Highwayman Husband. Helen Dickson
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was the housekeeper at Roslyn Manor and would have been in bed long since.
John was sixty years old, always solemn, inscrutable and silent, and he was finding it increasingly difficult doing his work. But Laura had become extremely fond of him. He had become her friend, a man she could trust implicitly, and she would no more have thought of dispensing with him than she would have thought of burning the house down. When she had lost the man dear to her heart, John had made sure that heart did not turn to stone.
‘You had a pleasant evening, I trust, my lady?’ he asked as she removed her cloak and handed it to him.
‘Very pleasant. Thank you for waiting up for me, John. I hope I’m not too late. Is Mrs Treneer in bed?’
His eyes rested on her throat. ‘Long since. You seem to have misplaced your necklace, my lady.’
Fingering her bare neck, she smiled somewhat cynically. ‘You might say that, John. But I am quite certain it will be returned to me very soon.’
‘Is there anything you might be a-wanting before you retire?’ he asked, thinking that the mistress looked none too happy. Her brow was puckered in a frown, and there was a sadness about her.
Laura shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I’m very tired and can think of nothing more inviting than going to bed. I hope Susan didn’t wait up. I told her not to—that I am quite capable of putting myself to bed.’
‘She did as you instructed.’
‘Goodnight, John.’
Wearily she began to climb the stairs, thinking of everything that had happened that night—thinking of Lucas. With her hand resting on the banister she paused halfway up and wrinkled her nose. A strange, harshly sweet smell permeated the air, drowning out the usual smell of beeswax and drying herbs. It was a scent she had first noticed several days ago—not strong, but it had lingered. However, she had been so busy helping Edward’s mother with the arrangements for the betrothal celebrations that she had ignored it. But now she breathed deeply, baffled and a little intrigued as to where it was coming from. It was tobacco she could smell, but as far as she was aware none of the servants smoked it. She turned and looked back, her curiosity sharp.
‘John.’
‘Yes, my lady?’
‘Have you taken up smoking?’
‘Nay, my lady. Why do you ask?’
‘I’m sure I can smell tobacco.’ She considered his face for a moment, but could read nothing in his impassive features. But she felt there was something he knew that she didn’t. Too tired to go into it now, and telling herself it was none of her business anyway if one of the servants had taken to smoking tobacco, she proceeded up the stairs, knowing John continued to watch her, and aware that the smell was growing stronger.
By the light of a few candles burning in sconces she trailed her way along the shadowy passage to her bedchamber, feeling extremely tired but knowing she would not sleep that night. Too much had happened, and there were too many disturbing thoughts filling her head. On entering her room she closed the door and kicked off her shoes. She reached behind her to unfasten her dress, but on glimpsing a pair of booted feet from the corner of her eye she froze, momentary panic seizing her.
‘Don’t stop,’ a voice drawled lazily.
Laura gasped and her heart began to beat in deep, fierce thuds on seeing Lucas lounging in a large armchair, the very image of relaxed elegance with his long legs stretched casually out in front of him towards the fire. His white shirt, open at the throat, was tucked carelessly into the waistband of his snug-fitting grey breeches. He rose to his feet and slowly advanced towards her with a graceful ease surprising in a man of such virile appearance, his well-muscled body suggesting tightly coiled strength.
She stared at him. His light, almost silver eyes seemed to shine like bright gems. She had forgotten how brilliant and clear they were. Just when she had learned to live without him he had appeared, and all her carefully tended illusions were torn asunder. The shock of his coming back into her life stripped away all rational thought and a treacherous warmth was slowly beginning to creep up her arms and down her legs. Her entire body began to vibrate with a mixture of shock, desire and fear—fear because of the way he made her feel, of the sensual pull he was exerting on her—but somehow her mind remained in control.
Chapter Three
‘L ucas!’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘What are you doing in my bedroom?’
‘Waiting for my wife. Do you see anything unusual in that?’ he said, with a cool nonchalance that didn’t seem appropriate considering their volatile encounter earlier.
‘Considering the circumstances, I have to say yes, I do,’ she answered crossly. ‘If you’re still angry and intend berating me further, you can leave right now. My nerves are in shreds and I am extremely tired.’
Earlier they had parted in anger, but now, when Lucas looked down at her in impassive silence, his eyes were as calm as the sea on a fair day. He noticed with the eye of a connoisseur that his young wife was every bit as lovely and enticing as she had looked in the moonlight earlier, and this pleased him. ‘I don’t.’
In the space of a second, the memory of the tobacco smoke permeating the house for the past few days collided with the present when Laura caught sight of a discarded pipe and a half-open leather tobacco pouch in the hearth next to an almost empty glass of brandy. She glared at her husband in tempestuous fury. ‘That was you, wasn’t it—the tobacco smoke I’ve been smelling for days now? You’ve been skulking about the house—hoping I wouldn’t notice.’
‘I never skulk,’ Lucas responded sardonically. ‘And yes, it was me.’
‘Why—of all the despicable, underhand… Oh, how could you?’ she cried, wondering how he could possibly have come and gone from the house without her noticing.
Ignoring her outburst, Lucas returned to his chair and settled himself deep into the upholstery, stretching his legs out in front of him once more. With a smile of absolute contentment he folded his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes, composing himself more comfortably—as if he intended remaining there for the entire night.
Plunking her hands in the small of her waist, Laura followed the extremely diverse and complex man and stood glowering down at his recumbent figure, indignant that he could look so disgustingly relaxed while she was existing on a knife-edge. ‘Lucas! Don’t you dare go to sleep.’
With a sigh of irritation he opened his eyes. ‘Don’t be aggressive, Laura,’ he told her quietly. ‘I want to talk, not argue. I have no desire to quarrel with you.’
‘No? Then you must forgive me. Earlier I—’
‘Be quiet,’ he interrupted in a bored tone, moving his head to a more comfortable position. ‘Did you break off your engagement with Carlyle?’
‘Yes. Considering the circumstances, I was left with no choice.’
‘Good. However, I doubt we’ve seen the last of him. That was an impossible situation. How did he take it?’
‘He was extremely angry, naturally.’
‘Angry because he knew he stood to lose a number of things he prized highly.’
‘Now, why do I have the distinct feeling it is something other than myself that you are referring to?’ she said, her voice threaded with sarcasm.
‘Perhaps because you know it is. Come, now, Laura. You have been the Lady of Roslyn for two years. You must know to what I am referring.’
Laura knew exactly what he meant, and that one of the things he was alluding to was Edward’s smuggling activities. ‘I do comprehend you.’
‘You should.’
‘I have also learned that it doesn’t do to be too curious in these parts.’
‘Very