Moon Cutters (12 page)

‘Of course you must … but not yet, just when I’ve found you again.’

‘I wasn’t lost.’

‘Not yet, but you will be if you stay in my uncle’s house for much longer.’

She shivered, knowing she would be more lost staying here wrapped warmly in his arms. Feeling compelled to defend his uncle, she said, ‘Sir James has been good to us.’

‘Of course he has, but he does nothing without reason, and he is full of trickery. Hush, woman; stay quiet until you recover your wits.’

She suddenly remembered her host’s reason for being good to them – marriage and children to repay the debt they owed him. It was a large price to pay, but her sister’s life was worth it.

As for recovering her wits, dread filled her again and she felt as though she were falling into a deep, bottomless pit. His fingers stroking gently through her hair was a long way from producing the relaxing effect he seemed to be aiming for. She’d thought she knew her own feelings, at least well enough to be able to differentiate between what was real and what was not. At the moment, she was filled with an ocean of tumultuous urges towards this man and she didn’t know how to get them under control.

‘I can’t stay like this … here with you. It isn’t right or … or even decent and you are making me blush.’

‘I’m not making you blush – not yet.’ This accompanied by a grin. ‘Either the colour is returning to your cheeks after your stumble or you’ve discovered your thoughts aren’t as pure as you imagined or as society dictates, my lovely.’ He gave a delightfully wicked chuckle. ‘As for it not being right, it feels right to me, and being indecent can be fun. We must try it some day.’

‘We certainly must not.’

‘It’s inevitable.’ He had long, dark lashes and they suddenly swept up to reveal his eyes, gazing directly into hers, dark green like the pine trees growing in the copse. ‘I think you’re beginning to like me, Miranda.’

She did like him – she liked him too much. And he was right: her thoughts were not pure. No doubt she would think about him when she was almost asleep and the moon was shining through the window and making her restless. He’d lit a fire under her by just being alive.

She dredged up some calm she didn’t feel. ‘I’m quite recovered now, so you must let me go, Mr Taunt.’

‘If I must uphold convention, then I shouldn’t leave you disappointed.’ He kissed her, and it was a longer, more intimate kiss than before, one that brought honey rising in her mouth, slicked her body with perspiration and made her aware of the most sensitive and secret desires of her body. How could she crave so much for his touch, the scorch of his mouth and his tongue turning her own into a melting flame that was a sinful conflagration of desire?

Then he opened his arms, leaving her feeling utterly abandoned, and entirely and delightfully wicked. ‘Fly away little bird.’

She scrambled away from the danger of him and began to rearrange the daffodils. Seating himself on a tomb, he watched her, one leg bent at the knee to support his head, the other dangling in its scuffed black riding boot.

‘I recognize that urn.’

‘Your uncle said you broke its twin in a temper.’

‘Yes … I threw it down the stairs.’

‘What were you in a temper about, Mr Taunt?’

‘Call me by my first name. It’s Fletcher to my friends.’

‘Fletcher, then.’

He smiled. ‘It sounds like silk rolling from your tongue.’

‘You’re changing the subject.’

‘Yes, but it’s really not that important. You should ask my uncle, perhaps.’

‘He said he couldn’t remember.’

Fletcher shrugged. ‘It was stupid really. I was fifteen, and it was over a woman. I was too old to be beaten, yet he instructed two of the stable hands to tie me to a tree trunk and called on the staff to witness it, and he took a birch to me – it was humiliating for both of us. He went too far, and my skin was split and bleeding. It took months to heal, and I still have some scars. Throwing the pot down the stairs was an act of defiance.’

The unconscious hurt in his voice touched her soul. A dagger of pity pierced her heart and she almost experienced the shame of that moment. ‘Did you love the woman?’

‘Lord, no, it was a case of nature leading a young man by his …
nose
.’

‘What happened to her?’

‘I don’t know. She was a servant and she just wasn’t there the next day. I imagine he sent her packing. Perhaps he killed her.’

She gasped. ‘He wouldn’t do such an awful thing.’

He shrugged. ‘Perhaps not … though he’s a man of many moods and can be irrational at times. Nevertheless, my relationship with my uncle changed after that. We were never easy with each other again. It was as though he regarded me as his rival. I set out to prove that I intended to be that. Males are like that you know. They butt heads to prove they’re right.’

‘What if they’re not right?’

‘There’s that, of course.’

‘It was a stupid reason to cause such a rift between you.’

‘There’s more to it than that. Two years ago, we had an argument. It started out as a game. A piece of property was wagered on the turn of a card, which I won. My uncle couldn’t bear to lose to me in public, so, with bad grace, he accused me of cheating. He threw me out of the house and, by rights, should be the one to apologize.’

‘Can’t you swallow your pride and make it up with him yourself?’

‘I keep meaning to try, but if I did, it would look as though my uncle had told the truth, and I had cheated. That stops me. The same would apply to him if he approached me. It would be like telling everybody that he’d lied.’

‘Someone should bang your heads together,’ she said, using the phrase her father had used on the odd occasion she’d quarrelled with Lucy.

Laughter huffed from him. ‘That’s not the first time I’ve been told that, but the first time from a woman. It might be too late for us to reconcile. There’s been water under the bridge since. I’ve inherited the property my uncle had set his sights on, and I’m making my own way in the world.’

‘Do you miss his companionship?’

‘I do, even though he was a difficult man to live with. He lost his own wife and son.’

‘It must have been hard for him to lose them.’

‘He took my mother, Elizabeth Taunt, under his roof, where I was born. She died of consumption when I was still a child.’

‘Did you miss her?’

‘I imagine I did at the time, but I can’t really remember her. She paid me very little attention and was almost a stranger to me. With my uncle, there’s always a price to pay. My mother chose to pay it, so that I would have an education and a good home.’

‘Then you owe him your gratitude, if nothing else.’

‘So he kept telling me.’

‘Where was your father?’

‘Adrian Taunt? You tell me.’ Her companion got to his feet, standing tall against the sky. ‘I’ve never known him, and I’ve never been able to find any record of him to say he existed. My mother told me he was a soldier of fortune who died overseas. She wouldn’t discuss him, but said he was a wastrel. That’s why I was in the house the other night – looking for papers to confirm who my father was.’

‘What sort of papers?’

‘Letters … anything really.’

‘Don’t you believe what you’ve been told?’

‘No. All my life people have been evasive about him, or avoided the subject altogether.’

Sympathy flared in her and she placed a hand on his arm. ‘From your appearance, there is no doubt that you are related to Lord Fenmore. Does the rest matter?’

‘It wouldn’t, if only it hadn’t been turned into a closed subject. That piqued my curiosity.’

‘I think your uncle suspected you’d been in the house the other day. I find it difficult to be deceitful when I was brought up to be honest.’

His hand closed warmly over hers for a few precious moments. ‘Honesty is layered in these parts.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If a poor man commits a crime, he’s considered guilty until proven innocent. If he happens to be wealthy, it’s the other way round. Money is power, however it’s earned, and there are very few totally honest people around – just those who would like to be honest if they could afford to be.’

‘Are you telling me that your uncle is dishonest, when he’s a respected magistrate?’

‘Nobody can afford to be wholly honest, and I suspect you’re already closing your eyes to some things. My uncle’s good at getting the truth out of people. Don’t lie to him on my account, Miranda. He’s a powerful man and he won’t thank you for it if he finds out.’

Her back was turned to the sea and the wind was pushing against her with powerful salty thrusts. The air seemed to be more exciting in Fletcher’s presence – more robust and sharp, and spiced with the tang of seaweed. Her loosened hair flew in all directions, crackling with tumultuous energy, so that her scalp prickled.

She closed her eyes. ‘I’ve never been so close to the sea before.’

He smiled and said, ‘There’s something I’d like you to experience. Will you trust me? Will you close your eyes now and keep them shut until I tell you to open them?’

He turned her round when she closed them, and began to walk her forward towards the edge of the cliff. The tide was in because she heard the waves smashing against the base of the cliff, and it sounded louder now her eyes were closed. Her heart began to thump and her legs began to resist. ‘I’m not very good with heights.’

They came to a halt and he slid an arm around her, to hold her against his side when she’d rather have been turned into his body. Caesar pressed against her other side, whining, pulling at her skirt as if warning her not to go any closer to the edge. He didn’t like heights, either.

‘When can I open my eyes?’

A kiss landed on the corner of her mouth, then another against her ear. He whispered, ‘Now, my lovely.’

She opened them to the sight of a clipper ship in full sail beyond the entrance to the cove, yet framed by it. Miranda’s breath left her body in one long rush as she said, ‘How lovely it is. Is it the
Midnight Star
?’

‘Aye, she’s on her way to America this voyage. I’d be sailing on her if Silas hadn’t died. Being responsible for an estate tends to tie you down … but it’s about time. How did you know her name?’

‘Your uncle has a painting of her in his study.’

‘Ah yes, I’d forgotten. He owns half of the ship.’

She tried to get her hair under control. He laughed. ‘Leave it flying free; it reminds me of a Selkie maiden.’

‘What’s a Selkie?’

‘A creature from Scottish folklore that comes from the sea and sheds its skin so it can take on human form.’

‘Why should she want to do that?’

‘She fell in love with a human, and he fell in love with her. The last Selkie seen here was Lady Marguerite, who was plucked from that ledge below us and carried away when the sea claimed her as one of its own. See, that’s where she was seated, on that top slab above the water line where the sea doesn’t usually reach … not even in a storm.’

Miranda looked down to where a knotted rope was pegged to the cliff face at intervals to secure wooden stretchers designed to support the feet. It led down to a series of flat rocks lying one on top of the other. With the tide already high, the oncoming waves washed over the bottom five slabs, then cascaded down into the churning sea, dragging long strands of brown seaweed with it. The sixth slab was considerably higher than the others, and there was a clearly defined high-tide mark well below it.

She shuddered. ‘Lady Marguerite must have been brave to go down that ladder. I don’t think I’d like to be a Selkie.’

‘The original ladder became unsafe. My uncle put that one there. It’s maintained, and quite secure if you’re careful. It can be pulled up if needed.’

They withdrew from the edge and watched the ship move out of their sight. The band of grey clouds had now moved above their heads. It began to rain, a soft, playful patter of drops that painted the wavering bands of sunshine around them with a silvery sheen.

‘Come on, it’s time to go before my uncle comes looking for you.’

She was reluctant to part with him. ‘Must we?’

He smiled. ‘I don’t want to part with you, either, but I was on my way into Poole when I saw you turn in here.’ He picked up her bonnet and placed it on her head, and, much like his uncle had, he tied the ribbon in a bow. Fletcher kissed her to go with it – a caress that was long and lingering to savour in her dreams.

They walked across the bridge, and he stopped to kiss her again.

‘Are you going to kiss me every five minutes? If so, it will take me a long time to get back to the house,’ she said, laughing, because, if nothing else, Fletcher Taunt made her feel happy.

Amusement filled his eyes and they narrowed, in a way that reminded her of his uncle. ‘Would you like me to?’

‘It would be forward of me to say I would.’

‘Yes, it would be. Are you going to be forward?’

‘Not as forward as you’d like me to be, I imagine. You are not as irresistible as your confident demeanour suggests you think you are.’

‘Ouch!’ He chuckled and took her hand in his. They broke into a sprint when the shower got heavier, and they were out of breath when it stopped, laughing together. As they gazed at each other, his smile faded and he lifted her hand to his mouth. ‘I’d forgotten why you were here today. I’m sorry about the demise of your parents, and apologize for intruding on you.’

‘It’s kind of you to say so, and to apologize. I enjoyed the time I spent with you today, and admit it took my mind off the reason I was there. I just needed to be near my mother while I thought about the situation I find myself and Lucy in.’

Fletcher had tethered his horse up near the road. It gave a little neigh and did a dance on the spot when it set eyes on him.

‘May I see you again?’ he said.

She was troubled, wondering how this would affect his uncle’s plans. ‘I’m sure we’ll meet again. Perhaps in church, where we can be introduced properly.’

He made a face. ‘My uncle is at the Dorchester assizes all next week. We could meet here again on Tuesday. I will have finished my business in town by then.’

She should tell him that his uncle had offered her marriage. But just because he had, it didn’t mean he had any claim on her yet. She was still trying to think of what to do. If she and Lucy left, where would they go?