Christopher’s men were scattering everywhere, some along the cliffs and beach, others in the caves and village. His hands unclasped, allowing his shirtsleeves to flutter violently in the wind. He gripped the hilt of his foil and inhaled sea air deep into his lungs.
“Right,” he murmured. “Let’s go down, then.”
He led the way to the beach below, his gaze directly meeting the eyes of his many men as he passed them. It was such a simple thing, those fleeting glances, yet they said so much to the men who risked their lives in service to him.
Over the years he’d watched others in command and noted how they walked the gauntlet with eyes set straight ahead, puffed up with pride as if they were too good to acknowledge their underlings. The only loyalty such men inspired was built on fear or love of coin. A shaky foundation, easily destroyed.
Christopher stepped behind a large boulder that rested partly in the water and waited. The sky darkened; the roaring waves lessened their fury. The lander moved into place to begin the well-organized task of hauling cargo from the ship to the shore.
The knowledge of what was to come coiled tightly inside Christopher. He watched the beach from his hiding place, emotionless, as he would need to be to survive the long night. Shadows flowed down from the village like smoke, betraying those who wished to usurp him. As he gestured for the lantern that was hidden to the side, the clash of steel and shouts of warning could be heard. The air changed, became charged, the scent of fear filling his nostrils. Christopher revealed himself, holding a lantern aloft to cast illumination upon his features.
“Ho, there!” he called out, his tone filled with such command that the battling men on the shore faltered. As he expected, one man separated himself from the many.
“About time you showed yer cowardly face!” the cretin shouted.
Arching a brow, Christopher drawled, “Next time you desire my company, might I suggest a handwritten invitation?”
“Quit yer riddles and fight like a man.”
Christopher smiled coldly. “Ah, but I prefer to fight like a heathen.”
A grouping of men rushed toward him and he tossed the lantern at their feet, spraying oil and flames, which quickly engulfed the lot of them and lit up the beach. Their screams of agony tore through the night, sending a ripple of terror and unease outward to engulf anyone within hearing distance.
Yanking his foil free of its scabbard, Christopher tossed up his left arm for balance and lunged into the ensuing fracas.
The night was long, the carnage plenty.
“Are you going to see Mr. Field?” Amelia inquired from her seat on Miss Pool’s bed.
The pretty governess lifted her blue eyes to meet Amelia’s in the vanity mirror’s reflection. “Are you playing matchmaker?”
Amelia wished she could smile, but she hadn’t managed that feat in days. “You look as lovely as a china doll,” she said instead.
Miss Pool turned in her seat to study her for the umpteenth time. “Are you certain you won’t come with me? You always love a trip into the village.”
Painful memories flashed through her mind, and Amelia shook her head violently to rid herself of them. She would not cry in front of Miss Pool.
“Please know that you can talk to me about anything,” the governess coaxed. “I kept your secret about your sister. I can keep others, too.”
Pursing her lips, Amelia tried to keep her thoughts to herself but found herself blurting, “Have you ever been in love?”
The blue eyes widened, then Miss Pool admitted, “I fancied that I was. It ended badly, I’m afraid.”
“Did you still love him? When it ended?”
“Yes.”
Rising to her feet, Amelia moved to the window. It looked out toward the stream and away from the stables, so it was an innocuous view. “How did you recover?”
“I’m not sure that I did, until I met Mr. Field.”
Amelia turned back at that. “How does he signify?”
“I am no expert, so I hesitate to speak about this, but I think perhaps a new romance can fill the void left by an old one.” Miss Pool stood and crossed to her. “You will never have to worry about that. You are far too wonderful a person to ever lose your love.”
“How I wish that were true,” Amelia whispered.
A commiserating smile spread across the governess’s delicate features. She set her hands gently atop Amelia’s shoulders and asked, “You speak of first loves, yes? Those always end with heartache, Amelia. It is a rite of passage. The signal that you have grown beyond youthful fancy into the deeper knowledge of yourself. It is painful proof that you have left the tiny concerns of childhood behind and have grown into a woman’s awareness.”
Tears welled in Amelia’s eyes. Miss Pool pulled her closer and offered solace in a warm embrace. Amelia accepted it gratefully, crying until she was wracked with hiccups, then she managed to cry some more.
Finally empty of tears, she reached deep inside herself and found a bit of strength she had not known she possessed.
“Go,” Amelia ordered, blowing her nose into the handkerchief thrust at her. Miss Pool was always prepared. “I have held you here long enough.”
“I will not leave you like this,” Miss Pool protested.
“I feel better. Truly. I feel so much better, in fact, that I intend to go for a walk to clear my head.”
It was Tuesday, the day when Colin and his uncle had the afternoon to themselves. They always ventured away, which meant the estate was safe to traverse.
“Come with me, then.”
Amelia shuddered. She was not
It took more assurances and cajoling before Miss Pool reluctantly left for the village. Then Amelia questioned the cook-who knew everything about everyone-to make certain Colin was gone. Still, the fear of seeing him again made her nauseated.
Taking a deep breath, she burst from the kitchen door, ran across the unkempt lawn, and plunged into the cover of trees. As she approached the small fence with the intent to climb over it, a movement in the trees drew her up short.
She ducked low and hid behind a trunk, watching as one of her father’s lackeys made his rounds along the perimeter of the property. He was an older man, neat in appearance but too lean, causing his clothes to hang on his bony frame. His roaming gaze was hard and cold, and his hand gripped the hilt of a wicked-looking dagger.
He paused and glanced around suspiciously. Amelia held her breath, afraid to even blink as he craned his neck back and forth, searching the area. Forever seemed to pass before the guard moved on.
For a long moment, she waited, needing to be certain that he’d gone far enough away that she would not be seen climbing over the fence. Then she made her escape.
Amelia hopped over onto the neighboring property, slipping into the wooded area before blowing out the breath she’d been holding. “Heavens,” she breathed, relieved beyond measure to have succeeded. “What a most unpleasant man.”
“I agree.”
Amelia jumped at the sound of the low, cultured drawl. She spun about, then gaped at the gentleman who stood nearby.
He was undeniably wealthy, as indicated by the fine quality of his garments and the craftsmanship of his wig. He was pale and slender, almost pretty. Despite the fact that he looked to be of similar age, he carried himself with a bearing that proclaimed clearly that his word was to be obeyed. A man of privilege.
He gave an elegant bow and introduced himself as the Earl of Ware. Then he explained that the stream she so enjoyed was on his father’s land. “But you are welcome to it.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She dipped a quick curtsy. “You are most gracious.”
“No,” he said dryly. “I am most bored. I appreciate the company, especially when that company is the fair
