Robert yawned, stretched and rolled over, opening his eyes with a smile that faded the moment he found the space beside him empty.
He rubbed a hand over his face, memories of the night before flooding back in a torrent. The storm, the long climb over the cliffs, the rescue, the fishermen’s cottages...the argument with Ianthe and what it had led to. That was the most vivid memory of all, though if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was lying in a strange bed completely naked with only her scent on his pillow for company, he might have thought it had all been a dream.
He heaved himself upright, groaning as his sore muscles protested. His whole body felt as if it had been thoroughly and violently pummelled. There wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache. Not that he could regret the evening completely. He’d just woken up from a particularly pleasant dream in which he’d been reliving the latter events of the night and imagining a few more things he’d like to do with his wife. Things he’d still like to do, just as soon as he found her. Bruised and battered he might be, but he’d no intention of letting a bit of physical discomfort deter him. If one thing was clear to him this morning, it was that they’d wasted enough time. There were parts of her he was more than eager to explore in more detail. The very thought was arousing.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘Ianthe?’ He twisted his head too quickly in the direction of her voice and let out an oath.
‘Are you all right?’ She crossed the room in two seconds, leaning over him with a look of concern.
‘Just a bit sore.’ He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. ‘Nothing that won’t mend.’
‘Oh... Good.’
She stepped back from the bed, folding her hands primly in front of her. He frowned at the familiar gesture. It was the way she’d behaved when they’d first met, though he hadn’t seen her do it for a while. She was already dressed, too, though he must have interrupted her because her hair was still loose, flowing in dark blonde tendrils over her shoulders to just below her breasts.
His heart seemed to skip a beat. Funny, but he’d never seen her hair completely loose before. Even last night, she’d kept it tied in a knot at the back of her head. The style seemed almost as much a part of her as her high collars and ridiculously sensible boots. Now it was gone, he felt as though he were looking at a whole different woman.
‘You look beautiful.’
‘What?’ She looked genuinely stunned. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything more.’ He reached across and grabbed one of her hands, tugging her back towards the bed. ‘Though I preferred what you weren’t wearing last night. Come back to bed.’
‘Robert.’ She cast her eyes down as she pulled away from him. ‘The carts are here. The ones you told to follow us last night. The men are preparing to leave.’
‘Let them.’ He released her hand and leaned back against the wall, throwing one arm behind his head as he studied her. What had happened? Last night, she’d made love to him with wild, sensual, thrilling abandon. This morning, she looked as if she wanted to get as far away from him as possible. She seemed to be retreating before his very eyes. Why? Surely she wasn’t ashamed of what had happened between them? He’d heard it said that ladies were told they shouldn’t enjoy physical relations with their husbands. In which case, he’d just have to convince her otherwise...
‘I’d rather you came back to bed.’
‘It’s after seven. People will talk.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Well, I do! I have a reputation to maintain.’
He tipped his head to one side, detecting the faint tremor in her voice. ‘What’s the matter, Ianthe?’
‘Nothing. I’d like to go home, that’s all. I still have a lot of preparation to do for tonight.’
‘Tonight?’
‘The dinner party.’ She sounded shocked. ‘With Mr Harper.’
‘Oh.’ He sighed wearily. ‘That.’
‘Yes, that. You said it was important.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes!’
He felt vaguely surprised by his own lack of interest. ‘I suppose it was.’
‘It still is. You said he was ready to sign the papers. We can’t fail now. We just need to get through tonight and then...’
‘And then?’ He raised an eyebrow as her voice trailed away.
‘Then we’ll both have fulfilled the terms of our agreement.’
He clenched his jaw. She was speaking as if the agreement was all that existed between them, as if their marriage were still just a business arrangement. Then again, with their relationship in such uncharted territory, he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed either. Not to mention that it wasn’t the only new experience she was dealing with. The faint stain of blood on the bedsheets was a reminder of that. Perhaps, after everything else that had happened the previous day, she was simply feeling overwhelmed. Or perhaps he’d been too rough. Perhaps he’d hurt or frightened her... The very idea made his heart clench.
He threw back the covers, reaching out to embrace her. ‘About last night...’
She took a definite step backwards. ‘I think it would be best if we don’t talk about it. We were tired and...distressed.’
‘Distressed?’
‘Yes.’ Her eyes flashed accusingly. ‘And you said that you didn’t want an heir!’
He stared at her in disbelief. Is that what she thought he’d been doing? ‘I wasn’t trying to get an heir, Ianthe.’
‘Oh.’ She bit her lip, twisting away from him evasively. ‘In that case, there’s no reason for us to be...together. It wasn’t part of the agreement.’
‘Forget the agreement! I don’t care about the blasted agreement!’
She shook her head, still refusing to look at him. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not? I love you!’
He thought he heard a small sob as her body seemed to go completely rigid for a moment.
‘Ianthe?’
She didn’t answer, and he grasped her shoulders, wrenching her back round to face him.
‘What’s changed since last night?’
‘Nothing.’ She lifted her eyes up at that, her voice almost unnaturally calm suddenly. ‘Nothing’s changed.’
‘Then why...?’
‘Because you don’t know me. Not really. You haven’t had time to get to know me. It’s ridiculous to think that we...’ She pursed her lips as if she were trying to control herself. ‘It was a mistake. We should forget that it ever happened.’
‘I don’t want to forget it.’
‘Well, I do!’ She wrenched herself free from his arms with a sudden burst of anger. ‘We had—have—an agreement. If you’re really a gentleman then you ought to honour the original terms!’
‘But I’m not a gentleman, am I?’ He folded his arms, feeling as though she’d just driven a knife into his chest. ‘Maybe you don’t know me so well either.’
‘Maybe I don’t.’ She held his gaze unwaveringly before gesturing towards a neat pile of clothes on a chair. ‘Your things are dry and ready. I’ll meet you outside.’
She whirled around then, sprinting for the door without looking back, leaving him to simply stare after her, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe as a painful sense of rejection assailed him, just as vivid as it had been six years before when his mother had pushed him away for the last time.
He sank down on to the bed and put his head in his hands. How could he have been so stupid, walking headlong into the one trap he’d striven so hard to avoid? Somewhere between the moment she’d arrived at the shipyard yesterday and the moment he’d carried her to the bed, he’d fallen in love, or at least realised he had. As much as he’d claimed he wasn’t capable of love, deep down he’d known that the opposite was true. He wasn’t incapable, he was afraid. Afraid of the potential pain it could bring, the gut-wrenching pain of caring for someone who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, care for him back. And now what he’d always feared and expected would happen, had happened. Just like his parents, the woman he loved had rejected him, too. Because she preferred a business agreement—his agreement—to a real marriage with him. If the irony hadn’t been so horrible, he might have laughed.
He’d never regretted a business deal more in his life.
* * *
Two hours later, Robert stood on the mudflats, listening with one ear to a report of damage to the yard. The roof of the sail loft had been partially blown away, and four of the smaller colliers on the flats had tipped over, needing minor repairs, but overall they’d got away comparatively lightly. If only he could have said the same for himself.
They’d passed the painfully slow journey back to Whitby in silence. He’d taken a seat beside her in the cart for form’s sake, though they hadn’t exchanged so much as a word, keeping their bodies studiously apart as they’d bumped their way back over the cliff tops.
He’d jumped down the moment they’d reached the outskirts of town, unable to bear the feeling of being so close and yet so far from her at the same time. He’d made the excuse of going to the shipyard, though in truth the thought of walking back into the house at her side had been too painful to contemplate. He preferred to get straight back to work instead. If he did that, he reasoned, then perhaps he could get back to a sense of normalcy, too. If only...
‘Should I order some roof tiles then, sir?’
‘What? Oh.’ He ran a hand wearily over his face. ‘Yes. I’ll leave the repairs in your hands. Engage whomever we need.’
‘You’re going?’ His foreman could hardly have looked any more surprised.
‘I need a drink.’
‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning, sir.’
‘Well, it feels later.’ He gave a terse smile. ‘Time for whisky, I think.’
He strode back towards the yard, glancing across at Harper’s as he went. If everything went well tonight, he’d own both by tomorrow. He’d have what he’d always wanted—a position of standing with wealth, respectability and influence. One where no one could tell him he wasn’t good enough, where people like Louisa Allendon and Charles Lester couldn’t call him an upstart without looking up to him as well. Except that he didn’t give a damn about any of it any more. He couldn’t even bring himself to be interested in his own repairs.
He dragged a hand through his hair as a wave of desolation swept over him. Last night, he’d felt as though he’d finally overcome the painful legacy of his past, but now the old feelings were back, more powerful and destructive than ever. He felt as though he’d been fighting them his whole life, trying to pretend they weren’t there by filling his life with other accomplishments instead. Now it was too late: he could see all his ambitions, all his achievements, for what they were—futile attempts to stave off the emptiness inside.
Deep down, he’d always suspected that his parents had been right and that there was something wrong, something fundamentally unlovable about him, as if he weren’t worthy of love or affection, and now his own wife had proved it, turning everything he’d accomplished to rubble in a few short minutes. Only this time, the feeling of rejection had been even worse because he’d thought, hoped, believed that she’d loved him back. But she didn’t. Their night together hadn’t meant anything to her. She preferred a business deal, saying that nothing between them had changed.
He stopped mid-stride. How could she say that? Since they’d first met everything about her had changed! The longer he’d known her, the more he’d come to realise that she was nothing at all like the uptight and severe woman he’d met on the train. Until that morning, he’d almost forgotten that she’d ever existed.
And she had the nerve to tell him to go back to the original terms of the agreement! She was the one who’d altered the terms, forcing him to see the emptiness he’d spent so long trying to avoid. He’d wanted a sensible, respectable wife, one to help him build his business, not one who lured him away and then simply discarded him.
He threw a savage look up the road towards the crescent, wondering whether he ought to go and confront her, but what was there left to say? Nothing that would make him feel any better.
As for what would make him feel better... He glanced speculatively towards a tavern on the harbourside. He ought to go home and get some rest before the dinner party that evening. That was what Mr Felstone, respectable shipyard owner and husband, would do. But at that moment, all he really wanted was a drink.
* * *
Ianthe descended the stairs nervously, stomach fluttering with butterflies so huge they felt like bats. This was it. The moment to prove herself, the evening when Mr Harper would judge and hopefully not find her wanting, when he would finally sign the deed of sale.
She reached the hall and smoothed her hands over her sober, mauve evening gown, one of her own rather than one of Robert’s choices, making sure there were no wrinkles, before patting her hair to make sure the pins were still neatly in place. Then she walked across to the dining room and peered around the door, sighing with a deep sense of satisfaction. Everything was ready—the settings laid, the cutlery polished, the crystal glasses sparkling under the low-hanging chandelier. She’d spent the whole day working alongside Mrs Baxter, ignoring the housekeeper’s insistence that she take a rest, knowing that sleep would be impossible and preferring to keep busy rather than allow herself any time to think.
If she did stop to think, she had the unsettling conviction that she might simply collapse in a heap on the floor and start crying. Once she started to think, she might remember the look on Robert’s face when she’d told him that their night together had been a mistake, the look of hurt that had tugged on her heartstrings so painfully that she’d almost changed her mind and flung herself into his arms right there and then. The look that suggested he’d meant what he said—that he loved her. Even despite the way she’d behaved, the wanton abandon she’d shown in his arms—he loved her.
Not that it mattered. She hardened her heart against the memory. Once she told him about her past, that look would be gone for ever. She’d pushed him away despite the pain it had cost her, knowing that she was acting for the best. She had to remember that now, had to stay strong for one more night so that when she told him about her elopement with Albert, she could still look him in the eye and say that at least she’d fulfilled her side of their bargain. Once Mr Harper signed the deed of sale she would have met the basic terms of the agreement. No matter how angry he might be at her deceit, he couldn’t say she’d failed in that.
She pushed diffidently on the drawing room door, surprised to find the room inside empty. She’d assumed that Robert had come home at some point when she’d been busy in the kitchens, that she’d simply missed him going upstairs to bathe and change. She’d expected to find him there waiting when she came down, but there was no sign of anyone. The whole house seemed unnaturally quiet and empty, as if it were taking a deep breath, bracing itself for another big storm.
She shook her head to dispel the thought. It was drizzling outside, but there were no storm clouds tonight. She was simply being paranoid, jumping at shadows, letting her anxiety about the evening ahead get the better of her. There was no need to be worried. Robert might not have come down yet, but he wanted Harper’s yard too much to do anything that might hinder the sale. He wouldn’t let anyone else see there was anything amiss between them, she was sure of it. Once the evening got started, everything would be all right. It had to be.
‘Mrs Felstone?’
‘Oh!’ She put a hand to her chest, startled and yet relieved to see another person. ‘Sorry, Hannah. Is Mr Felstone in his office? I can’t seem to find him.’
‘No, ma’am. He’s not here.’
‘What?’
‘He hasn’t come home yet.’
‘Not at all?’ She felt a momentary disquiet. Robert had told her once that he was never late for an appointment. Why would he start now with one that was so important?
‘Mrs Baxter sent someone to the yard an hour ago to remind him about dinner, but they said he wasn’t there.’
Disquiet turned to a definite flutter of panic. ‘But where else would he be?’
‘I don’t know, ma’am, but there’s another gentleman here to see you.’
‘Do you mean Mr Harper?’ Ianthe glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. It was only seven o’clock, a full half hour before their guests were due to arrive, but perhaps they’d come early by mistake. ‘Please show him in.’
‘It’s not Mr Harper, ma’am. He says his name is Lester. Sir Charles Lester.’
‘Lester?’ She felt a jolt, as if the name itself were a weapon being hurled across the room at her. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Shouldn’t I have let him in?’
Ianthe grabbed hold of a chair, steadying herself as the room started to spin around her. Surely it couldn’t be him, not now, not here, not him, not tonight! Surely it was too horrible a coincidence to be true—had to be some kind of mistake! What could he want with her tonight?
‘It’s all right, Hannah, it’s not your fault.’ She pulled herself up stiffly. ‘Please tell him I’m not at home.’
The maid shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. ‘He said you’d say that, ma’am. Then he said I should give you this.’ She held out a small piece of folded paper.
‘What’s that?’ She eyed the paper nervously.
‘I don’t know, ma’am.’
‘Oh...no...of course not.’ She reached out and unfolded the note quickly. There was only one word, the name of a place, but it made her stomach plummet to the floor.
Bournemouth.
‘What should I tell him, ma’am?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ianthe put a hand to her mouth, feeling as though she were about to be sick. How could he know about Bournemouth? What did he know? Whatever it was, he apparently felt confident enough to come to her house and demand entry.
‘Mrs Felstone?’
‘Show him in.’ She clasped her hands together unsteadily. What could she do except see him? The threat in his note was obvious. If she refused to see him, there was no telling what he might say or do. Though, on the other hand, there was no telling what he might say or do if she did...
‘Very good, ma’am. Would you like me to stay?’
She gave a faint smile, touched by the maid’s offer. ‘Thank you, Hannah, but it’s all right. If the Harpers or Lovedays arrive, please show them into the small parlour and tell them I’ll be there in a moment.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And, Hannah...?’ She hesitated over her next words, knowing how bad they sounded, but needing to say them all the same. ‘If Mr Felstone returns, please don’t mention Sir Charles to him.’
Then she stood in the middle of the room, a prickling sensation running up and down the length of her spine as she waited for the Baronet to arrive. After what had happened in Pickering, she’d tried to convince herself that she’d never have to see him again, that he’d never dare show his face in Whitby, but here he was, proving that her irrational fears hadn’t been quite so irrational after all. Well, whatever he wanted, she’d just have to deal with it and send him on his way as quickly as possible. She still had half an hour to salvage the evening.
‘Ianthe.’ The Baronet appeared in the doorway almost at once, looking just as poised and elegant as she remembered, surveying her with an expression that could only be described as gloating. ‘It’s been too long.’
‘What do you want?’ She didn’t bother with pleasantries, pulling her shoulders back and facing up to him squarely. Whatever he’d come for, she wasn’t going to be intimidated, not again. This was her house. He couldn’t touch her here. One scream would bring everyone in hearing distance rushing to her aid.
‘What, no greeting?’ He feigned surprise. ‘You disappoint me, my dear. We used to be such good friends.’
‘We were never friends.’
‘A situation I intend to remedy now.’ He sat down in a chair as if making himself at home, eyes shining with the triumphant gleam of a predator who knows he has his prey cornered.
Well, she wasn’t cornered, not yet.
‘You’ve come to make friends?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes. I think we ought to get on very well from now on. You know, your little performance had me quite fooled.’
‘What do you mean, performance?’
‘All this.’ He waved a hand in her general direction. ‘Little Miss Prim and Proper. But you can stop pretending to be quite so innocent, my dear. I know all about what happened in Bournemouth.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘That’s what your former fiancé said too at first. Fortunately, he was persuaded to talk.’
‘Albert?’ She gasped in horror. ‘What did you do to him?’
‘Oh, nothing violent, I assure you. There was no need to resort to such measures. He sold you out quite cheaply, I’m afraid. Foolishly, too. I was prepared to pay a lot more for the information.’
‘He’s a liar.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He gave her a vaguely pitying look. ‘He wasn’t the only one I spoke to. His mother was most forthcoming, too. I have all the facts. Now I just have to decide what to do with them. Which brings me to why I’m here.’
Ianthe swallowed painfully. After all these months, she’d thought that he’d given up on pursuing her, but now she realised the truth was far more chilling. He’d been using the time to find out about her, plotting blackmail behind her back, returning just when she’d thought she was safe from him.
‘I wonder what your husband would say if he knew?’ He said the words lightly, as if he were making a simple query, not a threat.
‘He already knows,’ she tried bluffing. ‘I told him before we got married.’
‘I think not. The upright and honourable Mr Felstone married to a woman with your background? I can’t see it somehow. If he knew the truth, I doubt you’d be taking seaside strolls together.’
‘Seasi—!’ She inhaled sharply. ‘Have you been watching me?’
‘Not personally, but I have associates. They tell me the two of you make quite a charming couple.’ He stood up and stalked slowly towards her, smiling wolfishly. ‘Of course, even if your husband did know the truth, it wouldn’t matter. The rest of Whitby doesn’t. And somehow I doubt he’d want the story getting around. As to whether it does or not...that’s up to you.’
‘What do you want?’ She felt nauseated.
‘What I’ve always wanted. I thought that would be obvious.’
‘You want me to be your mistress? I’m married!’
He placed a finger under her chin, tilting it upwards. ‘An inconvenience, my dear, not an obstacle.’
‘You’re despicable!’ She jerked her chin away in disgust. ‘What if Robert found out?’
‘I should imagine he’d be somewhat displeased. Though perhaps not as much as he’d be at having the rest of Yorkshire know the truth about you. In any case, I want more than that. You’re leaving with me, Ianthe. Tonight.’
‘I’ll do no such thing!’
He ignored her protest. ‘You can write a note if you like, informing your husband of the transfer of your affections. That should be enough.’
‘Never!’
‘Then we’ll wait here for him together. I’m even prepared to let you do the honours and tell him everything yourself. It should be amusing to watch.’ His expression hardened. ‘You might be glad to come with me after he throws you out.’
‘I’ll never come to you.’
‘We’ll see about that.’
Ianthe gritted her teeth, about to retort when she heard the chime of the front doorbell. The Harpers! She felt a surge of panic. It had to be them—Kitty was never so punctual!
‘Tomorrow, then.’ She grasped at the only idea she could think of. ‘I’ll come to you tomorrow.’
‘I’m not so gullible, Ianthe. Do you think I don’t know about your husband’s business plans? When I mentioned the rest of the world knowing the truth, naturally I included Mr Harper.’
‘You wouldn’t!’
He laughed pitilessly. ‘Of course I would.’
She dragged in a breath, glancing anxiously towards the door. She could hear voices out in the hall now, Mr Harper’s and Violet’s. She ought to go out and greet them. The lack of a proper reception would look bad enough already. But if she went now, then Sir Charles would surely follow. He’d tell them everything... And that was the only way that she could think of to stop him.
‘I promise I’ll leave with you tomorrow. Just give me a chance to persuade Mr Harper to sign the papers tonight. Then I’ll tell Robert everything. He’ll cast me off, you’re right, but there’ll be no risk of him stopping us. He won’t care where I go.’
‘You outwitted me once before, Ianthe.’ The Baronet looked contemptuous. ‘Why would I give you the chance to do it again?’
‘Because if you insist on me leaving tonight then I’ll never forgive you. I’ll fight you every moment we’re together and then I’ll run away. I’ll never be yours.’
‘And if I let you wait until tomorrow?’
‘Then I won’t fight. I’ll come willingly.’ Somehow she forced the words past her lips. ‘I’ll do whatever you say.’
Sir Charles studied her in silence for a few moments. ‘Do you know, I think you really mean it.’
‘I do mean it. Just let me go now.’
‘All right, I’ll send my carriage at dawn. You have until then. Otherwise I’ll make sure that everyone in Whitby knows the truth about you by breakfast.’
‘I’ll be ready.’
‘Good. Then we understand each other. You won’t get away from me this time, Ianthe.’ His face seemed to sharpen suddenly, becoming pointed and falcon-like, before smoothing out again just as quickly. ‘Now you’d better go and see to your guests. You don’t want to keep them waiting.’