He was wakened by the sound of the dawn chorus in the nearby woods. Rubbing at his eyelids, his limbs cramped from sleeping on the hard deck, he stood up to go hesitantly down to her cabin—and realised that she’d gone.
He felt cold without her. His heart was cold. Had she decided to part with him? He really couldn’t blame her, but surely she would never, ever abandon her boat!
Then as he returned to the deck and looked around he saw her in the distance, coming towards the canal with Hercules at her side—she must have gone to fetch him from the stables. He watched her with a full heart, remembering how last night she’d given herself to him with all her body; all her soul, it had seemed. It had been his turn to be the careful one, the cautious one.
He saw her tethering Hercules to a stout post, twenty yards or so from the boat. Saw, too, that she was dressed in that long coat and boots again—once more she was Matty the canal girl, independent, capable.
She was incredible. He’d never met anyone like her. And he felt the self-rebuke starting to hammer in from all sides. You careless idiot. What in God’s name were you thinking of, dragging her into all your problems?
Yet Jack had to admit that these last few days of travelling the canals had been the best days of his life, because he’d felt as though the slow but steady progress they’d made each day, with old Hercules at his side, was somehow restoring his body and his mind.
Yes, he’d been made bitter by his years as a prisoner, and that bitterness had been etched even deeper when he returned to find that his old enemy Fitz had moved in on his mother and his family home. To find evidence of that fake letter and to prove Fitz’s duplicity would, he’d thought, be a life-changing victory.
But that was before he’d realised what the cost might be.
He’d tricked Matty into thinking that her disguise as a boy had fooled him and he’d kept other secrets from her, told her other lies. But how bitterly he regretted it now, because he wanted her respect—and much, much more.
Over the years many women had held out their lures to Jack, but none had touched his heart like Matty. She was brave and strong-willed, yet completely without vanity or guile. But it wasn’t only her character that appealed to him. In that green gown last night, with her cropped hair adorned with those ribbons, she’d looked quite beautiful. Other men had been openly admiring and Jack had felt darts of jealousy. Hands off. She’s mine.
He’d proved it last night by making love to her. And she’d been utterly exquisite. Ravishingly desirable.
His respect for her this morning was intact, but his guilt lay heavy on his soul. He guessed she didn’t trust many people, but she’d given him her trust, even though he had several times almost shattered it. Was she prepared to give him one more chance? He truly didn’t know. Yes, this morning she was once more dressed in her boy’s attire with her hair thrust under her big hat. But she still looked so lovely that he felt a great wash of emotion. It was as if those months of torment in the prison and Fitz’s scheming were all melting away in the face of her fresh, diamond-bright courage.
Having tethered Hercules safely, she was coming towards the boat with a big canvas holdall over one shoulder. Truth to tell, he wasn’t at all sure how to handle this. His prime instinct was to catch her up in his arms and kiss her sweet lips again, but something—maybe the way she looked so businesslike, so purposeful once more—made him hesitate.
In fact, it was she who spoke first. ‘Good morning,’ she said. And as she stepped on board she opened up her holdall and started drawing out some short lengths of planed timber.
‘Good morning.’ His response was to raise his eyebrows. ‘That wood’s for repairing the boat, I assume?’
‘I got it from a timber yard just down the way.’
‘Presumably you’ve got nails?’
‘Of course.’ She was getting out more items. ‘I need to seal that hole before setting off again.’
‘I’ll do it,’ he said.
She looked at him steadily. ‘So you’re still coming with me?’
He moved towards her, his eyes never leaving her face, and he thought he saw just a flicker of fragility in her expression. ‘Do you doubt it, Matty?’ he said softly.
She shrugged. ‘I’m never quite sure of your plans.’
He wanted to kiss her, so much, but her face was shadowed and she’d put up that invisible wall between them again. His heart sank, yet at the same time he gestured lightly to her boat. ‘My plan,’ he said, ‘is to fulfil my side of our bargain and stay with you. Unless, that is, you don’t want me to.’
She still looked apprehensive. ‘I thought you might have changed your mind. After last night.’
‘Never,’ he said. ‘Never.’
‘So we’re working partners still, are we?’ She had her eyes fixed on those pieces of wood and was arranging them as though they were of the utmost importance—to stop herself having to look at him, he supposed.
He looked at her steadily. ‘I very much hope so.’
That barrier she’d put up. Why? He felt very bleak all of a sudden, but told himself, Play it her way. She doesn’t trust you yet—and why should she?
‘We’re partners,’ he went on. ‘Shake on it?’
He held her hand for one long moment, then she pulled away and pointed to the pieces of wood. ‘How good are you at repairing holes in boats?’
He grinned. ‘Not as good as you, I’d wager, though I’ll give it a try.’ His expression changed. ‘Matty. About last night—’
She broke in before he could go any further. ‘Jack. Do you still think Fitz’s men might be following you?’
So she didn’t even want to talk about last night. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s certainly possible.’
She nodded. That was all. So he picked up the pieces of wood, together with the hammer and nails she’d laid out there, and went below to start mending her boat—Beautiful Lady. Beautiful lady indeed. His heart was heavy.
‘About last night...’ Matty felt those words rolling round and round in her head while she spread out her soaked bedding to dry in the sunshine. What was he about to say? That he regretted everything that had happened? Quite probably.
Her heart was hurting so much, because what she wanted more than anything was for him to kiss her again as he did last night. To make love to her, as he did last night. Had she gone completely mad? How could her body have betrayed her so?
And yet, as she spread out the last blanket on the deck, her memories haunted her. Last night, everything in her world had taken on a magical quality—the stars high above, the gentle sounds of the canal, the wine that had been pounding through her blood. And she’d felt the yearning that she’d felt for days now burning her up inside, felt the sheer longing for him to take her and hold her and much, much more.
Which was why she’d let him touch her where she’d never wanted any man to touch her before. She’d clung to him as if her life depended on it and she’d almost stopped breathing as his lips claimed her and his hands did their work, creating so many wild and intense sensations that everything had melted in that joining of their bodies.
She’d wanted it. She’d almost demanded the passion that swept through her like delicious fire and altered everything. Last night, in his arms, it was as if she’d been under some kind of enchantment.
Bess had told her that men were driven by their basic physical urges, but that women felt nothing like the same desire. ‘You put up with all that nonsense, lass,’ Bess had once said, ‘if you love your man.’ Bess was wrong, because Jack had offered her pure, thrilling enchantment. What he’d done to her with his lips, his hands and his body had sent such storms of sensation through her that she couldn’t ever be the same again.
She tried to squash the memories ruthlessly. Your fault, Matty. You practically invited him to seduce you.
What had happened last night must not happen again. She knew that, she accepted it; she must let him think it was a mistake, a one-night-only affair that could be explained away by the tensions they’d both endured during the journey. Her senses had been overwrought, her judgement awry and this morning she must carry on as if none of it had ever happened—but she felt the pain of that denial squeezing her limbs, her heart and her very soul.
She must carry on as she’d begun this morning, keeping him at arm’s length. Sensible, practical Matty.
So, while Jack was still below mending her boat, sensible, practical Matty set off to buy a sack of oats from a nearby shop despite her sorely aching heart. On her return she fed Hercules, then saw that Jack had emerged from the boat’s hold. He waved to her. ‘That hole’s all fixed,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Hungry, Captain Matty?’
She realised he’d already spread out breakfast on the table—bread, cheese and fruit. ‘Extremely,’ she answered.
But somehow, the food tasted like ashes in her mouth.
It was soon time to set off again and Jack took his place on the towpath at Hercules’s side. He felt alert and apprehensive. Today was the final morning of the journey. Today, his whole future might be decided.
He glanced back at Matty, who was by the tiller as usual. If she felt any tension, she wasn’t showing it; indeed, she’d made it very clear that she was back in charge and Jack was the deckhand by giving him orders from the very start.
He knew he ought to be relieved by her practicality. There were no sentimental pronouncements on her part, no demands of commitment. She had clearly decided that what happened last night must not happen again, and she was right, surely—so why did he feel an acute sense of loss? The loss of what might have been, the loss of something so very precious?
He tramped on beside Hercules, rebuking himself again and again for his own clumsy handling of the whole situation. Her voice from the boat broke into his self-vilification.
‘Watch the rope, Jack,’ he heard her calling, ‘or it will snap back and break your arm!’ And then, only moments later when Hercules had come to an unwarranted stop: ‘For heaven’s sake, Jack, he’s trying to eat ragwort. And it’s deadly poison for horses. Keep him away from it, will you?’
She was tough. She was clever. She was independent.
And last night, in his arms, she had been...unforgettable.
It was noon by the time they tied up by a canalside inn, at a place Jack estimated to be only a mile from the Charlwood estate. As he led Hercules to the inn’s stable, he was full of mixed emotions.
These were the fields where he used to roam. He remembered every wooded lane, every stream, every pond where trout dabbled. He would get it back, he vowed, whatever it took, whatever it cost him. The trouble was, he hadn’t expected it to involve a certain unusual and courageous girl who had put his mind, his heart and pretty much all the rest of him in rather a state of tumult.
Shortly afterwards he entered the alehouse to see that she’d already ordered their meal and was placing drinks and two meat pasties on a table. He watched her chatting easily with some boatmen who sat close by—they clearly recognised her as one of their own.
The canals were her life. This was her life, the life she loved; this was a different Matty, not at all the passionate girl he’d made love to last night. The girl who’d surrendered herself to him in a way that had shaken his world.
She looked up calmly as he joined her. ‘Well?’ she said, pushing his ale and pasty towards him. ‘We need to discuss our plan for getting into Charlwood’s library and seeing if that letter is still there.’
‘Yes,’ he said. For the moment he ignored the food and drink. ‘We need to talk about Charlwood. But first, Matty—about last night. I wanted to say—’
She leaned forward. ‘Jack, you want to get your home back. I want to find my father’s treasure field. What happened last night was a distraction, so let’s forget it.’
‘Right,’ said Jack slowly.
Did she mean it? Really, really mean it? Because he was damned if he was going to forget last night and the sweetness of being in her arms! But she was already tucking into her pasty, though after a while she looked up and said, ‘First point. How do you know your stepfather won’t be at Charlwood Manor? He might well have guessed that you’re heading for your home.’
‘He won’t be there.’ He took a swallow of his ale. ‘Though you’re right to think of it. In fact, I heard from Lawrence that Fitz was planning a visit to Charlwood and had indeed begun the journey by carriage—but this morning, a couple of hours or so after setting off, he’ll have received an urgent message demanding his presence back at the War Office in London.’
She frowned. ‘How do you know?’
He allowed himself a smile. ‘Because Lawrence arranged the fake message. Fitz will be on his way back to London by now and there he’ll discover that he was tricked. But it means his arrival at Charlwood—if indeed he decides to try again—will be delayed.’
‘You schemer,’ was all she said and she tucked into her pasty.
But he saw a glint of approval in her eyes and it cheered him. ‘I know. Shameless, aren’t I? But it certainly means it will be easier for me to get in the house—’
‘Correction.’ She sat back in her chair and dusted pastry crumbs from her fingers. ‘You’re not going in the house—I am. Fitz might have headed back to London, but he’ll still have his spies out watching for you.’
‘No, Matty!’ He almost rose to his feet, then realised they were being watched and sat down again. He said more quietly, ‘No. I’m not even going to discuss this. It could be dangerous for you!’
She watched him calmly. ‘You think you’re very clever, don’t you?’
‘Yes—at least on this! I know Fitz, I know Charlwood!’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you’re being pig-headed. At least I stand a chance of success—unlike you. Just think about it. The minute you enter the house, you’ll be recognised—you told me there are still servants there from the old days. And if there are any staff there that Fitz has appointed, he’ll very likely have given them your description. You’ll never get away with it. So it’s only going to be me entering the house, do you understand? I know exactly where to go and I know what I’m after—I shall collect that old map of the Roman settlement and that draft letter about the Chateau Esperance—if it’s still there.’
If was the crucial word. He felt angry and powerless at the same time. He was so close and yet he could still face failure. ‘No,’ he said again. ‘I’ll bring back that map for you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I know you found both items in the library, Matty. All you have to do is tell me exactly where—’
‘I won’t,’ she said calmly.
‘What?’
‘I won’t tell you. And that library is crammed with papers—it could take you all day, longer even, to find anything. So I’m going in by myself and you’re not stopping me.’
‘I refuse to let you enter the house by yourself!’
She was silent a moment. Then she said, ‘Have you got those dice of yours?’
‘Yes! But—’
‘Give them to me.’
Slowly he retrieved them from his pocket and handed them over.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘The person who throws highest goes into Charlwood Manor. Your turn first.’
Jack threw a three and a four. She threw a six and a five. He groaned inwardly.
‘Looks pretty definite to me,’ she said.
Her chin was jutting stubbornly. Jack knew when to acknowledge defeat. ‘Very well,’ he said wearily. ‘You’re in charge of the campaign, Captain Matty.’
‘I’m glad you see it my way,’ she said. ‘Major Rutherford.’
He pocketed his dice. ‘I still think it’s crazy! But believe me, I’m grateful.’
She lifted her glass. ‘My pleasure.’
My pleasure? Damn, he wanted to give her pleasure like last night, over and over again. He gritted his teeth.
An hour later he watched her as she set off along the path to Charlwood Manor carrying a leather document case she told him had belonged to her father. No green frock or green ribbons this time—in fact, she’d dressed in a drab brown skirt and jacket and wore a rather grim-looking bonnet so she looked exactly like a governess, except that she still had that glint of absolute determination in her eyes.
Just before the path took her out of sight, she turned round and waved to him.
He waved back. And he was missing her already.
As Matty walked up the driveway to Charlwood Manor, she found her footsteps slowing. It seemed incredible to her now that only a short while ago, she’d felt so very certain about everything. She’d thought she knew exactly how she wanted her life to unfold—she would find the site of the Roman settlement for her father, then she would continue to travel the canals in the way she’d always loved. That, she thought, was all she’d ever wished for.
But Jack Rutherford had changed everything—it was no good denying it. He’d changed her hopes, her expectations, even her knowledge of herself, and she was frightened at what she now knew: that she had a heart that was all too vulnerable.
‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ she whispered aloud. ‘I’ve behaved abominably today, shutting myself off from you, giving you orders. It’s because I’m trying to protect myself—and protect you, too.’
Her words fell on empty air, of course. She walked on up the drive and, after hesitating only briefly in front of the imposing front door, she knocked firmly. She had to do this, for her father and for Jack.
The door opened and immediately she recognised the kind old servant who’d let herself and her father in two years ago. Bracewell, Jack had called him.
‘Ma’am?’ Bracewell spoke uncertainly.
‘You may not remember me,’ Matty said, ‘but I called here two years ago with my father, the historian Geoffrey Grey.’
His face cleared. ‘Of course I remember! And I was so sorry to hear that your father died soon after his second visit. My sympathies, ma’am.’
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, ‘my father is very much missed. But I’m trying to continue his unfinished work. And I was wondering if I might be permitted, just briefly, to look in the library again? I remember there was an old map here that might help me greatly...’
Moments later she was in the library. Yes, it had been easy to get inside—too easy. Because she had been in the library scarcely twenty minutes when Bracewell hurried in to her, his face anxious.
‘Ma’am. Something unexpected has occurred, I fear...’