. ‘Since when did ladies of the manor start doing menial chores themselves? We are not exactly in the position where we’re too poor to employ extra servants.’

‘I know, but I’m not above or averse to doing housework—or scrubbing floors, even, if I have to. Do you want these rooms reopened?’

‘Yes, but from what I’ve seen, you’re going to have your work cut out. Are you sure you’re up to the challenge?’ Lucas asked, but she seemed so eager, and her smile so disarming, that he really believed she was looking forward to the task. He noticed the carving of the horse she held and reached out to take it from her. His long, lean fingers traced its lines. ‘This was a keepsake of my mother’s,’ he murmured distantly. ‘When her horse died, my father carved its likeness and gave it to her one Christmas.’

‘It—it’s beautiful. Your father must have been extremely talented,’ Laura remarked generously.

‘No, he wasn’t,’ Lucas countered. ‘You’re being too kind. He would be the first to tell you that he was no craftsman. It’s a poor likeness, but Mother loved it.’

After placing the carving on the mantel beneath the portrait he turned, folding his hands behind his back and looking thoughtfully about the room with deceptively lazy eyes.

‘This is one room in particular I would like to make use of. It was my father’s study. We spent many an hour discussing matters that were of import at the time—issues from as far afield as India and America, to what was happening here at Roslyn. Sometimes Mother would be seated by the fire, quietly occupied with her sewing—listening.’

‘Why did you go away?’ Laura found herself asking, for it puzzled her, when he had so much here in Cornwall, why he would want to leave it.

Lucas shrugged absently. ‘That is a question I have asked myself countless times during my imprisonment. My parents didn’t want me to leave Roslyn, but they didn’t try to dissuade me, either. I was young and restless, with a sense of adventure and a yearning to see foreign places. I wanted more than what Cornwall had to offer, so I went to work for the government. I suddenly found myself surrounded by intrigue—danger. It appealed to me. But in the end I always knew I would come back to what I know and understand. My father knew it, too. Roslyn is my home—my life,’ he finished quietly, as if speaking his private thoughts aloud.

Uncertain of his mood, and with a sense that he had momentarily forgotten she was there, Laura remained still, watching him.

After a moment Lucas’s gaze came to rest on her once more. A shaft of light slanting through the window fell on her small proud head with its crown of shining curls. With her delicate hands clasped in front of her, her dark eyes were watching him intently, causing something to stir within his heart.

She was completely female, not just feminine but womanly, lovely, and she also had the softest, most inviting mouth he had ever seen. There was a vulnerability about her, a sweet, wild essence that still belonged to the girl he had married, and he remembered how these qualities had appealed to him as much then as they did now. Despite the unpleasant circumstances which had led to their marriage, he had felt proud to have her at his side on their wedding day.

Unconsciously she reached up a hand to brush away a wisp of hair, and the movement of her arm lifted the rounded fullness of her young breast. Lucas’s eyes narrowed in appreciation and he felt his blood run warm in his veins and the heat of it move to his belly.

He didn’t understand why Laura had such a volatile effect on him, but he understood that he wanted her, wanted her soft and willing in his arms. He tried to tell himself that this growing fascination with his wife was merely lust caused by two long years of abstinence, but he knew it was more than lust that held him enthralled.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he moved closer to where she stood and looked down at her. His expression was grave and serious, at the same time inquiring. ‘Do you enjoy your life at the manor, Laura?’ he asked unexpectedly. ‘A young woman—alone in this great house without company?’

‘I—I have John and his wife.’

‘They’re good, loyal people, I grant you, but they are servants.’

‘Their position has nothing to do with it. I have become extremely fond of them both, and class them as my friends.’

‘Do you not long for the gaieties of city life?’ he asked, watching her closely. ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you had chosen to seek the social whirl. Do you regret not doing so?’

‘Do I look regretful? I don’t long for any kind of social whirl,’ Laura told him frankly. ‘I am happy here and never lonely.’

‘Nevertheless, London can be a very alluring place to a young woman who suddenly finds herself an extremely rich widow. Your protected upbringing would never have prepared you for the situation you found yourself in on my alleged demise. Weren’t you tempted to leave all this behind? After all, it meant nothing to you.’

‘No,’ she said quickly, offended that he might think that and eager to make him understand otherwise. ‘I’m not like that. When you know me better you will see that I do not shake off my responsibilities so easily, Lucas. I told you last night that I considered it my duty to remain, and that I have come to love this place. I did not speak lightly. Oh, it can be unnerving when there is a storm,’ she admitted, ‘and at times the wind does seem to buffet the house so hard I often think it’s about to be blown off its perch. Sometimes it shrieks so loud I feel frightened when I hear it.’

‘And yet you stay.’

‘Yes. It’s my home. Besides,’ she said, the trace of a smile tugging at her lips, ‘what sort of figure do you think I should cut in London without the right escort?’

‘You have your brother and his wife, and Carlyle is often in London, I hear. Did he not ask you to accompany him?’

‘No. And if he had I would have refused,’ she said with absolute honesty.

‘But you must miss your brother and his family,’ Lucas persisted.

‘I told you that I have seen them recently. Philip and Jane brought the children to Roslyn for the summer months.’ She looked sideways at him. ‘Are you, by any chance, telling me that I should not have stayed at the manor after all, Lucas? Are you trying to get rid of me?’

Lucas shook his head. ‘No, indeed,’ he answered, ‘and I am extremely grateful that you didn’t desert the old house and those dependent on the family for subsistence. But, on reflection, I realise that it can’t have been easy for you.’

‘It was a difficult time, I admit that, but the way I saw it I had no choice.’

Lucas smiled and ran a finger down her cheek, gently taking hold of a stray curl and hooking it behind her ear, thinking how adorable she looked with her hair all mussed up and smudges of dirt on her lovely face.

‘I have every reason to be grateful to you for your loyalty. You certainly looked after my interests in my absence. I can see I could not have left my affairs in more capable hands.’ He nodded slowly, his astute gaze on her face while a slow smile drifted across his own. ‘You’re a strange creature, Laura, and not a conventional one. I can see that. Just as I think I’m getting to know you, some new trait shows itself.’

‘May God spare me from being predictable,’ she laughed, quite appalled by the idea and sharing his humour.

‘Something tells me you’ll never be that. That’s your appeal,’ Lucas responded quietly. He gave her a long, silent look, and then moved away. ‘I have things to do and I shall disrupt your work no longer.’

‘What are you planning to do with yourself today?’ Laura asked, reluctant to see him go.

‘Oh, this and that,’ he replied casually, shooting her a brief smile before disappearing out of the door.

Alone once more, Laura wandered around, mechanically going about her chores. Her emotions seemed to be all over the place, and thoughts of Lucas filled her head. She had a feeling that something deep inside him was reaching out to her, and, finding an answering response in her, this strong, magnetic pull was drawing them closer together. The thought warmed her.

Despite their volatile encounter on the road last night and the angry words they had exchanged—when Lucas had made it plain that he expected complete obedience from her, that she would be governed by him and bend to his will—every instinct that she possessed told her that he was a sensitive man, capable of great gentleness as well as strength.

Laura waited all day for Lucas to return to the house. When he failed to do so and the light began to fade, she went in search of John. ‘I thought our guest would have returned by now, John. Would you instruct George to saddle my horse? I think I’ll ride to Stennack. I believe that is where I shall find him—don’t you?’

‘Aye, my lady. That’s where he’ll be.’ John watched her go, seeing there was an added spring to her step, and that her large eyes were aglow and animated. He smiled, his wrinkled face alight with happiness for her.

Laura rode along the narrow, winding path along the top of the cliffs, with Stennack always within her sights. She breathed deeply the crisp October air, tasting the salt of the sea on her lips. She came to a place where the land was broken by a fast-flowing stream which looped its way through the valley below, among marshes and reedbeds, until it was funnelled into a deep lagoon.

Following the path down, she paused, gazing at the still waters, quiet and beautiful, but, as everyone in these parts knew, depending on the weather, this could change and be quite frightening. Over the years several drownings had occurred here, and at least one ghost was reputed to walk and disappear into the cold and mysterious black depths.

But this did not trouble Laura, her mind being too preoccupied with other matters. At the end of the lagoon the water spilled into Roslyn Cove, running out to the sea. Slowly she followed its course, the precipitously wooded cliffs rising on either side. At the point where the river ran onto the sands the rocks fused above, forming an archway through which she could see the sea beyond, with the last rays of the setting sun resting on its dark waters with a translucent clarity.

Further out in the cove there was a large number of rocks, some of which showed themselves at half-tide, some at low water, but by far the greater of these never appeared at all. Many stricken ships had met their doom on these submerged rocks. The coastline with its small, sandy beaches was littered with the naked bones of wrecks. It had many hidden coves and creeks and inaccessible caves, which together gave rise to tales of smuggling and wrecking.

When Laura had first come to Roslyn there had been excitement and romance in some of these tales, but after she had borne witness to one ill-fated ship that had run aground on the rocks during a storm the reality had destroyed the romance. She had seen with her own eyes the ruthless desperation of the men and women who had come from the nearby hamlets and surged into the cove to salvage what they could when the spoils of the sea were dragged onto the beach, all half crazy and behaving like animals as they made sure there were no survivors from the stricken vessel.

Roslyn Cove was better situated than most. It was an ideal place for vessels from France to deposit their cargoes of contraband. The cliff was riddled with caves and chambers beneath Roslyn Manor, and it was rumoured that there was a tunnel linking them to the house, but Laura had never found it.

Contraband was often stored in the caves until the dark nights when the packhorses and wagons would come and take it away across the moor, the majority of it destined for London. Because of the reputation of this part of the coast, where smuggling was carried out with great skill and cunning, and which was so extensive it was virtually impossible for the coastguards and revenue cutters to control, Laura had learned to tread warily, and to hold her tongue.

Following the path up to the top of the cliff on the other side, she looked further west, where the coastline continued to trace its intricate way in and out of tiny coves and around the handsome headlands as far as Fowey’s graceful river and town.

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