The Wolf's Promise. Claire Thornton
There was no one in the dining-room, and Benoît pulled on the bell rope. Angelica hesitated. She was feeling extremely unsettled, and she knew if she sat down at the table she would feel trapped. The curtains were open so, partly out of curiosity, partly from a desire to appear at ease, she went over to the window.
The dining-room looked out to the front of the house. After the previous night’s storm, the sky was a surprisingly bright and clear blue. She saw a holly tree close to the window, and in the distance some short-stemmed daffodils were dancing in a light breeze. They were the first she had seen that year.
‘Spring is on its way,’ said Benoît behind her, making her jump. She hadn’t realised he was so close. ‘You should have a relatively pleasant journey back to London.’
Angelica gasped, all coherent thought driven from her mind by his unexpected proximity. She was grateful she had her back to him and he couldn’t see her confusion. It would never do to let him think he had her at a disadvantage.
She bit her lip, her eyes fixed on the daffodils, at a loss for an immediate reply. She had discharged her errand and she had no real grounds for refusing to go; but she didn’t want to leave. She couldn’t abandon Harry’s fate in the hands of a man about whom she harboured such terrible suspicions.
‘It certainly is a beautiful day,’ she compromised, turning to face Benoît just as the maid came in.
It was a mistake. He was too close and she had no avenue of retreat. He looked straight into her eyes for a few seconds, almost overwhelming her with the electric force of his personality. Angelica felt as if she had been stripped naked by the unexpected intimacy of that brief contact. She struggled to appear cool and unflustered, but her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she lifted her chin almost defiantly to meet his gaze.
He smiled, and turned his head to speak to the maid.
Angelica relaxed slightly, and discovered she’d been holding her breath. She controlled a desire to drag in a shaky lungful of air, and began to breathe normally again, berating herself for acting so foolishly. Surely she was far too sophisticated to be overawed by a provincial smuggler? But she couldn’t resist the urge to watch Benoît as he spoke to the maid.
His black hair glinted blue in the bright sunlight. She could see the tiny lines around his eyes from all those times when he must have squinted to see in poorly lit conditions; but he was far more tanned than she would have expected of a man who spent most of his time working at night. For the first time it occurred to her to wonder how active a part in the smuggling trade he took. He surely wouldn’t land the kegs and carry them up the beach himself?
He glanced at her, and she felt her cooling cheeks begin to flush again. A glint of amusement flickered in the intelligent brown eyes, almost as if he had guessed what she was thinking, then he said,
‘Would you prefer tea or coffee with your breakfast, my lady?’
‘Oh…coffee, please,’ she stammered, suddenly remembering Sir William’s strictures on the subject of smuggled tea, although she had a dim recollection that now the duty on tea had been so greatly reduced it was no longer an important item on the smugglers’ inventory.
‘I have written a letter to your father,’ said Benoît, holding a chair for her to sit down. ‘I will give it to you presently.’
‘Thank you,’ Angelica said vaguely.
Her errand was becoming far more complicated than she had ever anticipated. Not only did she have to face the possibility that Benoît might be a traitor; she also had to find a way of dealing with her own irrational attraction to him. She couldn’t believe he had aroused such a strong response within her—no one else ever had. It was probably just a symptom of her anxiety over her father and Harry.
‘You’ll be sorry to learn that you’ve just missed seeing an old friend,’ said Benoît pleasantly, sitting down opposite her.
‘I have…I mean, have I?’ Angelica stammered, flushing guiltily.
‘Sir William Hopwood,’ said Benoît helpfully.
‘Oh, Sir William!’ Angelica exclaimed, trying to sound suitable surprised. ‘What a pity…I mean—’
‘It would certainly have been entertaining watching you trying to explain your presence here to him,’ Benoît observed, grinning. ‘Your eloquence and his bewilderment—or perhaps I have that the wrong way round. As you no doubt know, the worthy baronet is seldom at a loss for words.’
Angelica bit her lip, wondering if Benoît suspected she had overheard his conversation with Sir William.
‘I would have done my best not to embarrass you, sir,’ she said stiffly. ‘Obviously I would have been unable to give Sir William a true explanation for my visit. I am a person of honour—even if you are not.’
‘But I’m not a nobleman’s son,’ Benoît pointed out, completely unruffled by her comment. ‘No tradition of chivalry flows through my veins. I’m just the son of a poor, hardworking country doctor.’
‘Which is how you come to live in such a large house and wear such fine clothes,’ Angelica flashed, before she could stop herself.
‘I earned those,’ he replied, an enigmatic gleam in his eyes as he met her hot gaze.
‘Yes! By illegal—’ She broke off as Tilly came back into the room with a heavily laden tray.
‘Thank you, Tilly,’ said Benoît.
Angelica waited until the maid had left the room, almost grateful for the interruption. She found Benoît both disturbing and infuriating, but it was hard to imagine he was in league with his country’s enemies. On the other hand, what did she really know of him?
‘Do you deny that this house was purchased with the profits of smuggling?’ she demanded, when they were alone again.
“I would do so with alacrity, if I didn’t think the answer would disappoint you,’ he answered immediately, a faint smile playing on his lips. ‘I believe I told you before that I’m an unromantic businessman.’
‘Are you suggesting I find anything…attractive about the idea that you are a smuggler?’ Angelica exclaimed, colouring angrily at the implication that she might find him attractive in any way at all.
‘Well, obviously you do,’ he pointed out reasonably. ‘From your point of view, if I don’t have any connections with the smugglers I am unlikely to be able to help you. Your principles as a good, law-abiding citizen—the kind Sir William would welcome as a friend—are at war with your sisterly devotion. It’s quite understandable if sisterly devotion wins the day.’
Angelica glared at him.
‘I don’t find this funny, even if you do,’ she informed him through gritted teeth.
‘Of course I find it amusing,’ he retorted, grinning. ‘I haven’t been so entertained in months. On the one hand I have you, a monumentally respectable citizen under normal circumstances, I am sure, hoping and praying I am a dastardly smuggler—and on the other hand I have Sir William berating me for not taking a more active role in the suppression of the malevolent trade. How could I ever hope to satisfy both your expectations?’
‘I don’t wish you to be a smuggler,’ Angelica denied grimly. ‘I simply hoped you might have means of communicating with France… What do you mean—“monumentally”…?’
‘A slip of the tongue,’ Benoît assured her instantly, but she distrusted the gleam in his eye. ‘I meant no disparagement of your character or figure. How old are you, by the way?’
‘Really, sir!’ she exclaimed, affronted. ‘I don’t see what business—’
‘Not much more than five-and-twenty,’ he mused, idly playing with a silver teaspoon. ‘Not on the shelf yet.’
‘I’m twenty-three,’ she snapped.