Regency: Innocents & Intrigues: Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches

His voice softened. ‘Of course. We’ll come back on deck when we’re out in the Channel.’

So she allowed him to lead her below to the small cabin. In the yellow light of the lantern they saw they were not alone. Six shapes—the émigrés, two women and four men, who had smuggled themselves aboard during the night—all sat close together, clutching their few possessions.

Dressed in plain, shabby clothes, with caps covering their heads and pulled well down, they looked far more like the rabble who pursued them for their lives than aristocrats.

That was the moment when Maria was made forcibly conscious that she was just like them, a fugitive, because she was obliged to hide and flee. She had no choice but to humbly accept in silence what fate might send her, even to being ordered about by someone like Jaques.

Taking her hand, Charles drew her down on to a bench away from the others, just big enough for the two of them. Sensing her fear and feeling her body tremble next to his, he leaned towards her. ‘Maria,’ he said gently in her ear, ‘you needn’t fear the boat will go down. Jaques hasn’t lost one yet.’

She glanced at him and then away again, conscious of the intense physical awareness she felt at his nearness. She wanted him to put his arms around her and calm her fears. She could hear the wind getting up. Down in the cabin it seemed to be blowing with a force that was terrifying.

Something in Charles’s chest tightened. ‘Maria,’ he murmured, ‘are you all right?’ Placing a gentle finger under her chin, he compelled her to meet his gaze. ‘What is it? Are you really so frightened?’

She swallowed and nodded. ‘Would you … Do you suppose you could hold me?’

Wordlessly he put his arm around her and drew her close. She placed her head on his shoulder and he could feel her body trembling. ‘There’s nothing to fear,’ he murmured gently, stroking her head. ‘We’ll soon be out into the Channel and then we’ll be able to go up on deck.’ He pressed his cheek against her hair and repressed a smile, suspecting her docility was a measure of her fear and fatigue—and maybe the belated effects of the rum she had consumed.

The moment he drew her into his arms, Maria was instantly conscious of the warmth and potential power of his body against hers, and felt an answering spark in him. She tilted her face to look at him. His hair fell in an untidy sweep over his brow. He had an engaging face. She saw something she had not seen in him before, the sweetness and humour of his firm lips, the quiet amusement behind his alert gaze. She paused, holding her breath as her heart turned over. To her at that moment, he was quite simply a beautiful man. Something stirred inside her. Something was happening, something that shouldn’t be happening—something she didn’t want to happen.

Her body began to soften. It was a melting feeling, one her body liked. For what seemed to be an age she really looked at Charles. Even though she had been alone with him for three days, it was like coming face to face with a stranger. It frightened her, especially when his eyes locked on hers. It was all she could do to face his unspoken challenge and not retreat from him. Measure by measure the realisation dawned that this was a man she did not know.

Nothing had prepared Maria for the thrill of quivering excitement that gripped her now. Her heart swelled with an emotion of such proportions she was overwhelmed. She was aware that this was a moment of great importance yet didn’t know in what way.

Quite suddenly, and with stunned amazement, she was conscious of an overwhelming impulse to reach up and take his dark head between her hands and draw it down to her own. For a moment it was almost as though she could feel his thick hair under her fingers.

Against her will and against all common sense, something stirred deep, deep within her, something dark and soft and treacherous. A hot tide of incredulous horror engulfed her mind and body in a wave of burning shame, and she lowered her eyes, hiding them with her long black lashes. They had looked at each other deeply, a look that spanned no more than a few seconds and yet seemed to last for an eternity.

She shivered in anticipation, then almost shyly she pulled away from him. His eyes on hers were very bright, very tender.

‘I’m all right now. You must think I’m very foolish.’

‘No, Maria. To be afraid is nothing to be ashamed of. It often takes courage to admit it.’

Charles was not immune to the unresisting woman he had held close. He was a virile man, a very masculine man, who was accustomed to the women in his arms allowing him whatever he asked of them. He was well used to the lusting pleasures that were always available to him. He had not, until he’d kissed Maria, held a woman in his arms who was not only young but innocent. Not until she had met him had she encountered the closeness, the intimacy and power of a man’s body close to her own, of desire that inflamed the flesh and confused all coherent thought.

The vessel slipped slowly out of the harbour and bounded forwards running into the Channel. On a word from Jaques, those below were told it was safe to come up on deck.

Clinging on to the rail next to Charles and with Jaques at the helm, as the vessel rolled on the swell already making itself felt in a choppy sea, the waves capped with curls of foam, Maria was filled with confusion. She could not understand herself. She realised that Charles was becoming very dear to her, but how could this be when she didn’t really know him? Just a few moments ago, if he had made the slightest movement towards her she would have been in his arms.

Breathing deeply of the night air she looked back at the receding French coast shrouded in early morning mist. The wind was getting stronger, causing the sail to crack and the little vessel to lurch alarmingly.

‘We’re running right into a storm,’ Maria gasped fearfully.

‘This isn’t a storm.’ Jaques laughed, his voice booming over the noise of the wind. ‘If you saw a real storm, you’d never forget it.’

‘Get back from the rail,’ Charles ordered, taking her arm and almost dragging her away. ‘I’d hate to see you tossed overboard. I’d be forced to jump in to rescue you.’

‘And I would expect nothing less,’ she laughed, glad to be out of the claustrophobic confines of the cabin and the threat of being in such close proximity to him always posed to her susceptible heart.

‘Are you all right?’ he shouted above the wind.

She nodded. ‘Yes. I am now. Don’t worry about me. I’m going home and that’s all that counts.’

Drawing her cloak tightly about her, she looked up at Charles, at his profile etched against the lightening sky. Indomitable pride was chiselled into his handsome face, determination in the arrogant cut of his jaw, intelligence and hard-bitten strength etched into every feature of his face. There was an aloof strength, a powerful charisma about him that had nothing to do with his tall, strong-shouldered physique or that mocking smile of his. There was something else, a feeling she got that he had done and seen all there was to do and see, and that all those experiences were locked away behind an unbreachable wall of charm, a handsome face, and piercing light blue eyes. Beyond any woman’s reach.

Daylight had broken as the boat gently nosed its way towards the English coastline. It was a sight Maria would never forget. The boat was rolling gently now, the wind having dropped mid-channel. Gradually the land came more clearly into view, with its white cliffs and the castle overlooking the harbour. What a relief it was to see England again.

Ever since she had left she had wished to return. Now there was no need to wish any longer. At that moment she saw the sun rise in a ball of crimson on the horizon—just like an omen, she thought, marking the start of a new life, a happy life. Would Henry be a part of it?

Before Charles had arrived at Chateau Feroc she had had her doubts about marrying Henry, and now, after the short time she had spent alone with Charles and the sensations he had awakened inside her, sensations and womanly desires far different from anything she had ever experienced before, as arduous as the task promised to be, she saw no help for it. Already the decision was beginning to form in her mind that she would have to tell Henry she would not marry him.

Chapter Five

Maria was returning to a country under the reign of King George III, a man who was devoted to Queen Charlotte. The court of King George was irreproachable, respectable and formal. Unfortunately of late he had become mentally unsound. The malady had precipitated a political crisis and making his son George, a man who was totally self-indulgent and as incapable of curbing his spending as of governing his passions Prince Regent, was being considered.

In the coming days, and the more familiar Maria became with England and its politics and the royal family, she would realise there were many similarities in the man who would be Regent and the man to whom she was betrothed.

Once the boat was tied up to the quay, after thanking Jaques and bidding him farewell, Charles and Maria headed for the town. As they approached the inn where they were to meet Henry, Maria walked stiffly beside Charles, her back ramrod straight, unable to forget what had taken place between them on the boat, and the profound effect those moments when they had looked at each other as if for the first time had had on her. She noticed how quiet Charles had become, how tense.

On the point of meeting her betrothed at long last, she masked her trepidations by an extreme effort of will. Whether Henry was as unworthy as Charles said he was, was yet to be determined.

With these thoughts she went inside the tavern. There were few people about. Her eyes scanned every face for the one she remembered. She turned to Charles, who was just behind her.

‘I don’t see Henry. Maybe he arrived ahead of us and has gone out—for a stroll, perhaps.’

Charles’s expression was one of cynicism. How little she knew Henry Winston. He was not the type to waste his time strolling.

‘Or perhaps he’s been delayed on the road,’ Maria suggested hopefully.

‘I didn’t expect him to be waiting, Maria. We have arrived a day ahead of schedule. I would imagine he is still in London. I’ll go and order refreshment while we decide what to do.’

Maria seated herself at a table in a window recess so she could see the road and not miss the moment when Henry arrived. Now the moment had come, she was so scared and utterly unnerved that she knew she could not have moved a muscle to flee if need be. She waited as one transfixed, not knowing what to expect of the man her father had chosen for her to marry.

She turned and looked at Charles when he approached the table. Meeting his eyes she sensed that all was not as it should be. He was holding a letter in his hand, a hard, angry look on his face.

‘Charles? What is it? Is something wrong?’

He held out the letter. She took it, her hand shaking a little. Seeing that it was addressed to him and strangely reluctant to open it, she offered it back to him, her eyes wary.

‘It’s addressed to you.’

‘It concerns you. Read it.’

‘Who is it from?’

‘Winston. It would seem that he’s unable to come to meet you—something about unforeseen business. He won’t be coming to Dover.’

‘You mean he can’t get away?’