straight brows, a lean face to match his body with fine planes and sharply elegant cheekbones. His lips, now soft and relaxed, were masterfully carved. Harriette could imagine them curving in a smile, or firm with temper. Softly she drew her fingertip across and along, a mere breath of touch. They were cold and unresponsive.
What would it be like to press her own lips to his? To warm them into life, to feel them heat and respond…? She had no idea.
Harriette Lydyard had never been kissed.
As if aware of her regard, and causing Harriette to snatch her hand away, his eyelids fluttered, then slitted open, a shine of green, yet blurred as they had been in the cutter. A murmur, a slur of words.
‘Where is she? You promised…Had an agreement…’
Harriette leaned forwards to listen, smoothing her palm over his forehead, down his uninjured cheek.
‘…you must let her go…let her come with me…’
So he had lost someone, a woman it seemed. Harriette allowed herself another soft caress as a keen regret settled in her heart. Searching for her was important enough to cause him anxiety. What would it be like to have this man search for her, raging at her loss? Her cheeks flushed, her heart fluttered a little. What would it be like to be prized enough by so desirable a man that he must seek you out, even to the point of wounding, even near death. What would it be like to feel those arms close around her and hold her body against his…?
How foolish! How shocking! What would Wallace say if he could read her entirely unseemly thoughts? Harriette snatched her hands away and pushed herself to her feet. A silly girl’s dreaming. She would end up wed to one of Wallace’s drinking, hunting, entirely unattractive cronies if he had his way. No future in wishing and sighing over a handsome man as if she were a child barely out of the schoolroom. And where would she possibly meet such a one as he? She was hardly likely to persuade Wallace to give her a Season in London. Or even Brighton.
‘Where is she? You promised…I can’t leave her!’
Against her will, lured by the undoubted anguish, Harriette was drawn back again to push the tangled hair from his face.
‘Hush now. I’ll care for you.’ So racked and troubled. But who wouldn’t be with a dent in his skull and a bullet through his arm? Yet a strange tenderness was stirred.
‘I’m afraid for her….’
‘There’s no need to fear.’ Empty words, but she must reassure him.
‘Help me…’With a deep sigh, almost a groan, he lapsed into silence again, dark lashes heavy against his pale skin.
‘I will. Sleep now…’ She closed her hand around his and felt an instant response, weak, in truth, but a curl of his fingers around her own as if in ownership, as if an unbreakable bond existed between them.
Harriette’s heart bounded heavily within her chest. Her breathing shuddered. In that one moment all she could desire was to stay beside him and comfort him, soothe his pain.
You love him! The words whispered in her ears, lodging in her mind. You have fallen in love with him!
‘No, I have not! Of course I have not!’ she remarked aloud, thrusting her hands behind her back like a small child caught out in some misdemeanour. As if she might reach out to touch him again because every instinct insisted that she do so, flesh against flesh. ‘How could I possibly have done anything so ridiculous!’ But her breath was short, as if she had just climbed the path to Lydyard’s Pride, her skin heated, the blood singing through her veins to make her aware of every inch of her body.
‘What’s that, Miss Harriette? Regret bringing him back here already?’ George Gadie came to stand at her side. ‘He’ll live, I reckon.’
‘And that’s the best we can do for now,’ Harriette remarked, furious with herself, but working hard to keep her voice calm, unconcerned. She drew her tongue over dry lips and prayed for a cold dose of common sense to cool her blood. ‘We’ll leave him to see if he recovers. One of the maids—Jenny—can sit by him.’
‘Then I’ll be back tomorrow, Cap’n, if you don’t want me now.’
‘You’ve done more than enough for me today.’ She touched his arm in thanks. ‘Go and let your wife know you’re safe. It was a good night’s run.’
‘Aye, it was. Hope he doesn’t cause you more trouble than he’s worth. Should’ve passed him over to the Silver Boat, as Mr Alexander said.’
Harriette angled a glance. ‘Would you have left Gabriel there under Sam Babbercombe’s care, if he was wounded?’ A grunt was all the reply she got as George opened the door for the maid, but she sensed his agreement. ‘Come for me if he wakes, or takes a turn for the worse,’ Harriette instructed Jenny, who settled herself on the only chair with a basket of stitching to keep watch. ‘I expect he’ll sleep through the rest of the night and much of the day.’
As Harriette walked slowly down the staircase, her thoughts remaining fixed on the man who astonishingly had the power to light a flame in her blood, she came upon Meggie climbing ponderously towards her, a deep wicker basket on each arm.
‘Well, Miss Harriette. Now what?’ She puffed out a breath, cheeks red with exertion.
Harriette beckoned. ‘Come with me and I’ll tell you.’ Retracing her steps to the first floor, she opened the door of the bedchamber she used when she could escape from Wallace and his overbearing wife, Augusta, and spend a night there. For furnishings and cleanliness it was little better than the one she had just left, but familiar with its lack of comfort she paid that no heed, walking immediately across the room to one of the windows, for the windows of the chamber looked out across the bay, offering a spectacular sweep of coastline.
Meggie, broad and stout, no nonsense snapping in her bright eyes, ignored the view as she deposited her burdens on the bed. Companion and servant to Miss Harriette Lydyard for more years than she cared to add up, and well used to her mistress’s eccentric lifestyle if not totally accepting of it, she did not mince her words. ‘What’re you doing this time, miss? Mr Alexander did not say.’
Harriette’s lips twitched wryly, knowing that her trust in Meggie could be absolute. ‘I think I’m bringing a spy back from the dead.’
‘A spy, is it? Do you think you should?’ Meggie did not appear altogether shocked.
‘No, but I can’t leave him to die, can I?’ The gleam of rich colour catching her eye, Harriette left the window and the view to dig into one of the baskets. ‘His clothes are ruined. He’ll need this until we can make other arrangements.’ She unfolded a dressing gown in stunning red-and-gold satin, dragons chasing their tails, with heavy gold frogging on breast and cuffs.
‘And he’ll have to be at death’s door to agree to wear it!’
Harriette chuckled. ‘Sir Wallace sees himself as the epitome of high fashion.’ She swirled the gown around her own shoulders and struck a stance remarkably similar to that of her pompous brother. ‘As for the occupant of my one furnished bedchamber, he’ll have no choice, however tasteless it might be.’ She looked up, eyes pinning her maid. ‘What did my brother say? Or did you manage to leave without his knowledge?’
‘More like what her ladyship said.
