The Wolf's Promise (10 page)

Angelica stared at her maid, quite speechless for several moments. Martha smiled with grim satisfaction at her mistress's astonishment.

‘It seems he went to sea when he was fourteen years old,'
she said. ‘By the time he was twenty-one he was master of a merchantman trading to the West Indies. He was employed by a man called Josiah Crabtree, who had a fleet of four ships. Very fond of Mr Faulkener the old man is, seemingly. Mind you, he has good reason to be—Mr Faulkener brought his ship safely through a hurricane after he'd only been in command a few months.'

‘He did?' said Angelica breathlessly.

Her eyes were shining with excitement at Martha's tale. It was easy to imagine Benoît on the bridge of his ship, waves crashing all around, the wind shrieking and timbers creaking as he fought the elements themselves in his determination to bring his vessel safely home.

‘So I'm told,' said Martha dryly, her eyes on Angelica's glowing face. ‘When he thought he'd learnt as much as he could, he left Mr Crabtree and bought a ship of his own—started up an independent business. He's got three ships now—and last year Mr Crabtree suggested they go into partnership. From what I hear, Mr Crabtree's still got a soft spot for Mr Faulkener—like as not he'll make him his heir.'

‘Good heavens!' said Angelica faintly.

In a matter of minutes, Benoît had been transformed in her eyes from little more than a pirate adventurer to a man of substance. It was true she had realised some time ago that he didn't earn his living from smuggling, but her notions of what he had become instead had been extremely hazy.

She had taken it for granted that he had captained his own ship, but she hadn't given much thought to the capacity in
which he had done so. She had still tended towards the idea that he must be involved in some illegal or semi-legitimate business—perhaps as a privateer, licensed by letters of marque to prey upon enemy shipping. It was hard to believe he might really be as respectable as he had claimed to be yesterday evening.

‘How did you find out all this?' she asked wonderingly, thinking about her own lack of success in discovering more about her host.

‘His people are very proud of him,' said Martha repressively, as if she were revealing a discreditable secret. ‘It wasn't hard to get them to boast about his achievements.'

‘What about last night?' Angelica said. ‘Did you find out any more about that?'

‘No.' Martha frowned with dissatisfaction. ‘Close as clams on that subject, they were,' she said irritably.

‘Never mind,' said Angelica, suddenly feeling very cheerful. ‘At least we're making progress.'

‘And how do you work that out, my lady?' said Martha dourly. ‘You came here in the hope he was a smuggler, and therefore in a good position to rescue Lord Lennard. We've just found out that he's spent the best part of the last fifteen years at sea. Hardly the best news from your point of view, is it?'

‘I suppose not. On the other hand…' Angelica's words trailed off.

She was remembering that, although Benoît had refused to explain what had happened the previous night, he had as good as admitted that his visitor had been one of the men
Sir William was searching for—men who had known and trusted Benoît all his life. He might not still be actively involved in smuggling, but he knew men who were.

‘Thank you, Martha,' she said. ‘I knew you wouldn't let me down.'

Not long later, Angelica ran lightly downstairs and burst into the library. Benoît had been sitting at his desk, writing, but he looked up at her arrival and grinned.

‘So much energy, my lady,' he teased her. ‘I was sure you would need to rest upon your bed for several hours before you would feel strong enough to rise for dinner.'

‘Oh!' Angelica stopped short in confusion, suddenly remembering that she ought to make at least a pretence of being fatigued.

Benoît stood up and went behind her to close the door. She revolved on the spot so that she could keep him under observation. He made her nervous when she couldn't see him.

‘Or perhaps you came to find a soothing text to lull you to sleep,' he suggested, a familiar half-mocking, half-humorous gleam in his eyes.

She met his gaze and her heart skipped a beat. Until a few minutes ago she had been so sure that he was completely ineligible that she had done everything she could to suppress the attraction she felt for him. But now it turned out that he was, after all, relatively respectable—although obviously not a suitable match for her father's daughter.

She tried to tell herself that it didn't matter to her what he was; she would be gone tomorrow. But it did matter—and she was beginning to realise and accept that fact.

‘Why didn't you tell me you were a shipowner?' she demanded impetuously.

Benoît grinned and she remembered the wolf in him.

‘Your maid obviously took the lesson about the persuasive powers of the sun and the wind more deeply to heart than you have done,' he observed dryly, although the mockery in his eyes was quite gentle.

‘What do you mean?' Angelica exclaimed breathlessly, confused by his words and disconcerted by the expression in his eyes.

‘Despite her forbidding appearance, I understand she can display a warm and charming nature when the occasion warrants it,' Benoît explained helpfully. ‘She certainly seems to have made a favourable impression on Thomas. Apparently she even got him to show her some of the tricks he's taught the horses. He's very taken with her.'

‘Good heavens!' Angelica's attention was briefly seized by the incredible and fascinating picture of Martha sweet-talking the groom.

‘Alas, my lady,' said Benoît, with laughing, teasing regret in his eyes. ‘If you'd only pursued the same technique with me, think how much you might know about me by now.'

‘What?' Angelica stared up at him with enormous, startled eyes, her lips parted in genuine surprise.

She saw the expression in his dark eyes change, and
threw up her hand instinctively to ward him off, taking a hasty step backwards as she did so.

‘No!' she exclaimed.

He grinned.

‘You disappoint me, my lady,' he taunted her gently. ‘With so much at stake, are you really not prepared to make a small sacrifice for your brother?'

Angelica swallowed. It was dangerous to keep looking into his eyes. What she saw there made her feel light-headed with excitement, and barely able to control her emotions. This wasn't how Martha had done it, surely?

‘You mean if I…if I let you…' Her voice failed her and she tried again. ‘If I…you'll tell me how you're going to rescue Harry.'

He smiled and her heart turned over.

‘You could always try to experiment,' he suggested softly.

‘That's…that's
blackmail!
' she protested breathlessly.

Benoît's smile broadened.

‘But at least you'll have the consolation of knowing you did it for Harry's sake,' he consoled her, the enticingly wicked gleam in his eyes almost irresistible.

‘Oh, dear!' said Angelica faintly, as he took her in his arms. ‘Perhaps you ought to tell me first, sir.' She made one last attempt to remain in control. ‘Then I could decide whether…'

Benoît laughed softly.

‘You should have thought of that before, my lady,' he advised her.

It was too late to protest, and perhaps she didn't really
want to. She lifted her face quite willingly to his, closing her eyes instinctively as his lips found hers. She'd believed that she was at least partially prepared for the experience, but she discovered almost instantly that she'd overestimated her new-found sophistication.

Last time he had kissed her they had been standing on a windswept beach and she had been dressed for the weather in a heavy cloth riding habit. This time she was wearing only a light muslin gown. She could feel every button on his waistcoat, every ridge of his clothes—and all the muscular strength in his body—in devastating intimacy.

She gasped, startled and a little disturbed, and pushed ineffectually against his shoulders. His hold on her relaxed slightly. He scattered gentle, feather-light kisses on her lips, her cheeks, and even her eyelids, until the tension ebbed from her body. Slowly, she began to feel more secure. Warm, billowing clouds of golden sunlight seemed to cocoon her in pleasure.

She slipped her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his crisp black hair in an unconsciously sensuous gesture. His lips became more insistent upon hers, tempting her with the promise of even greater delight to come if she allowed him the intimacy he demanded. She resisted briefly, half-afraid of what might happen if she capitulated. Then her lips parted beneath his and she surrendered completely to his kiss.

Instantly the spark of desire between them erupted into flames of scorching passion. The potent, surging energy
within Benoît's whipcord body was matched by an ardent, unfettered response from Angelica which was quite beyond her power to control. Her zest for life found a natural outlet in the arms of a man who commanded both her respect and admiration.

She responded to him with an innocent, unselfconscious eagerness which startled, then enthralled him.

His hand slipped down her back, following the graceful curve of her spine, electrifying her senses with his seductive touch. She clung to him as he explored the voluptuous swell of her hip, before pressing her body closely against him.

She was standing thigh to thigh with him. She could feel his taut, powerful muscles against her softer flesh; and the hard, urgent desire in his body burned through her thin muslin dress. She was dimly aware that she was playing with very dangerous fire indeed, but she didn't have the strength to resist him.

He had burst into her confined, claustrophobic life like a whirlwind. Now she was riding on the back of the storm, exhilarated by the life-affirming passion they had unleashed between them.

He slid his hands up behind her shoulders and bent to kiss her throat, teasing her soft skin to even greater heights of sensitivity. She let her head fall back, leaning against his supportive hands as his lips left a fiery trail across her collarbone.

She was breathing in short, quick gasps, but her heart was drumming so loudly in her ears she couldn't hear the sound
of her own excitement. She was consumed by conflicting sensations. Her legs felt too weak to support her, yet pulsating life scintillated through her body. She was full of glowing, warm languor—yet she was on fire with impatient anticipation.

Then Benoît straightened up, still holding her against him, but in an enforcedly neutral embrace.

‘My God!' he said hoarsely, his eyes dark with barely controlled passion. ‘
Ma douce séductrice!
You've come very close to completely unmanning me!'

Angelica felt the sudden rigid tension in his muscles and her eyes flew open in confused alarm. She fluttered in his arms, seeking reassurance more than escape. He was still fighting to contain his own fierce emotions, but he lifted his hand instantly to stroke her hair in a soothing gesture.

‘Hush.' He held her against him. He was breathing very quickly. She was aware of his uncharacteristic lack of composure, but he still managed to sound wryly amused when he spoke. ‘I promised I wouldn't hurt you, and I meant it. I just hadn't allowed for the effect of that passionate nature of yours.'

‘Oh!' Angelica pushed herself away from him, taking refuge in indignation because she was too bewildered to know how else to react.

Her lips were bruised and swollen. Her skin still tingled from his kisses, and her body throbbed with the sensations his embrace had aroused within her.

She took a couple of irresolute steps, stumbling slightly
because her legs no longer seemed to obey her wishes. She thought she would feel more in control if she put some distance between them, but away from the support of his arms she felt bereft and cold. She looked up at him, painful confusion in her lucid blue eyes.

He smiled crookedly, and reached out to stroke her cheek. She closed her eyes briefly at the sensations his gentle touch aroused within her.

‘I think, perhaps, we have played this dangerous game long enough,' he said quietly. ‘You will return to London tomorrow, my lady, and I've no wish for you to go back to your father hurt or distressed by what has happened to you here. It would be a poor reward for all I owe him, wouldn't it?'

Angelica stared at him, her blue eyes troubled and uncertain.

‘I don't know what you mean,' she whispered.

‘No?' He looked at her thoughtfully, an enigmatic gleam in his eyes. Apart from the unusual depth of colour in his tanned cheeks he seemed to be almost his normal, coolly controlled self—but Angelica could sense the ruthlessly suppressed energy in his lean body. ‘Why aren't you married?' he asked suddenly.

‘What?'

‘You're twenty-three years old. Beautiful, desirable, a lady from the top of your golden curls to the soles of your elegant feet and—I suspect—something of an heiress to boot. So…why aren't you married, or at least betrothed?'

Angelica pressed her hands against her burning cheeks,
suspecting at first he was mocking her, and then seeing from the steady expression in his eyes that he wasn't.

‘I…Papa needs me,' she said with difficulty.

‘He needs you now—he didn't need you two years ago,' Benoît reminded her. ‘How long have you been out?'

‘Since I was seventeen,' she replied, in a constricted voice.

‘Five whole years for someone to catch your heart—or at least your interest,' he mused lightly, but there was an intent expression in his brown eyes. ‘Didn't anyone light a spark within you?'

Angelica stared at him for a moment. Finally, after a desperate struggle, she succeeded in regaining some of her composure.