Nicola Cornick, Margaret McPhee, et al (20 page)

His dark hair was ruffled by the breeze. He was quite the most
devastatingly attractive man Francesca had ever seen, and that thought, along
with her reaction to him, quite discomposed her, making her feel defensive and
prickly. ‘It’s getting late. I’m afraid we must leave you; we are to catch the
ferry.’

Jack Holberton smiled. ‘I’m for the ferry myself.’

Surprise widened her eyes, and her heart spurred to an all-out
gallop, but she managed to keep her voice coolly polite. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’ The corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly.

‘But Flete is in quite the opposite direction.’ She could have
kicked herself as soon as the words were out, but there was nothing she could
do to recall them.

‘You are correct, Miss Linden.’ He continued to look at her. ‘I’m
not going to Flete.’

‘Evidently not,’ she said, and then, catching sight of the
expression on Sophy’s face, made an effort to be more congenial. ‘Have you been
shopping at the market, my lord?’

‘I had a few Christmas gifts to buy.’ But there was no evidence
that he had purchased any goods; his hands were quite empty. She supposed that
he had servants to deal with such things, but she could see none in the
vicinity.

He glanced down at her bulging basket. ‘You appear to have had
more success than me. Please allow me, Miss Linden.’ He made to take the basket
from her.

‘Thank you, my lord, but it is not heavy.’

‘Even so, as a gentleman…’ His hand closed around the basket
handle, not so very far from where her own fingers rested.

She tightened her grip. ‘I thank you for your offer, but I can
manage very well.’

Lord Holberton did not relinquish his hold on the handle.

‘My lord,’ she said meaningfully, and looked him directly in the
eye.

A whisper of amusement played around his eyes and lips. He
returned her look, not in the slightest bit put out.

She did not need to glance round to know that Tom and Lydia and
Sophy were staring in shocked silence at the ridiculous scene unfolding before
their eyes. It seemed that Jack Holberton cared not in the slightest. And then,
just when she thought that he would stand there for the rest of the day with
his hand wrapped firm around her basket handle, he yielded.

‘As you wish, Miss Linden.’ His hand dropped back down to his
side.

Francesca had won the battle, but victory was not sweet. She was
left feeling that she had been both ungracious and unreasonable—especially when
she saw her sisters’ faces.

‘We shall miss the boat if we do not leave now,’ said Tom, his
gaze shifting from Francesca to Lord Holberton and back again.

‘Of course,’ said Francesca, and bit at her lip. ‘Let us be on
our way.’

She did not look again at Lord Holberton, just gathered her
sisters to her and began to walk. Never in her life had Francesca behaved in
such a way. She forced a deep breath and tried to calm herself. It was all Lord
Holberton’s fault, of course. But even as she thought it Francesca knew that it
was not true. It was her own fault and no one else’s. She just did not know why
Jack Holberton affected her so.

The journey across the estuary lasted only ten minutes, yet to
Francesca it seemed much longer. She was acutely conscious of Lord Holberton,
even though it was Tom to whom he spoke. Francesca and her sisters listened
while Lord Holberton told Tom that all of the Buckleys had been apprehended and
were in prison awaiting trial. The most likely outcome was transportation,
although if it could be proved they had any knowledge of the smuggling of
British secrets then they would hang. Sophy and Lydia’s eyes were like saucers
as they hung on Lord Holberton’s every word.

When they disembarked at Portlemouth Lord Holberton gestured
towards a carriage some distance away. ‘I would be happy to take you all home.’

Lydia and Sophy made little exclamations of surprise and grinned
excitedly at each another. It had been years since they were in a carriage, and
never in one as fine as that which stood across the road.

‘That is very kind of you, my lord.’ Francesca’s pulse was
racing, but she looked at him quite calmly. ‘But we cannot possibly
inconvenience you so.’

‘It will be no inconvenience,’ said Lord Holberton in his lazy
tone. ‘Indeed, I insist. Lannacombe is a fair distance from here.’

‘A mere three miles, sir,’ she replied.

‘You have a proper carriage?’ asked Sophy. Lydia nudged her.

‘A coach and four, warm and well sprung.’

‘Oh!’ Sophy’s mouth gaped.

He was simply here to see Tom, she told herself. Yet it did not
stop the fluttering in her stomach or the gallop of her heart. A large drop of
rain hit her cheek. Two more landed on her bonnet, and then it began to rain in
earnest, great plump raindrops driving into the ground. The other passengers
who had crossed from Salcombe picked up their bags and began to run. The ferry
disappeared back across the water.

‘And did I mention that it is dry?’ said Lord Holberton.

The rain fell harder.

‘Thank you, my lord, that would be most welcome,’ Francesca said
in as dignified a manner as she could manage.

They hurried across the street to where the fine carriage and
four sat waiting, its coachman at the ready. Lord Holberton and Tom sat on one
seat; the girls sat opposite.

During the journey his gaze frequently came to rest on Francesca.
And when his eyes met hers she knew that her brother had been wrong in thinking
that Jack Holberton had forgotten about either of them.

The journey in the coach brought such joy to her sisters that it
gladdened Francesca’s heart. The rain’s deluge had eased, and bright light
pierced a hole in the thick cloud canopy like a shaft direct from heaven, to
paint a rainbow on the dark canvas of the sky. There was a sense of something
special about the afternoon. The rich deep browns of the fields and the green
of the grass were clear and vivid. Withered leaves still crowded in corners
from their autumn fall. The damp cold scent of winter filled the air. Over the
rumble of the coach wheels came the song of blackbirds and a robin.

The journey was over too quickly, and it hardly seemed any time
before they were drawing up at the little cottage in Lannacombe.

‘Won’t Mama and Anne be surprised?’ said Lydia.

‘They won’t believe their eyes,’ said Sophy.

Francesca was the last to climb down the steps from the carriage.

‘Thank you, my lord.’ She looked up at him, still ashamed of her
previous behaviour, not knowing quite what to say. The eyes that met hers were
not black, as she had thought before, but a warm dark velvet brown, and she
felt that same strange sensation that had passed between them aboard the
Swift
.
It seemed to Francesca that those few seconds stretched to an eternity.

And then Lydia’s voice interrupted and the spell was broken.
‘Francesca, can his lordship come in for some tea? Mama and Anne would be so happy.’

Lord Holberton looked at Francesca.

There was no other answer that Francesca could give. ‘Of course,’
she said. ‘If he would care to.’

Lord Holberton smiled. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That would be
delightful.’

Jack was all politeness when he was introduced to Mrs Linden and
the third of Francesca’s sisters, Anne. Yet he did not miss the older woman’s
gaunt frame, or the unhealthy pallor of her cheeks.

‘My lord, you are very welcome in our home. Will you take some
refreshment? Some tea, perhaps?’ Mrs Linden coughed, and the effort racked the
poor woman.

Jack saw the worry that dimmed Francesca’s face at the harsh
hacking sound, and it was as if a hand had reached in and squeezed at his
heart. It was a disconcerting feeling. ‘Thank you.’

‘Let me fetch it, Mama,’ said Francesca. She smiled at her mother
and disappeared from the room.

Jack perched on the edge of the small armchair to which he had
been directed. Mrs Linden sat in the other chair, closest to the fireplace.
Francesca’s three sisters sat in a row on the sofa, and Tom leaned against the
wall by the window. In one sweeping gaze Jack had seen it all: the dampness
that crept up the walls, the threadbare rugs and cushions, the shabby
furniture, and the valiant way that the room had been decorated with swathes of
greenery and mistletoe and holly. A pile of pinecones sat arranged upon the
table. Beneath him, the chair’s upholstery was sagging so much that Jack dared
not relax his full weight into it lest he end up on the floor. The fire that
burned on the hearth was small, and threw out little heat. Taking all this into
consideration, it was little wonder that Mrs Linden’s health was poor.

Sophy and Lydia sat pink-cheeked, excited and tongue-tied. Anne
calmly stitched at her needlework.

‘Do you go home to celebrate Christmas Day, my lord?’ asked Mrs
Linden.

‘I do. My father’s estate is not so distant. The family spend
Christmas at Flete every year.’

‘I’m sure that your parents will be very glad to have you home,’
said Mrs Linden.

Francesca returned with the tea tray. He watched while she poured
tea into a cup and passed it first to him. Then cups were produced for her
mother, Tom, her sisters, and finally herself.

‘My father is holding a ball in three days’ time at Holberton
House. The cards have been sent, but I thought I may as well mention it as I am
here. He would be pleased if you could attend.’

Six surprised faces turned to him.

‘All of us?’ asked Sophy.

‘Yes, all of you,’ laughed Jack. ‘He is aware of the role that
Tom played in bringing those villains to justice,’ he said, by way of
explanation—although that was not the reason he had asked his father to invite
the Lindens to the ball.

Tom could not hide his smile.

‘How very kind,’ said Mrs Linden, pride and pleasure colouring
her cheeks pink. ‘We would be delighted to accept.’

Only Francesca said nothing.

He drank his tea to excited chatter about the ball, before making
his excuses. ‘The hour grows late. Perhaps Miss Linden would be kind enough to
see me out to my carriage?’

‘Of course,’ she said politely.

As the Lindens had no maid, it was Francesca herself who fetched
his hat and gloves. And, as he had requested, walked with him down the narrow
pathway of the front garden towards the road. Some distance away, his coachman
was walking the horses to keep them warm.

Time was running out for the day. Already the sky held the first
shadow of night, and the air had cooled to an icy chill.

‘I trust you will have a safe journey home.’ She pulled her shawl
tighter around her.

He could hear the wind stirring the bare branches of the trees
and the few leaves that remained in defiance of the weather. From the corner of
his eye he could see Francesca’s sisters peeking from the window. He stood with
Francesca by the gatepost. ‘Are you quite recovered from your experience of
last week?’ His voice was low.

‘Yes, thank you, my lord.’

‘My name is Jack.’

‘I remember,’ she said, and then blushed as if that memory
brought all the others.

‘And you have not had the urge to revisit the harbour?’ he asked
with a wry smile.

‘Certainly not,’ she said, but she smiled with the words. ‘You
should have told me that Tom was working for you…of what was happening that
night.’

‘Would you have believed me?’ He raised an eyebrow suggestively.
‘After all, you did think that I was abducting you from the harbour.’

He saw the colour wash deeper in her cheeks. ‘That was
different.’ She glanced away, and when she looked back her expression was quite
under control. ‘While I have the opportunity I should protest over you
recruiting my brother to such a scheme in the first place.’

‘Tom was the ideal candidate for the job. As a local and a
fisherman he could infiltrate the gang easily enough, and it wasn’t difficult
for him to inform me of what he learned.’

‘It may not have been difficult, but it was downright dangerous.’
She paused. ‘What was he even doing there that night? You had all the
information you needed.’

There was no anger in her voice, and he guessed that she was just
trying to make sense of what exactly had happened aboard the boat. He was still
trying to do that himself. ‘Tom was a regular on the
Swift
. Had he not
been present suspicions may have been aroused. White was nervous enough as it
was with Buckley’s absence.’

‘I take it you were behind his disappearance?’

He gave a nod.

There was a small silence, and then she glanced up at him
quickly, as if she had been struck by a sudden thought. ‘Our meeting in
Salcombe was one of chance, was it not, sir?’ He saw suspicion flicker in her
eyes. ‘You did not come to recruit Tom to another of your schemes?’

‘I did not.’ He laughed. ‘Your brother is quite safe, I promise
you.’ Yet he did not tell her that he had known from Tom that the Lindens would
be attending the Christmas market, and that he had waited there much of the day
for her arrival.

She smiled. ‘I do not know if I am reassured by your promises.’

Her eyes met his, and he was conscious again, as he had been
aboard the
Swift
, that Miss Linden was a woman like no other. He was
glad that he had decided to seek her out. ‘Promises are as gifts at this time
of year. They must be kept. I wish you Happy Christmas for tomorrow, Miss
Linden.’

‘Happy Christmas, Lord Holberton.’

He inclined his head, gave a bow, and walked through the gate to
where his carriage waited.

Jack watched from the carriage window until he could see her no
more, and even then his thoughts stayed with the girl who stood on the cottage
path in the fading light.

That night Francesca could not find sleep. She lay rigid at the
edge of the bed and listened to the soft snores and snuffles of her sisters.
Thoughts raced through her head, refusing to give her peace. She barely knew
Lord Holberton, nor he her. Yet today when she had seen him…She remembered the
skitter of her heart when she had spied him across the market, and the shivers
of excitement that his presence had caused. No matter that she might wish it
otherwise, she could not pretend that she was indifferent to him. His mere
presence had her acting all out of sorts. It was ridiculous. He was a
womaniser, a drunkard and a gambler. Hadn’t he told her as much himself? A man
without honour, a man who could only be dangerous to know.