The Wolf's Promise (15 page)

At last the bottom of the boat grated on the shingle and Benoît lifted Adam out. Angelica climbed out before he could help her, uncaring that her skirts were trailing in the water. She was already so wet that it didn't made much difference; and she was growing sensitive to the fact that Benoît
must be getting tired too, and that she didn't actually need to be lifted from place to place like a baby.

Benoît put Adam down in the shadows. Angelica knew without being told that once more they must wait for him. She crouched beside Adam, instinctively trying to make herself as small as possible, and wondered how he had been hurt. The French must have discovered he was a spy. Were they following him now?

She glanced nervously around the dark enshrouded harbour. Presumably Napoleon's agents would work very hard to prevent the information Adam had acquired from reaching London. If they found him he might be in considerable danger—along with anyone else who shared his knowledge. Angelica shivered at the thought. She must remember to ask Benoît a few questions as soon as she had the opportunity.

She heard quiet footsteps approaching, and lifted her head in alarm, instinctively leaning forward across Adam to protect him. Someone was coming. For an instant she was seized by panic—then she recognised Benoît, though how she could be so sure it was him in the dim light she didn't know.

She struggled quickly to her feet as he picked up Adam, and followed him to an isolated building that stood between the harbour and the huddle of buildings which was Littlehampton.

She just had time to realise it was an inn—she heard the sign creaking above her head in the wind although she couldn't see the picture—and then she was standing inside a darkened room. A lantern was unshuttered and she blinked around in the dim light.

They were in the taproom. No fire burned in the grate, and the room was uncomfortably furnished with a rough wooden settle, a table and a few stools; but it was dry and out of the wind. She sighed with relief, and looked at her companions.

The lantern was held by an elderly man dressed hastily in his nightshirt and breeches. She guessed he was the innkeeper. He nodded with curious politeness to Angelica, but most of his attention was on Adam.

‘Bring him straight upstairs, lad,' he said to Benoît. ‘Best get him to bed as soon as possible.'

Angelica followed them unquestioningly up the narrow, uneven wooden stairs. Her freezing, sodden skirts dragged around her legs and she was almost too weary to move. Benoît carried Adam into a small, back chamber and Angelica dropped into the only chair the room possessed.

She knew instinctively that they were safe—at least for the time being. They were out of the screaming wind and Benoît would take care of Adam. She thought she ought to get up to see if she could help him, but from what she could see and hear it didn't sound as if he needed any assistance.

The lantern light glittered and misted before her eyes. She had strained her mental and physical capacities to their utmost during the past few hours, and now that the immediate danger was over she was desperately tired. She leant back her head and closed her eyes. Disconnected thoughts and images of Benoît, smugglers, spies and the windswept sea swam through her mind—but none of them had any
power to stir her emotions. She was too tired to think clearly or even to care what happened next.

She had no idea how long she had been sitting there before Benoît lifted her up in his arms. She murmured a wordless protest, but she didn't resist. Her arms and legs were far too heavy to move of their own volition. She didn't even open her eyes when he carried her out of the room and into another chamber.

He sat her down again, untied her shawl and began to unbutton the bodice of her riding habit.

‘Come on, wake up!' he said, sounding amused. ‘I want to talk to you.'

She blinked at him, trying to clear her tired, exhaustion-clouded mind.

‘Yes,' she mumbled, lifting a heavy hand to scrub at her bleary eyes. ‘Of course. We must…decide what to do next.'

Benoît grinned.

‘I'll decide what we do next,' he declared firmly. ‘And the first thing is to get you out of these wet clothes. Get up!' He pulled her briskly to her feet.

Angelica winced as her aching muscles protested. Then she tried to finish unbuttoning her riding habit with stiff, unresponsive fingers.

After a moment Benoît pushed her hands away with an impatient but tolerant gesture.

‘I'll do it!' he said. ‘How did you manage to get covered in so much mud?'

‘I kept falling down,' said Angelica vaguely. ‘I kept up with you though!' she added, on a note of triumph.

‘I know.' Benoît pulled off her jacket and began to unbutton her skirt.

Angelica didn't protest. In the bizarre and unreal circumstances in which she found herself, the fact that he was undressing her had hardly registered in her weary brain.

There was a fire burning in the hearth of the spartan bedchamber, and a candle stood on the mantelpiece. But it was still dark and shadowy in the small room, and the draught from the warped shutters made the candlelight flicker unevenly.

‘Will Adam be all right?' Angelica asked anxiously.

She was too tired even to think of asking where they were, or how Benoît came to know the innkeeper. She just took it for granted that he was one of Toby's friends.

‘Yes, I think so,' Benoît replied. ‘But he'll be weak and in pain for quite a while. He's sleeping now.'

He pushed the wreck of her riding skirt down her legs to her feet as he spoke. It seemed quite natural to Angelica to rest her hands on his shoulders to keep her balance as she stepped out of the sodden mass of wool. She was barely aware that she was standing before him dressed in little more than her muddy petticoats.

‘What about the man who hurt Adam?' she asked, voicing the fear she'd felt earlier in the harbour. ‘Will they come after him?'

She looked up at Benoît as she spoke and saw that he was watching her thoughtfully.

‘It's possible,' he said quietly. ‘But there's a very good chance they won't be able to find him. George managed to elude pursuit in the Channel, and Adam's come from the Scheldt. No one would expect him to land this far west. That's partly why we arranged it so.'

Angelica was silent for a few moments as she absorbed this information.

‘But if they know who he is, then they might expect him to come back to his home,' she pointed out at last.

Benoît smiled faintly, affectionate admiration for her reasoning in his dark eyes.

‘That's the biggest danger,' he agreed. ‘Adam isn't sure how much the French know about him. It's probably not a major threat, but the less attention we draw to his presence the better.'

‘But he is safe here,' said Angelica, not in any spirit of doubt, but simply stating what she already believed.

‘The landlord is an old friend of Toby's,' Benoît confirmed her earlier suspicion. ‘He'll take good care of both of you.' He sighed. ‘I've got to go to London,' he said, almost reluctantly.

‘Is Adam's news bad?' Angelica asked anxiously, jolted by the realisation that Benoît would have to leave soon.

He slipped an arm reassuringly around her waist, drawing her towards him. She rested her hands against his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world that she should be standing within the circle of his embrace.

He gazed at her for a few moments, a curious expression in his eyes, then he smiled.

‘Twenty ships hardly constitute a full-scale invasion threat,' he said lightly, ‘but they should be dealt with, nevertheless. The sooner I've informed the Admiralty, the happier I shall be.'

‘You'll go to London immediately?' Angelica asked, feeling bereft.

‘At once.' He reached up to stroke her tangled golden curls, a regretful light in his brown eyes. ‘You'll be safe here until I return,' he continued, after a moment. ‘I can't take you back to Holly House now—even if you weren't too tired to ride it will be dawn soon. You won't have any reputation left if you're seen jaunting around the countryside at this hour looking like a gypsy!'

‘I don't care about that!' Angelica protested vigorously.

‘I do,' Benoît retorted. ‘I'm going to have enough explaining to do on your behalf as it is! I must call on your father when I'm in London.'

‘Oh, my God!' The colour drained from Angelica's face as she thought about the Earl for the first time in hours.

She slipped out of Benoît's arms and turned away from him. She'd hoped she would never have to explain to her father why she'd followed Benoît to the beach, but the events of the night had made it difficult to conceal her impetuous actions. In his current state of mind the Earl was unlikely to be sympathetic to her motives.

‘Angelica? What is it?' Benoît put his hands on her shoulders.

‘Papa—' Angelica said, and broke off, hugging her arms across her body.

Not once since his accident had she openly voiced her feelings about the changes in her father to anyone—even Martha. It seemed the ultimate act of disloyalty. But she needed to tell someone.

‘Papa's not the same,' she whispered. ‘If…if…' She bit her lip, staring up into the dark corners of the ceiling as she blinked back tears. ‘If Papa had been like he is now sixteen years ago you really would have ended in a gibbet,' she said in a rush, without turning round.

Benoît's hands tightened on her shoulders.

‘His blindness has made him bitter?' he said quietly.

Angelica nodded mutely.

‘I wondered.' Benoît sounded said, but not surprised. ‘Some of the things you've said. You're desperate to get Harry back, aren't you?'

‘He's always so cheerful…optimistic,' Angelica whispered brokenly. ‘Nothing
I've
done has made any difference.'

Then she finally responded to the steady pressure of Benoît's hands and allowed him to turn her into his embrace. She rested her head against his shoulder, trying not to give way to tears. There was no time for this conversation. Benoît had to go to London, and she had to stay and take care of Adam.

She felt Benoît stroking her hair and wished she could prolong the moment. She longed to tell him everything that had happened since the Earl's accident. All the bitter recriminations, the angry words—the despair. But even now she could not bring herself to do so. She lifted her head and met Benoît's steady gaze.

“He's not…easy…to speak to,' she said with some difficulty. ‘You must be prepared for many changes in him. I hope—' She broke off. ‘It would be better if I could come back with you,' she said, ‘but I know you must reach London as quickly as possible. Tell Papa I'm sorry.'

‘Don't worry.' Benoît's arms tightened around her reassuringly. ‘I'll explain everything to him. Lord Ellewood need never know you followed me tonight. I'll tell him that Admiralty business prevented me from escorting you home straight away—which is true. I
will
take you home as soon as I get back to Sussex.'

Angelica smiled: then she glanced down, biting her lip. She was grateful for Benoît's quiet assurance. She believed he probably could make things right with the Earl. But his words had forced her to think of the future, and she knew how hard she was going to find it to go back to a life in which he had no part. She would wait with the Earl for Benoît to bring Harry back to them—and then what? Would she see Benoît again? Or would he consider his promise to Lord Ellewood had been kept and sail away on the next tide?

‘Angelica?' he said, softly questioning.

She summoned a smile and looked up at him.

‘I'm sure you'll know just what to say to Papa,' she said confidently. ‘Benoît…' She hesitated, focussing her attention on one of his shirt buttons. ‘I'm sorry for the problems I've caused you tonight,' she continued breathlessly, after a moment. ‘But I'm not sorry I came. It has been an…adventure.'

‘You haven't caused me any problems,' he said, and his
voice sounded very deep. He sighed. ‘I really must go,' he said regretfully.

He bent his head to kiss her, and Angelica lifted her hand to touch his face, feeling the rough stubble beneath her fingers because naturally he hadn't shaved.

Benoît had meant it only as a light, farewell kiss, but as his lips met hers a tide of strong emotion swept over both of them. His arms locked around her and Angelica forgot her exhaustion and all her anxieties as she responded to him.

The events of the night had been so fantastic that they bore no relation to anything she had previously experienced. The shabby inn room contained no reminders of her status or the conduct normally expected of her. There was nothing to inhibit her instinctive response to the man she loved.

And she did love him. He was her embodiment of life and adventure. There could be no other man like him. She could taste the sea salt on his lips, and her spirit soared with elation. The unquenchable vigour in his hard, masculine body was intoxicating: she pressed eagerly against him, unashamedly matching the intensity of his desire.

Benoît moulded her vibrant body with sensitive hands, rousing her to new heights of excitement. She murmured wordlessly, her slim fingers pressing into his shoulders in a strong, convulsive grip as he kissed her just below her ear. She lifted her chin, gasping with pleasure as his lips and tongue explored the soft flesh of her neck and shoulder.

Her petticoat was far more revealing than any dress she
normally wore, but she felt no shyness as his lips continued their downward investigation. She quivered in his arms, new currents of delight pulsing through her as his kisses alternately scorched and soothed the tender, exposed curves of her breasts.

The small fire in the grate provided little warmth, but Angelica was burning with the sensations Benoît awakened within her. The cool air against her damp skin only heightened her arousal.