The Wolf's Promise. Claire Thornton
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‘This time there’s no doubt your eyes are open. Remember that when you next accuse me of not being a gentleman.’
‘I don’t…’
Benoît’s mouth covered her parted lips and stifled whatever it was she had been going to say. Shock held her rigid for several seconds. She had never been kissed like this before, and nothing in her previous experience had prepared her for dealing with such a situation.
The wind wrapped her skirts around them, locking them together. She could feel the heat of his body burning through her clothes. He was holding her firmly in his arms. She was acutely aware of the power in his lean, hard-muscled body, but his lips were gentle and persuasive on hers. Her heart was racing; strange exotic warmth slowly filled her veins. Her empty hands opened once or twice in vague uncertainty, then, almost of their own volition, they slid up the ridged black cloth of his sleeves to rest on his shoulders.
Dear Reader
The location of this story is particularly special to me. The book is set in West Sussex, on the English coast, the countryside where I was born and grew up, and where my family roots go deep. My father has lived all his life on the same country road—moving only half a mile from his birthplace when he married—and it’s a family legend that my mother’s forebears were involved in the Sussex smuggling trade. I was a shy little girl, and I was entranced by the idea that I might be distantly related to the daring, romantic adventurers of the past. But when I grew older, and did some real research on the ‘Gentlemen’, I found they weren’t always as noble and heroic as I’d pictured them. That left me with a dilemma. I’d always wanted to write a book featuring smugglers—but should I make them the good guys or the bad guys…?
I hope you enjoy this chance to discover my solution to that dilemma as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Best wishes
Claire Thornton
The Wolf’s Promise
Claire Thornton
MILLS & BOON
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CLAIRE THORNTON
grew up in Sussex, England, and studied history at York University. She loves writing about the romantic and noble heroes of earlier ages. Claire has also written under the name of Alice Thornton.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
Prologue
West Sussex 1793
I t was cold and dark on the beach. A black night sky arched over the endless expanse of sand and gusts of icy wind buffeted the Earl. He shivered and turned up the collar of his greatcoat. He could hear the crash of the incoming tide away to his right, but he couldn’t see much further than the circle of light thrown by the lantern Sir William had snatched from the riding officer.
‘Damn it! The scurvy villain lied to me!’ Sir William exploded.
He was staring at the marks in the ridged, damp sand where the kegs had been hauled up onto the beach in a long daisy-chain of contraband.
‘Or perhaps your informant was himself misled?’ the Earl of Ellewood suggested, stamping his feet to keep warm.
It was quite clear what had happened. The smugglers’ landing had been here, while Sir William’s small party had been lying in wait on an empty beach two miles to the west.
‘They’re a cunning lot,’ the riding officer began nervously. It made him anxious to have the local magistrate, two of the magistrate’s men and a visiting earl assisting him in his duty. ‘It would be just like them to feed you false…’
‘Be quiet, damn you!’ Sir William growled. ‘If you were any good at your job, neither the Earl nor I would be wasting our time on this godforsaken beach! Well, their tracks are clear enough. We’ll follow them. Lead the way.’
He handed the lantern back to the riding officer and swung himself into his saddle.
‘Yes, sir.’ The riding officer shuttered his lantern until only a thin beam of light was visible. Then he climbed up onto to his horse and bent low in the saddle so that he could still see the smugglers’ tracks. His lack of enthusiasm was very evident.
Sir William and his men followed the luckless riding officer, but Lord Ellewood did not immediately join them. He was frowning in the darkness.
‘I think Bess has picked up a stone,’ he called. ‘I’ll catch up with you in a minute.’
‘As you wish.’ Sir William’s voice drifted back in the darkness. ‘Damn sorry about this, Henry. I was hoping to show you some action tonight.’
‘The night’s still young,’ the Earl replied.
He watched for a few seconds as the others rode away. Then he looked down at the dark, stirred-up sand and pinched his lower lip thoughtfully. The tide was coming in quickly; many of the smugglers’ marks had already been washed away, but he was sure he’d seen the deep footprints of heavily laden men and horses going down towards the water—not away from it.
There was probably a reasonable explanation for that, and he knew so little about the smuggler’s craft that he wasn’t inclined to make a fool of himself by voicing his observations.
But it was certainly a fact that Sir William had been tricked into waiting on a beach two miles to the west, yet the very obvious tracks leading away from the landing point also headed in a westerly direction.
Lord Ellewood began to lead his mare east along the beach, keeping close to the tideline. There was no moon in the dark sky. It was hard to see what lay ahead, but the stars provided some light, and now that he was away from the riding officer’s lantern the Earl’s eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Two hundred yards along the beach he found what he was looking for. A track of damp, churned-up sand leading inland from the sea. Horses and men had passed this way not long ago.
He felt a surge of gratified pleasure that he had guessed right, and his heart began to beat faster with excitement. There was no time to go back for Sir William. Without hesitation he followed the tracks up the beach towards the black shadows of the dunes.
The sea rumbled behind him; dried seaweed crackled beneath his salt-caked boots, and ahead of him he could hear the wind whistling through the thin, exposed grasses