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

‘Maria,’ Charles said, dragging her from her thoughts. ‘Is something wrong?’

Her eyes flew open and his unfathomable light blue eyes locked on to hers. ‘Wrong? I …’

‘Perhaps you’d like to talk about it?’ he asked calmly. She shook her head. ‘You’re afraid. Is it me you fear, Maria? Or something else?’

The way he spoke her name in his rich deep voice had the same stirring effect on her as the touch of his lips. ‘It—it’s about last night when—when you …’

‘When I kissed you.’

‘Yes, that’s it.’

‘And?’

‘I’m afraid of the things you made me feel,’ she admitted desperately. ‘I don’t understand them. I—realise that to you this is merely a—a dalliance …’

‘Is that so?’ he teased, a lazy, seductive grin sweeping across his handsome face. ‘And you know that, do you, Maria?’

She swallowed nervously. ‘Do you mean it isn’t?’ Visions of being kissed whenever he felt like it rose to alarming prominence in her mind. Hoping that by speaking in a calm, reasonable voice, rather than heatedly protesting his intentions, she said, ‘It’s not that I’m afraid, it’s just that you shouldn’t have done it. It was quite wrong of you, and I would appreciate it if you refrained from—from doing anything like that in the future.’

With a mixture of amusement and admiration, Charles noted her request. With any other woman, such a request would only add to his determination to taste her response to him again—and Maria was no exception. Of that there was no doubt. Maria hadn’t any notion how much control he had to maintain over himself to keep his hands off her, and if the situation arose again his actions would be exactly the same—and Henry Winston be damned.

‘The kiss was harmless, wasn’t it?’

‘I think so.’

‘Neither of us was hurt, were we?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then, there is no reason why we should mention it again, is there?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Good.’

The coach made rapid progress despite the dreadful condition of the roads—the combination of this and the badly sprung coach was punishing for both occupants. As dusk began to descend they were approaching the coast. Already Maria could smell the sea and she knew they could not be far from Calais.

They entered the medieval walled town, the wheels of the coach rattling over the cobblestones of the narrow, twisting streets. Reaching the Place d’Armes, the main square of the town, with its thirteenth-century watch-tower, they veered off down a side street and Pierre halted the coach outside a small tavern that catered for the fishermen of the town. The doorway was low and a red light shone through greasy curtains.

Climbing out, Charles took Maria firmly by the arm and drew her inside. She found herself in a dimly lit, low-ceilinged room where the atmosphere was like a dense fog, reeking in equal parts of liquor and tobacco smoke. There were sailors and fishermen drinking and talking, some breaking out into ribald shouts as the serving girls passed among them, their hands groping and clasping softly rounded parts.

‘Do we have to stay here?’ Maria whispered, terrified in case someone should reach out and molest her in the same way.

‘Stay close beside me and you’ll come to no harm.’

When his eyes lighted on the newcomers, a man rose from his seat at the far end of the room, hoisting a basket on to his back. Maria gasped when she saw him pushing his way towards them through the fog like some weird and menacing Neptune, for he was the most fearsome man she had ever seen. He was a giant of a man with enormous shoulders and fists like hammers. A battered red-and-green cocked hat sat jauntily sideways on his pigtailed head and a bushy black beard sprouted from his chin. He had a broad face, a wide, fleshy nose that might have been flattened by a blow at some time, and bloodshot eyes.

‘You’re early,’ the man said to Charles in a deep and powerful gruff voice, dropping the basket at his feet. ‘I didn’t expect you for another day.’

‘We made good progress,’ Charles said coolly, taking the man’s arm and drawing him aside, out of earshot of anyone who might be interested in their conversation, which was doubtful, since most had their eyes fixed on a pretty and extremely well-endowed serving wench as she served them with ale.

‘Did you encounter any trouble?’

‘Only once. It could have been worse.’

‘Never mind. You are here now.’

Charles drew Maria forward. ‘Maria, this is Jaques.’

Jaques pulled his hat off and grinned down at her. ‘Honoured to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle.’

‘Madame,’ Charles informed him quietly. ‘For the time it takes us to reach England. Can you take us across tonight? If you can, there will be no need for us to find lodging. I have no desire to remain in Calais kicking my heels indefinitely.’

‘Not till daybreak when the tide’s full. Stay here until the early hours and then come aboard. You won’t be alone. There will be other passengers.’

‘I thought there might be. We’ll be down in the harbour in plenty of time.’

Taken by surprise, Maria gave Charles a startled glance. Was this man expecting them? And if so, how could this be? ‘Charles, there are boats crossing all the time to Dover, and then there’s the packet. I’m sure we would have no difficulty obtaining passage on one of them.’

‘Jaques brought me out from England. Not wishing to draw attention to myself, I asked him to be here to take me back.’

Maria stared at him in amused amazement. ‘Not draw attention? Charles, have you had a good look at the man? No disrespect to you, Jaques,’ she said, meeting Jaques’s eye, ‘but you can’t help but draw attention. You are the most terrifying individual I have ever seen.’

Jaques looked down at her and laughed out loud at her outspoken honesty, not in the least offended by it—in fact, he was openly amused by it. ‘Worry not, little lady. Appearances aren’t always what they seem. I am but a simple fisherman here to sell my mackerel,’ he said, giving the basket a kick with his foot, ‘and as meek as a lamb and quite harmless.’

Maria gritted her teeth and forced herself to look this fearful new acquaintance in the face. ‘I am obliged to go to England, so I will have to take your word for that.’

‘You may rest assured that my boat is seaworthy. I’ve things to do before we put to sea,’ Jaques said, drawing his bushy eyebrows together and addressing himself to Charles in a low voice. ‘I’d be obliged if you told no one you’re to sail with me on the tide.’

Charles inclined his head gravely. ‘I know better than to do that, Jaques.’

Sticking his hat back on his head at random and hoisting the fish basket on to his shoulder, with a final wave of his hand Jaques headed for the door where he turned and looked back at them. ‘The sea is rough tonight. I advise you to drink some grog while you wait. It’s pretty cold down in the harbour in the early hours.’

Charles turned to his companion and smiled, aware of her trepidation. ‘Jaques was absolutely right. He really is quite harmless unless provoked.’

‘Are you sure about that? Forgive me if I do not share your opinion, Charles. The man bears a striking resemblance to a pirate.’

Charles chuckled low in his throat. ‘The difference being that he has no eye patch or wooden leg—although I suppose on second thoughts he does bear some resemblance to a pirate in that he is a—gentleman of fortune—as well as being a fisherman.’

Something registered in Maria’s mind and she frowned. ‘These people who are to sail with us? Who are they, Charles, and why the need for secrecy?’

‘Because they are aristocrats, émigrés already fleeing the country in fear of their lives. For a price, Jaques is willing to take them to safety in England. It’s a good living in these times. Dangerous, yes, but good.’ He glanced around. ‘Now I have met up with Jaques I can send Pierre on his way—although he will probably remain here for now. Apparently he has family living further along the coast and will be glad of a spell of inactivity.’

Outside the inn they were caught up in a fierce gust of wind bringing with it stinging drops of rain and a strong smell of the sea. After they had said farewell to Pierre they went back inside. After partaking of a dish of steaming mutton, taking Jaques’s advice Charles ordered hot rum.

‘Drink some of this. It will be cold on the boat and you’ll be glad of it.’

Maria was not so sure when she eyed the pungent beverage suspiciously. She had never tasted spirits and was on the point of refusing, but Charles bent forwards so that his head almost touched her ear, and he said quietly, ‘Don’t make a fuss, Maria. You’ll get us noticed.’

Bravely Maria swallowed down the hot rum. She gasped and began to cough, which brought a broad smile to Charles’s lips and he slapped her between the shoulder blades, which almost knocked her off her feet.

‘I should have warned you. It takes your breath at first, but it will warm you.’

Maria was coughing too much to reply, but once she got her breath back she discovered that this assertion proved correct. An agreeable warmth infiltrated her body and she found it to her liking. She took another sip, cautiously this time, and seated herself on a settle before the fire to wait until it was time for them to leave.

The deserted harbour under the town walls was just coming to life. Fishing boats were getting ready to leave, and the now-empty fishing baskets heaped on the decks would be brought back filled with plaice and sole, wet and shiny, and granite-coloured crabs.

Jaques’s boat was a small fishing vessel plainly crafted. It looked small and insignificant alongside a brig and two tall-masted frigates, but her very insignificance was a safeguard, as was the single, modest riding light at her masthead.

Jaques was beckoning to them on the deck, and seconds later they crossed the plank connecting her with the shore and were aboard. Maria wrinkled her nose. The boat smelled nauseatingly of fish. She looked at Charles, suddenly aware of how tense he had become. Jaques moved out of the dawn shadows across the deck towards them.

‘We’ll get off now. The tide’s all but full. Escort the lady below,’ he ordered, keeping his voice low.

‘Below?’ Maria asked hesitantly, extremely reluctant to enter the bowels of the boat. She had a dread of ships and would rather be on deck in the fresh air than down below.

‘Yes, Maria, down to the cabin,’ Charles said, taking her arm with a firm grip.

She held back. ‘May I not stay here?’

Charles’s grim expression as he met her gaze boded ill. ‘No, you may not. Until we have left the harbour you must remain below.’

‘But I don’t—much care for ships,’ she confessed, ashamed of her weakness, but she couldn’t help it. She hoped her request to stay on deck wouldn’t sound like cowardice and that he would understand her fear. ‘They—frighten me.’

His jaw hardened in annoyance. ‘This isn’t a ship, Maria, it’s a boat, a small fishing boat in case you haven’t noticed.’

Maria flinched. He spoke to her as he would to a naughty child. ‘I do know that, but they’re one and the same to me. My grandparents’—my mother’s parents’—ship went down in a storm in the Channel when they were returning to England after visiting my aunt.’

That made Charles pause. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘I recall you telling me. I should have known. Nevertheless, Maria, for our sake and for those already below, it is essential that the coastguard and the harbour authorities don’t see us. If they should spot us, the consequences don’t bear thinking about. No one saw us board. As far as anyone is concerned Jaques is embarking on one of his regular fishing trips. Do you understand?’

She did not persist. ‘Yes, and I’m sorry. Of course I’ll go below,’ she said bravely. She hesitated, reluctant to go without him, she realised with a vague sense of surprise. ‘You will come with me?’

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?’

Can’t or doesn’t want to bother, Charles thought furiously. ‘Now why is it,’ he mocked, pacing the floor in exasperation, ‘that letter doesn’t surprise me? I had my doubts about him travelling to Dover, which would have been a true test of his merit. I can only thank God that he had the foresight to inform us, otherwise we might have been kicking our heels here for a week, waiting for him to arrive.’

Maria read Henry’s brief note. It would appear she would have to remain under Charles’s protection a while longer, and Henry was sure Sir Charles wouldn’t mind seeing her safely to London where they would be reunited and married right away.

With a strange feeling of relief that she had been handed a reprieve, Maria folded the letter and handed it back to Charles. ‘I’m sorry, Charles. It looks as if you’ll have to put up with me a while longer.’ She expected the news that he would have charge of her for a while yet to get a reaction, but except for a muscle that began to twitch in his jaw, there was none. She sensed a change in him. His manner and the way he was looking at her was in sharp variance to what she had become used to.