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Highwayman Husband
Helen Dickson
HIS WIFE WAS ENGAGED TO HIS FOULEST ENEMY…Held at gunpoint by a highwayman, Laura Mawgan is shocked to discover that the charming masked stranger is none other than her husband–believed to have been killed by pirates two years ago, only days after their wedding. Languishing in a French prison, Lucas Mawgan has dreamed of returning home to his young wife–and of taking revenge on Edward Carlyle, the man who separated them. The man who is now his "widow's" betrothed. Will Lucas prove that Carlyle is no gentleman, and get back in his wife's good graces–and back into her heart?



“Why, my poor little wife, what is it?
Are you telling me that you missed me after all?”
To her consternation and fury, Laura felt her cheeks grow hot. Angrily she slapped his hands away. “I am not telling you anything of the sort. At least have the decency to explain to me where you have been for the past two years—and why you are cavorting about the county as a highwayman. Tell me!”
“Trust me. I know exactly what I am doing, and why I am doing it.”
“Then let us dispense with this conversation and go and tell Edward who you are, before that accomplice of yours shoots him.”
Lucas’s fingers closed cruelly on her upper arm as she began to walk away. “Do not even consider doing that. Defy me on this and nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to make you regret it.”

Highwayman Husband
Helen Dickson


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

HELEN DICKSON
was born in south Yorkshire and still lives there, with her husband, on a busy arable farm where she combines writing with keeping a chaotic farmhouse. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. She enjoys reading and music. History has always captivated her, and she likes travel and visiting ancient buildings.

Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen

Prologue
1792
T he man stood at the prow of the small vessel as it smashed its way through the black, choppy water of the English Channel. His feet were slightly apart, his back straight, his hands clasped behind him. France was receding. England was within his sights.
His features were quiet, intent. A sense of purpose filled his heart and mind and was etched in every line of his tall, lean frame. An aura of authority and power seemed to surround him, and he possessed a haughty reserve that was not inviting and set him apart from his fellow passengers and the crew. There was something about his eyes, shadowed with some deep-felt emotion and a mocking cynicism, as though he found the whole world a dubious place to be, that made others shrink from seeking his attention.
Having been condemned by the tribunal in Paris, fully comprehending that nothing could possibly save him from the black prison of La Force, where he had been incarcerated to await the day of his execution, where torture and deprivation had driven him to the brink of madness, he had struggled to retain his grip on sanity for two whole years, sustaining himself by focusing his mind on escaping his prison and returning to his own fireside and his sweet young wife—and at the same time concentrating on his hatred for the man who had put him there. When freedom had come, unexpectedly, it had been received with relief and an indescribable joy, and he had lost no time in leaving France.
In all his turbulent thoughts, in all the heated workings of his heart and mind, he had stood against resignation and mercifully his hold on life had remained strong. He was impatient to plant his feet on England’s soil. As if sensing the need in him, in an act of mercy and a desire to appease him, the wind chose that moment to stir and fill the sails and drive the vessel onward with a sprightly vigour. The man shuddered, having forgotten how cold the wind at sea could be. He turned his collar up, without relinquishing his gaze fixed on the distant shoreline—on England. His home.
He envisioned his homecoming and considered the shock his return would be to those close to him—to his wife. How had his disappearance affected her? Was she devastated, tormented with grief and despair? One thing he did imagine was that she had been told he was dead, and he had to consider the possibility that after the required one-year period of mourning had passed she might have wished to marry again. He found this thought repugnant and grimly thrust the unpleasant possibility and the complications associated with it from his mind, deciding that in her childlike devotion to him she would have remained loyal and would be waiting for him no matter what.
After two years’ deprivation he vowed never to take anything for granted again. He wanted to return to his home and cleanse himself of the filth of La Force, he wanted a life with meaning and a marriage filled with love. Beyond that he had only one more, less noble, aim in life—and that was to see the man who had tried to end his life consigned to hell. He wanted vengeance, and he would succeed in that goal if he himself expired in the process.

Chapter One
H ow the mind played strange tricks the moment darkness came to the moor and the traveller passed the lone gibbet at four land ends. The clanking and creaking of rusty chains as they moved in the wind encased the lifeless, decaying body of some poor wretch who had fallen foul of the law. Murderer, thief, highwayman or smuggler…what did it matter now he was dead? But he hung there, carrion for the birds, and for the entire world to see, a sordid warning to others—a grim reminder of what to expect for those who chose to follow the same path. This was a test for any man’s nerves who crossed the moor after dark.
Night came quickly to this bleak, hostile landscape the night Laura Mawgan and her betrothed, Sir Edward Carlyle, travelled to Roslyn Manor on the south Cornish coast. They had been celebrating their betrothal at Edward’s home, Burfield Hall, with friends and neighbours. It had been an extremely grand affair and Edward had tried to persuade Laura to stay the night and return to Roslyn Manor the next day, but, young as she was, she had become used to making her own decisions, and had insisted on travelling home.
On the moor there was no transition between light and dark. Ghostly shapes of rocks were awesome, etched against the night sky. With just the flickering coach lamps giving off a dull yellow glow there was insufficient light, the moon hidden behind thick cloud. Coming to high ground, they became enveloped in a dark, misleading mist in which one could get hopelessly lost, even those who believed they knew the moor.
Amos, the driver, was determined not to be hindered by this sudden onset of mist, and the coach continued to travel at breakneck speed, rumbling and lurching over the rough Cornish roads. He had a natural horror of the moor, and had no desire to linger for longer than was necessary. The shadows about him, giving the impression of skulking figures among the rocks, turned his bones to water. He was bedevilled and imagined the whispers and echoes of a past long since gone had become the present. With a primeval fear in his heart he quickened the horses, darkness making the road even more treacherous.
Secure within the confines of the coach, Laura gazed out into the night. On the hem of the mist the moor was like some petrified sea in a silent world. The ground was strewn with rocks, and for miles around it was littered with ruined druid temples and ancient stone circles, darkness infusing itself into the rocks rising like sharp blades into the sky. She was drawn out of her reverie when Edward reached out and took hold of her hand.
‘Marry me soon, Laura,’ he said, in his firm, cultured voice, ‘and make me a happy man.’
Laura turned and looked at him, her luminous eyes meeting his in the dim light. How attractive he is, she thought, and extremely prepossessing in his fashionably cut clothes. His dark brown hair was drawn back from his face in a style most becoming to his near-perfect features. The blue eyes were more often than not cold and unemotional, but his smile could be full of charm when he chose to exercise it.
How she wished she loved him, but she didn’t. She greatly respected his ability and skill at managing his estate and his mine, Wheal Rose, and, while she often chafed at his high-handed conduct towards her, she was fond of him and immensely grateful to him for having taken her under his wing when her husband had died two years ago. But were fondness and regard enough to build a marriage on?
‘You are too impatient, Edward. We have only been betrothed one week. I would like a little more time to get used to the idea,’ she said in answer to his question.
‘We have known each other almost two years,’ he responded sharply, irritated by her resistance. ‘Time enough to get to know one another, I would think.’ He gave her a studied, half-lidded look. ‘There isn’t anyone else, is there, Laura?’
‘You know there isn’t. But you—you do care for me, don’t you, Edward?’ she asked tentatively, wanting reassurance.
‘Of course I do—I’m not in love with anyone else. I do believe we have it in our power to make each other happy. Besides, it’s time you thought of your future and realised that you can’t go on as you are—and stopped rattling around in that great, draughty old house.’
Laura bristled, resenting his remark. ‘Edward, it is my home you are speaking of.’
‘Not for much longer. You will have no need of Roslyn Manor when you are married to me—which is good enough reason to avoid delaying the ceremony. You have done an admirable job running it for the past two years, but you will have to relinquish control when we are married and turn it over to your husband. I’m not sure what I’ll do with such a rambling old place, but I’m sure I’ll think of something,’ he retorted harshly.
‘Roslyn Manor is a beautiful house,’ Laura remarked, coming quickly to the defence of the house she had grown to love in the two years she had lived there, and she was deeply concerned about what Edward would do with it and the servants when they were married. It was a matter that still had to be discussed between them and both their lawyers. ‘I shall miss not living there.’
‘I am certain when the time comes you will be relieved to surrender the burden and apply yourself to running Burfield Hall instead.’
Laura averted her eyes and reined in her tongue to keep from saying something that would anger him—something she would regret. Her brother Philip, who lived in London with his wife Jane and two small children, had expressed his desire to see her settled and favoured the match with such an estimable gentleman. When he had brought Jane and the children to Roslyn Manor recently, he had pressed her to accept Edward’s suit—harshly telling her that if she wanted to drag herself through the years ahead as a soured widow that was up to her, but she would live to regret it. Always willing to consider her brother’s wishes, she had seen the reason behind his directive, and so she had accepted Edward’s proposal, although it was a decision she was already beginning to regret.
It was only in recent days that she had become aware of her late husband’s dislike of Edward, a close neighbour whose land ran adjacent to the Mawgans’, and the idea that she had consented to marry him made her uneasy. Suddenly her relationship with her betrothed seemed a mockery and a dishonour to her husband’s memory.
Having lived all her life in London, on finding herself a bewildered young widow in a strange place, with no friends or relatives close by she could turn to, at first she had been touched by Edward’s quiet solicitude and attention, but it was only after a decent period of mourning that she had allowed him to call on her.
No gossip had ever reached her ears about him—and she was not one to take much notice of it if it did, but on a recent visit to St Austell to do some shopping she had overheard him being discussed by total strangers and had lingered over the purchase of a pair of gloves while she listened. Since then the more she found out about the man she was committing the rest of her life to, the more she realised she didn’t know him at all.
He was the owner of two small tin mines in the district—one, Wheal Rose, still operating, and the other closed years ago. To settle debts, his late father had sold a large portion of his land to the Mawgans, land Edward would like to repossess—particularly one piece of land that swept down to Roslyn Cove, which was an ideal place for landing contraband from across the Channel.
Edward’s wealth had mysteriously increased over the last two years. On the occasions when he visited London he had begun to lead an exotic life, playing for only the highest stakes at the gaming tables, buying a fashionable house in Kensington, where he entertained on a lavish scale, and here in Cornwall his stables—as Laura had seen for herself—were filled with only the finest horses.
There was no accounting for his sudden affluence, which, because production was low, could have nothing to do with his mine, as many people up in London believed. Of late, she had heard it whispered that he was the leader of a well-organised smuggling ring—an illicit yet highly lucrative trade prevalent on the south coast.
At first she had discounted the truth of this, for no one seeing Edward Carlyle—a highly respected pillar of the community—would take him for a criminal, much less one hugely involved in bringing contraband from France or the Channel Islands and landing it in secluded creeks and coves on the Cornish coast. However, through the thought process by which Laura’s sensitive perceptions worked, taking everything into account, including Edward’s frequent trips across to France, despite the violent unrest in that country, she came to the conclusion that there might be some truth in these rumours.
Her sharp eyes had recently observed the comings and goings of men in the middle of the night, and the dark, sinister shapes of boats and men down in the cove, of wagons stacked high and packhorses weighted down with barrels and packages disappearing onto the moor before dawn. She could have confronted them and forbidden them to cross Mawgan land, but, fearing reprisals, she thought it prudent to do as everyone else seemed to do in Cornwall and turn a blind eye to the activities of the smugglers. To inform on them would mean certain death.
Having inherited her husband’s estate, it was only natural that Edward should want to marry her, but with these grave doubts about him now clouding her mind she was reluctant, which was why she played for time as the only ally in her favour.
‘I have to go away tomorrow morning,’ Edward announced in a more tolerant tone, although his features were set in an unsmiling expression as he regarded her. ‘I shall be gone one week, no more. It will give you ample time to think about our wedding. I would like you to be more decisive when I return.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Laura replied stiffly, averting her eyes once more.
Edward stared at her profile, tracing with his gaze the fine, classic contours of her face, the brush of her long ebony eyelashes on her cheeks, the hollow at the nape of her neck where a mass of blue-black curls came to rest. He had never seen the like of her, not in London nor in Cornwall. She was quite extraordinarily lovely, but it was not for these qualities that he wanted to marry her, it was more for who she was and what she would bring him when she became his wife.
His highly developed hunting instinct and quick grasp of opportunity were the reasons he had presented himself at Roslyn Manor shortly after her husband’s death, leaving her as sole beneficiary of his will, and she had been so engrossed in her grief and recent loss that she failed to notice how manipulative he was being. Reaching out, he took her hand once more. Lifting it, he placed it to his lips.
‘You will be mine very soon, Laura,’ he murmured in softer tones. ‘We both know it.’
Laura turned and looked at him once more, meeting his gaze. His eyes told her nothing—they were as clear and calm as they always were, but his grip on her hand was firm and held no promise of release. She struggled to free herself from the haunting darkness of the moor, and the closeness of the man next to her.
Leaving the desolation behind, the coach passed through a wooded area. The wind was strong enough to keep the trees in a constant stir, masking the sound of the coach wheels on the road. Laura shuddered. It was the sort of wild night that made one believe all manner of spirits and demons might be abroad.
However, it wasn’t a spirit that suddenly appeared on the side of the road—sprung out of the ground as if by magic—but two horsemen.
At the sudden appearance of these ghostly apparitions looming large and menacing, Amos trembled with fear and icy water trickled down his spine. They were both wearing redingotes, and their tricorn hats were pulled well down. The lower halves of their faces were covered by handkerchiefs. Amos’s terror was transmitted to the already frightened horses and they screamed and bolted, hurtling the coach along the rough road so the wheels were lifted clear of the ground.
Desperately Laura and Edward—who was savagely cursing and saying something about footpads while he fumbled at his waist for his pistol—clung to anything their fingers could hold as they were tossed about inside the coach. Conscious of the horsemen, flying hooves and the clatter of the wheels, Laura felt that she was in the power of demons. After what seemed like hours instead of minutes, the two horsemen managed to bring the maddened beasts to a skidding, shuddering halt.
‘Whoah! Whoah, now. Steady, now.’
The muffled words of someone trying to calm the horses came to Laura inside the coach. Peering gingerly out of the window, she saw one of the horsemen riding towards her. She stared transfixed at the apparition, his horse’s breath snorting out like a dragon’s in the cold night air. An icy shiver passed over her and an indescribable terror seized her when she saw a long-barrelled pistol pointing unwaveringly at her.
The men were highwaymen, that was obvious. Daring robberies by armed men took place frequently on the highways at night, and people were cautioned not to travel. Laura was beginning to regret refusing Edward’s suggestion that she wait until daylight to travel home.
The lamp on her side of the coach had gone out, and now it was so dark that the figure had no face. Her immediate instinct was to shrink back into the dark interior of the coach in a childish effort to shut out the threat of danger. But some power within her made her retain her calm and anger took hold of her, giving her courage.
‘Who are you?’ she cried. ‘What do you want? How dare you frighten the horses in this way? You could have killed us all.’
‘Please accept my humble apologies,’ the man said, his voice deep and without contrition, muffled in the folds of the handkerchief across his mouth. ‘I have a tremendous respect for horses. It was not my intention to cause them any distress.’ With a touch of his spurs he drove his mount to the side of the coach and leaned forward, peering inside. ‘Ah, just the two of you. Step down, if you please,’ he said with mock-courtesy.
The effect of this assault upon Edward—who was always calm and in complete control—was explosive. ‘Go to the devil, you thieving blackguard,’ he spluttered, roughly pulling Laura away from the window, while cursing his clumsiness, which had caused him to drop his pistol onto the floor of the carriage. If he tried to retrieve it he was in danger of being shot. ‘This is disgraceful! I am Sir Edward Carlyle and I have powerful influence in these parts. Allow us to go on our way or by God you will pay for this appalling outrage with your life.’
‘I know perfectly well who you are, and I would be obliged if you would heed my request,’ came the highwayman’s soft, ironic tones. ‘I’d as soon not blow your head off. I never show violence to those who comply.’
‘That won’t stop them hanging you when you’re caught,’ Laura retorted sharply.
The highwayman made a small sound that might have been laughter. ‘You’re right. Most highwaymen regard it as inevitable that they should end their days on the gallows, and I am no exception. But you have only yourselves to blame for the situation you are in. There are too many scallywags abroad at this hour for decent people to be crossing the moor after dark. Now, come along. Step down. You are wasting my time.’
With a pistol pointing at them, there was nothing for it but to comply. Reluctantly the two occupants of the coach stepped down onto the highway. The highwayman’s accomplice had dismounted and was guarding Amos, who had already clambered from his perch.
‘You are a conscienceless outlaw, who will be hanged for your thievery and violence against innocent travellers,’ Edward repeated, incensed, his expression so savage that he looked as if he was about to have an apoplexy.
‘That is so,’ the other agreed cordially. ‘But I have to be caught before I can be hanged.’
Backing his horse away, he dismounted. He was extremely tall, taller than Edward by a head, who was by no means short in stature, and when he moved it was with the lethal grace of a predator. His manner bore a threatening boldness. He held himself aloof, and yet with his mere presence he dominated the scene around him. He tipped his hat to Laura, and she almost expected him to click his heels in a mocking, courtly bow. With his free hand he drew a knife smoothly from its sheath secured to his belt, twisting it delicately.
The blood drained from Edward’s face, leaving him white in the shadowy light. He drew himself up straight and, squaring his shoulders, stepped back. ‘So—you intend to kill us.’
The highwayman nodded thoughtfully. ‘I might,’ he replied, watching in silent fascination as a blue light danced along the blade, seeming to bring the lethal weapon to life. Stepping forward, he pressed the blade hard under the angle of Edward’s jaw.
Laura gasped. ‘No,’ she cried, shocked almost beyond bearing.
Keeping his eyes fixed on Edward, the highwayman addressed her coldly. ‘This is no concern of yours, madam.’
‘Stay where you are,’ Edward rasped when Laura would have thrown herself at his attacker. ‘What do you want from me? I carry nothing of value.’
The highwayman stood there a moment longer, then, with a shrug of indifference, stepped back. ‘Come, now. You say you are a gentleman—although I suspect there are many who would dispute that,’ he mocked. ‘You must be carrying a wallet—and trinkets. A timepiece, perhaps, a cravat pin—rings—a snuff box. You must have something of value. Throw them on the ground, or it will be the worse for you.’
Edward glanced at the black muzzle aimed at his stomach, and slowly and reluctantly removed his diamond and ruby cravat pin and watch and threw them on the ground. They were followed by a rather splendid ring and a beautiful silver snuff box, a gift to him from Laura as a token of her affection on their betrothal.
The highwayman looked down at the objects and shifted them about with the toe of his boot, before saying slowly, ‘You’re right. You have nothing that interests me—only this.’ Without taking his eyes off Edward, he bent down and picked up the snuff box. Not bothering to examine it, he shoved it into his pocket.
‘You thieving scoundrel,’ Edward hissed, his hands bunched into fists at his sides. ‘I don’t know what game it is you are playing, but it’s most peculiar for a footpad. The timepiece is worth much more. I have nothing else of value.’
The highwayman’s eyes shifted to Laura. ‘That may be so, but the lady might have.’ In a flash the blade of his knife had severed the fastener securing the cloak at her throat with masterly precision. It fell in a circle about her feet. The sudden action brought a startled gasp to her lips. As he sheathed his knife his eyes became fastened to the large sapphire and pearl necklace resting just above the creamy swell of her breasts, peeping over the bodice of her blue velvet gown.
Laura’s heart missed a beat, and instinctively her fingers closed round it protectively. ‘No—you will not take that. Anything but that, I beg of you.’
‘Beg all you like, but ’tis a pretty bauble and should fetch a tidy sum.’
‘No. It—it was given to me by my husband on our wedding day…before he died. Please, please, don’t take it.’ She thought he hesitated for a moment, but that was all it was, just a moment, before he recollected himself.
‘This is not the time for sentimentality. Besides,’ he murmured, his eyes raking over her, drawn to the seductive allure of her gown and the curve of her breasts, ‘you look ravishing. You need no jewels to enhance your beauty, madam. Take it off.’
‘Give him the damn thing,’ Edward spat. ‘And then let him go to hell.’
Stubbornly Laura refused to surrender it. ‘No. I will not.’
‘Hand it over, before I take it by force.’
‘You would not dare,’ she said scornfully.
‘Try me.’
Swallowing her outrage in deference to his daunting height and the pistol levelled at her heart, Laura took judicious note of his soft, menacing tone and the taut set of his shoulders, and felt the first tendril of fear coil in the pit of her stomach. With trembling fingers she unclasped her treasured necklace and handed it to him. Laura knew he was grinning infuriatingly behind his disguise, and, holding her precious necklace in his palm, he threw it in the air several inches, caught it, and shoved it inside his jacket. He then advanced towards her once more with lounging insolence.
Laura’s throat dried when he gave a low whistle of appreciation behind the handkerchief, and she felt hot colour flood her cheeks when his gaze wandered over her body in the most indecent manner. Unable to bear his taunting gaze any longer, she bent to scoop up her cloak, but with a soft laugh he quickly placed his booted foot on it, pinning it to the ground. Reaching out, he raised her chin with his finger. Laura felt uneasy.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded firmly. She thought that a hint of a smile lurked somewhere about his mouth, but she could not be sure.
‘A highwayman,’ he answered amiably.
‘Take your hands off her,’ Edward hissed furiously. ‘The lady is my betrothed.’
Laura saw the highwayman’s tall frame stiffen. For a moment his gaze lingered on the elegant perfection of her face, before he dropped his hand. That was the moment a breeze stirred, and the clouds allowed a shaft of moonlight to sweep across them.
Looking up at him, Laura saw his eyes properly for the first time from beneath his hat—pale eyes, almost silver, glittering like glass and ice-cold. They fastened on her once more and searched her as they probed her soul. It was as if he knew her innermost thoughts. She felt herself drawn to him, as if by some overwhelming magnetic force, and for an instant something stirred inside her.
She experienced a strange, slinking unease—of shadowy familiarity. Although the night was reasonably warm, there was a chill in the air, and she shivered with a sense of deep foreboding. She could not have put the feeling into words, but it was as though some spirit had groped its way into her heart and made it beat harder.
‘You are to be his wife?’ the stranger asked.
His eyes compelled her to speak. ‘Yes—not that it is any concern of a common footpad.’
Suddenly the eyes boring into her own were cold no longer, but burning in his face like living things. She was puzzled as to why, for some curious reason, this declaration should arouse his anger. She blanched, edging away, but like a striking snake his hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her to him. Shooting a look at his accomplice, who had two pistols, primed and loaded, aimed at Edward and Amos, he dragged her stumbling towards the Stygian darkness of the trees.
‘Damn your soul!’ Edward shouted after them in outrage. ‘How dare you dishonour my lady? I command you to release her this instant.’
The highwayman ignored him. Only when they were hidden and out of earshot did he stop and release his hold on Laura. Calmly he removed his hat and placed it with his pistol on a conveniently placed log. Believing she was about to suffer a fate worse than death, with a thundering heart Laura watched him remove the handkerchief, and at that same instant she had her first clear view of his face without the concealing cloth.
Momentarily paralysed, she stared at that lean, hard face of his.
And she recognised it.
She stared at the man whose name she bore with the incredulous horror of someone who had seen a ghost. Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins, and she looked at him in a kind of hysterical disbelief that almost brought her to her knees. She wanted to cry out, to try and overcome the shock of it, but no sound came. She felt as though she were in a dream, or else going mad. It could not be true.
‘You!’ The word passed through her lips on a rush of breath.
Her husband, Lucas Alexander Mawgan, the man she had been told had been killed by pirates when they had captured the vessel carrying him to England from France, smiled cynically.

Chapter Two
‘I am glad to see you are not so enamoured of Edward Carlyle that you have forgotten your husband altogether, Laura.’ His voice was soft, but his eyes were knowingly chiding.
Without the handkerchief covering his mouth, there was no denying the familiarity of that deep voice, and Laura’s dazed mind finally accepted that her husband was really and truly alive. ‘But—but I thought you were dead,’ she whispered.
‘Clearly,’ he bit back with biting sarcasm.
‘But—Edward and I are to marry shortly. We are officially betrothed.’
‘Not any longer. You are married to me,’ Lucas reminded her harshly, ‘and nothing can change that.’ His jaw hardened and his anger increased as he suddenly realised she might have feelings for Carlyle. The mere notion that this might be so, that his grieving wife had been consorting with a man he despised while he had been in chains, forced to endure two mortal years of frozen limbs, the stink of the grave clinging to him day and night, of crawling vermin and rotten scraps of food his jailers supplied him with, made him livid.
‘Are you not happy to see me?’ he asked.
For what seemed an eternity, Laura stared up at the incredibly handsome, virile man who had imposed himself in her life again. His face was leaner than she remembered, though still proud and arrogant and stamped with ruthlessness, and there was an implacable authority in the strong jawline, and cold determination in the thrust of his chin. There was a time when she had thought his eyes as gentle as a summer breeze, but now she could see they were cold and unyielding, and as uninviting as south Atlantic ice floes, eyes without softness, without kindness or understanding. How did she feel about him? She didn’t know.
His gaze was narrow and assessing. Laura’s hand crept to her throat. The low cut of her bodice embarrassed her, despite the previous intimacies that had passed between them. ‘For-forgive me,’ she stammered. ‘I am shocked—justifiably so. My feelings are so confused.’
‘I can see your sorrow for my alleged demise has not prevented you from enjoying yourself,’ Lucas remarked with scathing sarcasm. ‘You look anything but a grieving widow. Since you can hardly convincingly throw yourself into my arms and weep tears of joy for my resurrection from the dead while wearing another man’s ring—a man I would cheerfully consign to rot in hell—you will have to think of something else to appease my anger towards you and win my forgiveness.’
Unable to control her mounting anguish and anger, Laura looked at him as if he were the devil. ‘Win your forgiveness?’ she burst out furiously. ‘I have no intention of trying to win anything from you. I have lived alone too long—two years—just in case you need reminding, and I do not do anything on anyone’s instruction. Whatever I do I do on my own initiative.’
‘Not any more,’ he ground out, looming over her, his gaze a frigid blast. He was caught somewhere between fury, amazement and admiration for her defiant courage. Short of murdering her, which would solve nothing, he was at a loss as to how to deal with her, and, although strangling her held a certain appeal at that moment, it was out of the question.
‘Henceforth things will be different,’ he went on coldly. ‘A husband has every right to govern his wife’s activities. You will do as I say. You will bend to my will, or I will break you to it. Do you understand me? I don’t give a damn how you choose to have it. I consider your antics to have overstepped the bounds of respectability, when I find you gallivanting about the countryside with a blackguard and unchaperoned at the dead of night. It infuriates me to find you on the most intimate terms of friendship with a man I have every reason to despise. Just how long did it take for Carlyle to step in—to steal my estate, my money…and my wife?’
Two years ago Laura would have quaked in her shoes and been reduced to tears on being spoken to so harshly, but now, infuriated by her errant husband’s imperious tone, full-bodied, fortifying rage brought her a step closer to him. She couldn’t recall ever being so furious.
‘Edward has not stolen anything, and my behaviour has never been anything other than proper. You have no excuse for accusing me of light conduct, and a chaperon was unnecessary since Edward and I are affianced. If you desire any further information as to my dealings with Edward—or anyone else, for that matter—I shall be happy to supply it. Your insults are absolutely unprovoked. How dare you? Of all the detestable, hypocritical, arrogant things I have been accused of, that is the worst.’ With blazing eyes she paused briefly to draw an infuriated breath.
‘How could you? How could you do that—to let me believe you were dead? Don’t you know what you did to me? After that one letter you wrote to me, telling me you were coming home, there was not a sound, sight or communication from you,’ she said, with such feeling that Lucas looked mildly stunned at her. ‘I was told you were dead. I was told that your ship had been captured by pirates and everyone on board killed—everyone, that is, but one man, who survived and made it to England and reported what had happened. I believed that.’
Laura had received a letter Lucas had sent from France two months after his departure, telling her he was to sail from Le Havre to Portsmouth on a fishing vessel called the Pelican. He had asked her to meet him in Portsmouth. From there they were to travel to London, and after spending time with friends and family they would return to Cornwall. Laura had done as he requested.
It was almost two weeks before news had reached her that the wreckage of the Pelican had been washed up on the French coast. Only one man had survived. He had been on board the Pelican when she had been attacked by an unknown source—pirates, he said. Suspecting what was about to happen, he had thrown himself into the sea and witnessed with his own eyes how everyone on board was killed and thrown into the water, before the pirates had removed the cargo and scuppered the boat. He had been picked up by a passing vessel and had returned to England to tell the tale.
‘Can you imagine what it has been like for me,’ she went on irately, ‘or did I rank so low in your esteem that you couldn’t even be bothered to think of me at all, let alone write to let me know you were still alive?’
‘That is not so.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ she flared. In her anger the image of a beautiful woman with pale blonde hair and laughing dark eyes intruded upon her mind, and she was in no doubt that it would have been this particular lady who would have occupied his thoughts. The thought that he might have dreamed of possessing her as he had possessed Laura on their wedding night, perhaps murmuring words of love he had never addressed to her… Jealousy combined with the rage already searing her heart tormented her with the flames of hell and was almost too painful to bear.
‘Obviously you considered me an unimportant matter,’ she went on. ‘I seem to recall I was something of a nuisance—an irritating encumbrance, a responsibility you acquired when my father insisted upon you marrying me when you compromised me so disgracefully. Did you find me so excruciatingly pitiful and naïve, and despise me so much, that you decided to disappear to escape that pathetic creature you would never have looked at twice—had your brain not been so fogged with liquor that you made the mistake of abducting me instead of the lady you so obviously desired? But whatever the reasons were for your silence, Lucas, I was still your wife, whom you promised to love and honour, and I deserved better.’
The gaze that fell on Laura was blank and then Lucas frowned slightly, as if puzzled by what she had said. ‘Contrary to what you believe, Laura, I desired no other woman—not then, not now. There are some things about those weeks before our marriage you cannot possibly understand, although in time I will explain everything.’ At the tragic look in her eyes, cynical humour softened his features, and his firm, sensual lips quirked in a derisive smile. Gently he tipped her chin up. ‘Why, my poor little wife, what is it? Are you telling me that you missed me after all?’
To her consternation and fury, Laura felt her cheeks grow hot. Angrily she slapped his hand away. ‘I am not telling you anything of the sort. At least have the decency to explain to me where you have been for the past two years—and why you are cavorting about the county as a highwayman, robbing unsuspecting travellers of their valuables. How ridiculous that is! And what was the reason for that charade a moment ago? Tell me!’
‘Trust me. I know exactly what I am doing, and why I am doing it.’
‘Then let us dispense with this conversation and go and tell Edward who you are, before that accomplice of yours shoots him.’
Lucas’s fingers closed cruelly on her upper arm as she swung round and began to walk away. He spun her round to face him. ‘Do not,’ her husband said in a terrible voice, ‘even consider doing that. Defy me on this, and in my present unreasonable mood nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to make you regret it. You will yearn for the kindness I showed you before I made you my wife. When Carlyle leaves you tonight you will send him packing and not receive him again under my roof under any circumstances—ever.’
‘I can’t do that,’ Laura argued stubbornly. ‘It would not do. I must explain to him—’
‘You will do as I say.’ Lucas’s silken voice promised dire consequences should she choose to disobey him. ‘You will not tell him who I am. For the time being my identity must remain a secret. No one must know that I am alive and here in Cornwall. Do you understand me, Laura?’
The threat of violence lessened her courage and made her feel helpless as she looked into his wrath-filled face. There was an undeniable aura of restrained power and forcefulness about him—gathering force, no doubt to be unleashed on her later, she thought bitterly. Tears of frustration stung her eyes and she nodded, swallowing a hard lump that had risen in her throat. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
Satisfied that she was adequately chastened, Lucas softened and he released his hold on her arm. He stood gazing down at the tempestuous face upturned to his, seeing the blur of tears in her large eyes, so deep a blue as to be almost purple. His breath caught in his throat, for even to the most reluctant eye Laura’s beauty could not be ignored.
Lucas was unable to believe that this provocatively lovely, regal, glamorous and bewitching young woman was his wife, whose sweetness he had kept fresh and alive during his incarceration in his vermin-infested cell. Her skin shone with a healthy lustre, and the angles of girlhood had been replaced by a supple slenderness. Her once underdeveloped breasts were now swollen to two glorious globes that strained the bodice of her gown. In his mind time rolled back, and this lovely creature with glossy black curls spilling over her bare shoulders blended into an enchanting, frightened and bewildered girl, who would never have dared stand up to him like a proudly enraged goddess as she was doing now.
Reluctant admiration swelled in his heart, but unfortunately it only made him angrier because that shy, innocent girl he had married had grown into a spirited, forthright, beautiful young woman in his absence, and had turned to his enemy for comfort. For the first time in his life he experienced an acute feeling of irrepressible jealousy which twisted his gut and caught him completely off guard. It was a feeling he found decidedly unpleasant.
Reminding himself that while he had been rotting in a French prison Laura had been growing into a ravishing beauty and setting Cornwall by its ear with the likes of Edward Carlyle, he hardened his jaw and coldly rejected the memory of how she had last looked when they had parted. Without another word, he quickly replaced his hat and, securing the handkerchief over the lower half of his face, took her arm and escorted her back to the coach.
Scooping up her cloak from the ground, Laura slipped it around her shoulders. If, by disappearing with his wife into the dark seclusion of the trees, Lucas had intended to drive Edward to a fury, he had succeeded. When they appeared Edward uttered a short, inarticulate cry of rage. For an instant Laura read madness in his eyes. His teeth were clenched and his hands opened and closed convulsively. She feared he was about to launch himself at Lucas, but thankfully he restrained himself.
‘If you’ve laid so much as one finger on her, you swine, by God, by the time I’ve finished you are going to regret that you were born,’ Edward ground out, his voice hoarse with rage. ‘You’ll suffer for this one day. I swear it.’
Contemptuous of his neighbour, Lucas scorned him. ‘Your threats don’t worry me, Carlyle. Reserve your concern for yourself. Now be on your way. Take the lady home.’ He waited until Edward had assisted Laura inside the coach before he swung himself into the saddle. His accomplice did the same—though with less agility—and they did not lower their pistols until Amos had whipped up the horses and the coach was trundling towards Roslyn Manor.
Laura did not turn and look back at her husband, but she knew that as he watched her leave with Edward beneath the concealing handkerchief his face had hardened into a mask of icy wrath. Inside the coach she looked at Edward’s granite features, wondering how she was going to tell him she could not marry him.
‘It’s all right, Edward. Nothing happened,’ she said, in an attempt to alleviate any fears he might have that she had been molested, but instead of calming him her words enraged him and he threw her a glance loaded with suspicion.
‘You expect me to believe that villain didn’t lay a hand on you?’ he seethed. ‘You were gone a full ten minutes.’
Laura forced herself to keep calm and managed to conjure up a gentle smile. Above all, she must not let Edward see the unnerving effect her meeting with Lucas had had on her. ‘I swear he didn’t touch me. We—talked, that is all.’
His narrowed eyes glittered across at her. ‘Talked? It gets even more intriguing. Do you mind telling me what you talked about—what you could possibly have to say to a man who had just stolen your jewels? ’Tis not an easy tale to believe. I’ll take my oath that had I followed you I would have seen that—that blackguard taking you in his arms with the intent of ravishing you.’
Stung by the contempt in his voice, Laura stiffened. ‘You are in error, Edward. I swear he did not touch me. You will have to be content with that. At least we have come away from the incident unharmed—if a little poorer. For that we must be thankful.’
Edward leaned into his corner, quietly fuming. ‘That man will regret this night’s work. I will not rest until I find him and see him hanged.’
Seated across from him, Laura shuddered. She had never seen such hatred in a human gaze. Turning her head, she looked into the darkness beyond the window, and as they travelled on she felt as if she’d imagined the whole encounter with her husband. The sense of unreality stayed with her all the way to Roslyn. The man who had suddenly reappeared in her life commandeered all her thoughts, and she found her mind drifting back to the circumstances of their first meeting.
She had been living in London then, with her father, Sir James Russell, who was attached to the Admiralty in Whitehall. Her mother had been dead several years. Aunt Josaphine, her mother’s sister, who had always taken a kindly interest in her young niece, frequently invited her and her father to join small, diverting parties at her town house, where her guests were chosen for their charm and gaiety.
It was at one of these parties that she first saw Lucas. He appeared with a friend of his, a Frenchman—the Comte de Mournier, she recalled, an extremely amiable young man, both lively and unreserved, and whose manners were very much admired. Lucas, on the other hand, was quite withdrawn, and had seemed curiously out of place. His tall, broad-shouldered, restless figure and bronzed features seemed to belong to a world of outdoor activities, rather than among the frills and flounces of her aunt’s drawing room. He did not partake in any of the diversions, which he obviously found tedious, and would stand apart and observe the gathering with his proud and brooding silver gaze.
A vivacious friend of Laura’s, Lydia Sheridan, who knew all the latest gossip, whispered to her that she should beware of Lucas Mawgan, for his blatant virility and dark good looks impelled women to his side. It was rumoured that over the years he’d had an assortment of mistresses, and that he seemed in no particular hurry to marry. Lydia also told her that he was a gentleman who lived in Cornwall, who often journeyed to London to conduct his business affairs.
Laura saw Lucas on several occasions after that, and even began looking for him, hoping to see him. He was always accompanied by his friend, the Frenchman, and they were often to be seen in the company of the much sought-after Weston sisters, Daisy and Caroline, two extremely beautiful blonde-haired girls—frivolous and the focal point of every event they attended.
Unfortunately for them and the gentlemen who tried to get close, they were constantly watched over by their matriarchal mother, who never let her precious daughters out of her sight, but it did not escape Laura’s notice that Lucas was often to be seen in conversation with Caroline. Lydia remarked that Caroline had her eye on him, and that she had confided to her that she would do anything to get him, and Laura didn’t doubt that for a moment. Caroline, pink-cheeked, those dark eyes of hers wide and positively gleaming with anticipation, lapped up everything Lucas said and did like a kitten at the cream.
When Laura was introduced to Lucas by her aunt, he appeared brusque and quite formidable to her, and with a sense of foolish dismay she realised that her head hardly came up to his shoulder. His eyes passed over the plain young girl quickly and with little interest, looking at her but not seeing her. When he moved on she realised how immature she must seem to him, but from that moment her heart was lost to her.
It was as if a candle had been lit within her, which burned with an unquenchable flame, and the more she tried not to think of him the flame seemed to burn all the stronger. She told herself it was foolish to think like this, and that, since he seemed unaware of her existence, to save herself heartache she ought to forgo her visits to the places where he would be present. But instead she seized on their meetings and hugged them to her like a comfort blanket. She thrilled at each one of the occasions that she saw him, and looked forward to the next with passionate anticipation, marking her calendar with red crosses so she wouldn’t forget those few treasured days.
The misunderstanding that was to change her life occurred when she was leaving a party with her father late one night. Rain was coming down in torrents and it was blowing a gale. There were so many people and such confusion in the street as everyone tried to hold onto their elaborate hair adornments and find their carriages. Somehow Laura became separated from her father and found herself alone in a carriage that was suddenly driven off at breakneck speed, drawing terrified screeches from all those it almost ran down.
Horrified, she tried shouting for the driver to stop, that there had been some mistake, but he couldn’t hear her over the noise of the storm. The carriage continued to travel like this for some time, causing Laura extreme concern for her safety. She had no idea what was happening to her or where she was being taken, only that they had crossed the river and were heading in the direction of Richmond.
After an hour or so of being bounced about, when the driver finally brought the carriage to a halt in Richmond Park, he jumped down from his perch and flung the door open. Laura was astonished to find herself face to face with Lucas Mawgan. He stared at her with a look of enormous surprise, which was quickly followed by anger and frustration. That was the moment she realised that the carriage she was in belonged to the Weston family—it was very similar to her father’s—and she looked back at him with a dawning of understanding and deep regret.
Lucas Mawgan had abducted the wrong woman, and he knew there would be all hell to pay when he took her back.
He was right. Her father and brother were furious. To prevent a dreadful scandal that would ruin her reputation beyond recall, her father and Philip insisted Lucas do the honourable thing and marry her. There was no one more astonished than she was when he made no attempt to defend himself and agreed without argument. Laura tried telling him that she knew of the mix-up and he didn’t have to marry her, but she was too humiliated and intimidated by him to say so. He did not disclose to anyone what his intentions had been when he had abducted her that night—but she knew.
When they were together Lucas was always courteous to her, but she could detect the underlying currents in his tone and body. He was seething with anger. He hadn’t wanted to marry her. He was simply being chivalrous. But Laura was supremely grateful for the way he had leaped to the defence of her reputation to save her from disgrace, which proved how noble he was. She would repay him for his kindness, she vowed. She would be a good wife to him. They were not much alike, yet despite their differences they might deal well together. However, they only had three short days together as man and wife before Lucas had to go to France—and was lost to her.
On Lucas’s demise, at eighteen years old she found herself with the burden of managing servants and trades people, and striving to keep the small estate intact. She found it difficult to understand Cornish people and their way of life, and there were plenty of men and women in and around Roslyn who didn’t like strangers. At first she felt like an interloper, who had invaded a world where she was not welcome. But, being a natural born survivor, she soon found her feet and learned to stand on them.
Fortunately money wasn’t a problem, since Lucas had left her a very wealthy young widow. Upon paying his lawyers in London a visit shortly after his death, she listened with a sense of unreality as she was told of the extent of his wealth. As well as the income from the estate, he had a large fortune invested in stocks and bonds that would take good care of her in the years ahead.

Neither Laura nor Edward spoke until the dark outline of Roslyn Manor came into view. The great house was in harmony with the massive rocks, flanking the sea, on which it stood, proud and defiant, gazing sightlessly over the Channel as it had done for centuries.
The coach stopped at the bottom of a narrow flight of steps leading up to the solid, double oak doors, and when Edward would have got out Laura halted him. Although she was quaking inside, she looked at him with outward calm. She must delay no longer in telling him she would not marry him, and now that the moment of confrontation was at hand she was strangely relieved.
‘Edward, wait. There is something I have to say to you.’
He looked at her sharply, his mind still preoccupied with what had just transpired. ‘What is it?’
Taking a firm grip of herself, she very carefully steadied her voice in an attempt to soften the blow. ‘I cannot marry you,’ she told him quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’
He looked at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Laura. What nonsense is this? Of course we’ll be married, and with respect we should proceed with the arrangements without delay. You’re hysterical and overwrought by what’s happened, that’s all. You’ll feel better in the morning.’
‘I mean it, Edward. It was wrong of me to say I would—and to let the party go ahead tonight. I had misgivings from the start and should have spoken out. I should never have let it go this far.’
‘Then why did you?’
‘I—I don’t know. I was afraid, I suppose.’
‘Afraid, Laura?’ he said harshly, his eyes narrowing. ‘Afraid of what? Me?’
‘No, of course not. I don’t know why. But I feel I have to put a stop to this, to end it now while there is still time. Our betrothal was a mistake.’
‘You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re committed to me.’
‘No, I’m not. I don’t love you, and I know you don’t love me. A betrothal can be broken more easily than a marriage.’
Edward noticed that she was measuring her words, and he began to realise she was not hysterical but perfectly sane, and that she meant what she was saying. His face darkening with anger, his fists so tightly clenched that the knuckles became bloodless, he looked at her hard, resenting her rejection as a personal insult. ‘Have you forgotten that it is what your brother wants—what he expects of you?’
‘My brother will be the first to understand,’ she returned with cool civility. ‘Of course, I will write to your mother and explain.’
‘Now, Laura, be sensible,’ Edward said, trying to gentle his tone to coax her out of this madness. ‘You know the situation.’
‘Yes, I think I do,’ she replied quietly, meeting his gaze squarely. ‘I can understand how disappointed you must be that you won’t be getting the land you have always coveted. In fact, of late, I have come to realise that the land—particularly that adjoining Roslyn Cove—means more to you than I do. I also know why. But you needn’t worry. I shall continue to turn a blind eye to your nocturnal activities, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
His gaze pinned hers. ‘It’s not.’
‘No, I didn’t think so,’ Laura replied, feeling an atmosphere of menace creep into the coach.
‘I do not merely want the land,’ Edward went on impatiently, his wrath growing by the second. ‘Of course I want you, too. You have so much common sense, which is something I have always admired about you. What we have cannot be dismissed in a moment—or, perhaps I should say, by a foolish fancy in a very attractive head. You won’t get a better offer than mine—certainly not here in Cornwall.’
‘I have no wish to marry anyone else.’
Realising he was losing the battle of persuasion, Edward glared across at her. Without warning his attitude changed and he seized her wrist in a painful grasp. He was like a man possessed, simmering with an inner rage he could barely contain, refusing to even contemplate relinquishing the prize he believed he had won. ‘I will not give up,’ he remarked fiercely. ‘I will not be made a fool of by you. I will not be made a laughing stock. You hadn’t even the courage to confess your doubts before tonight. The whole evening was farcical—a pretence.’
‘Please, try to understand, Edward. I have said all I have to say. Our engagement is at an end, and that is my final word,’ she said, wrenching her wrist from his grip, wanting only one thing now and that was to leave him. Removing the betrothal ring from her finger, she gave it to him. ‘I won’t change my mind.’
‘It will not end here, Laura. I will not let it. I am not so easy to be got rid of, as you will find out.’
Laura climbed out of the coach, and Edward took his leave of her in bitter silence, curtly ordering Amos to drive on, with neither a backward glance nor a word of farewell.
As he decided how best to deal with this new turn of events Edward’s senses were heightened sharply by his growing awareness of this menace to his future plans. He cursed Laura Mawgan and every one of her late husband’s ancestors. His hatred of that family was deep-rooted, with festering memories of what he considered to be the stealing of valuable land from the Carlyles by the Mawgans that called aloud for vengeance upon the perpetrators. He would not be swayed from murder if necessary—were it family or friend. He would never allow such compunction or allow any such weakness to deflect him from his purpose.

Shattered by the night’s events, Laura felt an inexplicable heaviness weigh on her heart as she entered Roslyn Manor. When would she see Lucas again? she wondered. Where had he been for the past two years? What had he been doing, and why was it so important that no one should know he was alive and in Cornwall? And why had he taken to the road as a highwayman? She sighed wearily. It was all very confusing. None of it made sense.
The door was opened for her by John Treneer, an aged manservant who had worked for the Mawgans for most of his life. His wife, who was a quiet woman with an air of authority, who made her own rules and to whom Laura had grown close, was the housekeeper at Roslyn Manor and would have been in bed long since.
John was sixty years old, always solemn, inscrutable and silent, and he was finding it increasingly difficult doing his work. But Laura had become extremely fond of him. He had become her friend, a man she could trust implicitly, and she would no more have thought of dispensing with him than she would have thought of burning the house down. When she had lost the man dear to her heart, John had made sure that heart did not turn to stone.
‘You had a pleasant evening, I trust, my lady?’ he asked as she removed her cloak and handed it to him.
‘Very pleasant. Thank you for waiting up for me, John. I hope I’m not too late. Is Mrs Treneer in bed?’
His eyes rested on her throat. ‘Long since. You seem to have misplaced your necklace, my lady.’
Fingering her bare neck, she smiled somewhat cynically. ‘You might say that, John. But I am quite certain it will be returned to me very soon.’
‘Is there anything you might be a-wanting before you retire?’ he asked, thinking that the mistress looked none too happy. Her brow was puckered in a frown, and there was a sadness about her.
Laura shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I’m very tired and can think of nothing more inviting than going to bed. I hope Susan didn’t wait up. I told her not to—that I am quite capable of putting myself to bed.’
‘She did as you instructed.’
‘Goodnight, John.’
Wearily she began to climb the stairs, thinking of everything that had happened that night—thinking of Lucas. With her hand resting on the banister she paused halfway up and wrinkled her nose. A strange, harshly sweet smell permeated the air, drowning out the usual smell of beeswax and drying herbs. It was a scent she had first noticed several days ago—not strong, but it had lingered. However, she had been so busy helping Edward’s mother with the arrangements for the betrothal celebrations that she had ignored it. But now she breathed deeply, baffled and a little intrigued as to where it was coming from. It was tobacco she could smell, but as far as she was aware none of the servants smoked it. She turned and looked back, her curiosity sharp.
‘John.’
‘Yes, my lady?’
‘Have you taken up smoking?’
‘Nay, my lady. Why do you ask?’
‘I’m sure I can smell tobacco.’ She considered his face for a moment, but could read nothing in his impassive features. But she felt there was something he knew that she didn’t. Too tired to go into it now, and telling herself it was none of her business anyway if one of the servants had taken to smoking tobacco, she proceeded up the stairs, knowing John continued to watch her, and aware that the smell was growing stronger.
By the light of a few candles burning in sconces she trailed her way along the shadowy passage to her bedchamber, feeling extremely tired but knowing she would not sleep that night. Too much had happened, and there were too many disturbing thoughts filling her head. On entering her room she closed the door and kicked off her shoes. She reached behind her to unfasten her dress, but on glimpsing a pair of booted feet from the corner of her eye she froze, momentary panic seizing her.
‘Don’t stop,’ a voice drawled lazily.
Laura gasped and her heart began to beat in deep, fierce thuds on seeing Lucas lounging in a large armchair, the very image of relaxed elegance with his long legs stretched casually out in front of him towards the fire. His white shirt, open at the throat, was tucked carelessly into the waistband of his snug-fitting grey breeches. He rose to his feet and slowly advanced towards her with a graceful ease surprising in a man of such virile appearance, his well-muscled body suggesting tightly coiled strength.
She stared at him. His light, almost silver eyes seemed to shine like bright gems. She had forgotten how brilliant and clear they were. Just when she had learned to live without him he had appeared, and all her carefully tended illusions were torn asunder. The shock of his coming back into her life stripped away all rational thought and a treacherous warmth was slowly beginning to creep up her arms and down her legs. Her entire body began to vibrate with a mixture of shock, desire and fear—fear because of the way he made her feel, of the sensual pull he was exerting on her—but somehow her mind remained in control.

Chapter Three
‘L ucas!’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘What are you doing in my bedroom?’
‘Waiting for my wife. Do you see anything unusual in that?’ he said, with a cool nonchalance that didn’t seem appropriate considering their volatile encounter earlier.
‘Considering the circumstances, I have to say yes, I do,’ she answered crossly. ‘If you’re still angry and intend berating me further, you can leave right now. My nerves are in shreds and I am extremely tired.’
Earlier they had parted in anger, but now, when Lucas looked down at her in impassive silence, his eyes were as calm as the sea on a fair day. He noticed with the eye of a connoisseur that his young wife was every bit as lovely and enticing as she had looked in the moonlight earlier, and this pleased him. ‘I don’t.’
In the space of a second, the memory of the tobacco smoke permeating the house for the past few days collided with the present when Laura caught sight of a discarded pipe and a half-open leather tobacco pouch in the hearth next to an almost empty glass of brandy. She glared at her husband in tempestuous fury. ‘That was you, wasn’t it—the tobacco smoke I’ve been smelling for days now? You’ve been skulking about the house—hoping I wouldn’t notice.’
‘I never skulk,’ Lucas responded sardonically. ‘And yes, it was me.’
‘Why—of all the despicable, underhand… Oh, how could you?’ she cried, wondering how he could possibly have come and gone from the house without her noticing.
Ignoring her outburst, Lucas returned to his chair and settled himself deep into the upholstery, stretching his legs out in front of him once more. With a smile of absolute contentment he folded his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes, composing himself more comfortably—as if he intended remaining there for the entire night.
Plunking her hands in the small of her waist, Laura followed the extremely diverse and complex man and stood glowering down at his recumbent figure, indignant that he could look so disgustingly relaxed while she was existing on a knife-edge. ‘Lucas! Don’t you dare go to sleep.’
With a sigh of irritation he opened his eyes. ‘Don’t be aggressive, Laura,’ he told her quietly. ‘I want to talk, not argue. I have no desire to quarrel with you.’
‘No? Then you must forgive me. Earlier I—’
‘Be quiet,’ he interrupted in a bored tone, moving his head to a more comfortable position. ‘Did you break off your engagement with Carlyle?’
‘Yes. Considering the circumstances, I was left with no choice.’
‘Good. However, I doubt we’ve seen the last of him. That was an impossible situation. How did he take it?’
‘He was extremely angry, naturally.’
‘Angry because he knew he stood to lose a number of things he prized highly.’
‘Now, why do I have the distinct feeling it is something other than myself that you are referring to?’ she said, her voice threaded with sarcasm.
‘Perhaps because you know it is. Come, now, Laura. You have been the Lady of Roslyn for two years. You must know to what I am referring.’
Laura knew exactly what he meant, and that one of the things he was alluding to was Edward’s smuggling activities. ‘I do comprehend you.’
‘You should.’
‘I have also learned that it doesn’t do to be too curious in these parts.’
‘Very wise, my dear, very wise. I know Edward Carlyle, so let me make it quite clear it is not your charming self he wants. It is because he thought you owned the land he covets.’
‘I know that, too—now,’ she told him bitterly.
‘That’s very astute of you.’
‘Is it? In the beginning I didn’t have so many friends in Cornwall that I could afford to offend a man like Edward.’
‘And I suppose, like every other female he comes into contact with, you were so blinded by his looks and charm that you couldn’t see him for what he is. You see, on my demise, you very quickly became the object of his cynical calculation. He cold-bloodedly set about playing on your loss. It was child’s play to win you, and, like the innocent you were, you welcomed him.’
Laura’s natural honesty recoiled from such a summary of herself. With a mixture of pain and anger she folded her arms across her chest and moved further away from him. ‘You must think I am very stupid.’
He merely looked up at her and raised an eyebrow questioningly. ‘I hope you’re not feeling disappointed because you’ve had to break off your engagement. I didn’t take you for a romantic.’
Ignoring the irony of the remark, Laura mastered her anger sufficiently to say, ‘You have no idea what I am like.’
A wicked smile tempted his lips. ‘Maybe not as well as I should after two years of marriage, but I am looking forward to getting to know you better.’
It was on the tip of Laura’s tongue to retort that the last thing in the world she wanted was for him to do that, but when she looked across at him her heart skipped a beat. He was lounging back against the cushions, his muscled chest partly revealed through his open shirt. With his black, slightly curly and dishevelled hair, ruggedly chiselled features and a slumberous expression in his eyes, she thought he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.
When she finally brought herself to speak, instead of the harsh rejoinder she intended, all she said was, ‘Then you’ll have to be patient. My knowledge of marriage is limited, as well you know—three days, to be exact.’
Lucas stirred impatiently, about to utter a cutting remark, but when he gazed at her from beneath his lowered eyelids he could see how tense she was, and that her deep blue eyes glaring defiance at him were shining with pain that he and Edward Carlyle had caused. He was touched despite himself by her youth, and perhaps also by some private scruples. She had an innocence and warm femininity that touched a deep chord inside him.
‘Sit down, Laura, and stop glaring at me.’
Wanting to appear haughty and coldly remote, Laura was taken aback by his unexpected gentleness and completely at a loss as to how to answer. Repressing her irrational annoyance over his conduct towards her earlier, she reluctantly did as he bade and seated herself across from him, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the chair.
Lucas looked across at his lovely young wife in her provocative blue gown, her face both delicate and fine with stormy dark blue eyes and soft lips. The candles’ glow shone on her proud head with its crown of shining curls as black as his own. His conscience reminded him that his conduct towards her earlier had been inexcusable and unfair.
No longer feeling the injured party—which was exactly how he’d felt when he’d discovered Laura had become affianced to Carlyle in his absence—he studied her calmly, impressed by what he saw. When he’d made her his wife and brought her to Roslyn she’d been hoping for a lifetime of happiness, and all he’d given her was three days followed by two years of widowhood.
She had truly believed he was dead and yet, according to John, the courageous girl had stayed at Roslyn and valiantly kept things going. He would be eternally grateful to her for the loyalty she had shown at such a difficult time in her young life. And yet he couldn’t blame her for wanting to move on. Besides, he wouldn’t have wanted her to wear widow’s weeds for the rest of her life. She was far too lovely to hide herself away.
And yet he did wonder how audacious Carlyle had been regarding his courtship of Laura. The mere idea of his wife lying in Carlyle’s bed was enough to splinter his emotions from all rational control. At any other time and with a woman other than his wife he would have shrugged it off. But this wasn’t another time and Laura was his wife. John, sensing his unease on this matter, had tactfully told him that she had resided not one night at Burfield Hall, and that Carlyle’s visits to the manor had been infrequent and of short duration, and always during daylight hours. And yet Lucas was not reassured by this.
‘Tell me something,’ he said softly. ‘How do you like living at Roslyn?’
‘I like it very well. I’ve come to love the house and everyone in it.’
‘And yet you were going to leave it to wed Carlyle. What do you think he would have done with it, Laura?’
His words were calmly spoken, but Laura heard an edge to his voice. ‘I—I don’t know. We never discussed it.’
Lucas shifted to a more comfortable position, propping one booted foot casually atop the opposite knee. ‘Why don’t you sit back and relax? You look like a rabbit about to bolt down the nearest hole. You’re spoiling the atmosphere.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes, the atmosphere I was enjoying before you came in, which was warm—quiet. For me it was…’ He fell silent and stared intently into the glowing heart of the fire, his eyes fixed on something invisible, something way beyond the confines of the room.
Easing herself into a more comfortable position, Laura looked at him in surprise. There was something in the clear depths of his eyes that she did not recognise, something mysterious—sinister, even, that eluded all her understanding. For a moment he seemed to forget where he was. ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked quietly.
Abruptly he came back to earth and said harshly, ‘You couldn’t understand.’
‘I—might. I’m a good listener—so I’m told.’
He smiled suddenly, that crooked smile Laura remembered of old. His light grey eyes rested warmly on her face, the fire having turned her cheeks a soft pink. ‘I’m sure you are.’
They fell silent, each preoccupied with their own thoughts and content to listen to the wind buffeting the great house on its high perch above the sea. Seated thus, Laura felt a strange sense of security she had not felt in a long time. She could not believe Lucas was here with her. Was it an illusion—a figment of her imagination? she asked herself.
She let her mind drift back over two years, remembering how it had been between them that one and only night she had lain with him as his wife. In a new home surrounded by strangers, she had had no one to answer the frightening turmoil of questions about the night ahead.
At thirty years old and having made love to many women, a paragon of virtue Lucas was not. Before they had married Laura had already fallen in love with her husband-to-be. She was not foolish enough to think the feeling was reciprocated, and nor was she naïve enough to believe she knew how to make him happy. But she had desperately wanted to—somehow—and she had been determined to find out how to accomplish it.
Lucas having made no attempt to consummate their marriage at any of the posting inns on the way to Cornwall, when they had reached Roslyn Manor and the moment had finally come Laura had yielded helplessly to the hot, searing need within her, while a nameless panic began to take hold of her. Lucas had taken her quickly, dutifully, and without endearment, with no thought to her immaturity and innocence, and after he had withdrawn from her he had rolled away and gone to sleep. It had been nothing more than the joining together of any man and his wife. Duty or pleasure, the thing was done.
Too stunned to move, Laura had lain looking up at the shadows playing with the light on the ceiling, struggling with disappointment. She had felt so miserable she had wept at her husband’s absolute detachment. If that was love she could not understand why they made so much fuss about it in story books. It had left her with a feeling of disgust combined with a strong sense of frustration.
Gazing across at him now, Laura could not believe the man she saw was the same man who had left her bed with the dawn and immediately embarked for France. Suddenly she saw his expression gentle, and she was sure she could see approval in his inscrutable eyes. ‘Why did you want to hide from me?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t. I just wanted to lie low for a while.’
‘But why? Has it something to do with you being a thief—a common highwayman? Why have you taken to the life of a High Toby?’
As he observed how seriously concerned she looked Lucas’s composure slipped and he laughed outright, a rich, deep sound that reminded Laura of thick velvet. She realised that when he did that he seemed younger, much younger than when his face was in repose.
‘I’m sure you will be relieved when I tell you that I am not a highwayman. Tonight was the first time—and the last—that I shall take to the road.’
‘Then—why did you do it?’ she asked, quite bewildered. ‘I did not take you for a prankster.’
His response to her question was a cool inclination of the head. A hard gleam entered his eyes and when he spoke his voice was deadly calm. ‘It wasn’t a prank. It was deliberately intended to infuriate and intimidate Carlyle—to put his back up. You are my wife, Laura, and no one—no one—interferes with anything that belongs to me. I can be a harsh man when angered.’
Laura felt a moment of unease at the possessive content of his words. ‘I discovered that to my cost,’ she retorted drily.
‘When John told me what you were up to—that you were to wed Carlyle and that you were celebrating your betrothal with the entire county—I was furious, naturally so. However, knowing nothing could come of it now I had returned to the scene, my fury abated. When John informed me that you intended travelling home that night I couldn’t resist the pure devilry that came over me, to have a little fun at Carlyle’s expense,’ Lucas said with a roguish grin, the harshness of a moment earlier having vanished.
‘And mine,’ Laura reminded him coolly.
‘I confess that I was enjoying myself rather well until I heard it from your own lips that you were to be his wife. It rekindled my anger and roused all that is unpleasant in me.’
‘I noticed,’ Laura said. ‘Why didn’t you try and stop the celebrations?’
‘I did think about it, but I wasn’t ready to show myself—not to you, nor anybody.’
Laura was about to ask him what the secrecy was all about, but found herself saying instead, ‘You really don’t like Edward, do you, Lucas?’
‘Does one like a rattlesnake?’ he responded quickly. Placing the horrors Carlyle had inflicted on his own person aside, Lucas dwelt for a moment on what John told him when he had brought him up to date with all that had been happening in the district during his absence. It would seem that an underlying menace lurked among the huddle of cottages in Roslyn village and the surrounding hamlets, for the very name of Edward Carlyle engendered such fear that none dared interfere with his plans, challenge him or speak against him. To do so would have been to risk one’s life. Lucas’s hatred of Edward Carlyle was almost a physical pain within him, but when he answered Laura’s question he gave no sign of his true feelings.
‘There is a dark side to Carlyle someone as innocent as you cannot possibly begin to conceive. There is enmity between us, and it’s more than a matter of us not seeing eye to eye over a few difficult episodes in the past. I will not allow someone like him to ride roughshod over me. I have a score to settle with him—a heavy score and one I mean to make him pay in full…when the time is right,’ he said in a low voice. A ruthless gleam shone from his eyes. ‘Believe me, what you witnessed tonight was only a fraction of what I intend to do to that particular gentleman.’
There was a warning underlying the lightness of his words and Laura knew that he spoke in all seriousness.
‘But tell me,’ he went on, diverting the conversation away from his neighbour, ‘when you heard I had perished on the vessel bringing me back to England, Laura, why did you not return to London—to your father?’
Laura sighed, her mind going back to that time when she had found it hard to take in that the handsome man she had married was dead. ‘Because Roslyn was my home. I was Lady Mawgan and I had responsibilities. It was my duty to remain and take care of things. There was no one else, and the longer I stayed I found I was surrendering more and more of myself to the place. My brother, Philip, and his wife, Jane, bring the children down from London during the summer. The little ones do so love the cove. My—my father, who, as you will recall, suffered ill health, died shortly after we were married.’
Sympathy flickered in Lucas’s eyes. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I remember how close you were to him. You must have been devastated.’
‘Yes, I was.’ She glanced at him quizzically. ‘Who told you of his demise?’
‘I was in London for a time before I came to Cornwall. Your brother told me.’
‘I see. When I was told what had happened to you—that you were dead—I had to go to London to see your lawyers, so I stayed with my father. Before he died he told me something, Lucas, and I would like you to tell me if it’s true. You see, I never did know why you had to go to France so soon after we were married, and I would like it if you explained to me where you have been and what you have been doing all this time.
‘My father told me you were working for the government—that the foreign secretary had sent you to France on a secret mission. Is that true?’ Lucas’s eyes snapped to her face and a sudden wariness ignited in his eyes. Her question had taken him completely unawares, she could see that, and she existed in a state of jarring tension for his reply. When it came his voice was guarded, only telling her enough to pacify her curiosity.
‘My business was—highly confidential.’
‘But you were on government business?’ she persisted, watching him closely.
‘With France in turmoil at the time and the situation deteriorating daily, His Majesty’s government was eager to see how the French would resolve the situation, since it would affect the rest of Europe. Absolute monarchs everywhere recognised that the doctrines of the revolution in France endangered their own regimes.
‘Already the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen issued by the French Assembly in August ’89 was spreading its message, with unrest and demands for reform by the bourgeoisie and peasants appearing in countries all over Europe, and French émigrés pressing unceasingly for war against the revolution. Reluctant to start such a conflict, the foreign secretary, feeling that some special purpose might be gained, sent me to Paris to act as a detached observer.’
‘A spy, you mean.’
His expression was grave but calm. ‘I prefer to call myself a government agent.’
‘Is there a difference?’
‘No. I was not the only one employed as such. God alone knows how many foreign spies were loose in France at that time—and now, for that matter.’
‘And—were you carrying any despatches?’
‘No,’ Lucas went on, feeling duty bound to answer her questions, but careful not to reveal too much. ‘It would have been too dangerous—should they fall into the wrong hands. I carried nothing with me except false credentials.’
‘And what happened to you when the vessel bringing you back from France sank? I was informed that only one man survived and that he managed to make it back to England. According to him, the Pelican was attacked by some unknown force and everyone on board killed and thrown into the sea.’
‘That is more or less what happened. Who that man was I really cannot say, and how he made it back to England is a mystery to me. With so much traffic passing back and forth in the Channel it is likely that he was picked up by a vessel. But, contrary to the account he gave to the Admiralty, he was not the only one to survive. Along with one other I was pulled from the sea by the captain of a French vessel on patrol. Unfortunately, having received a severe blow to the head, I was unconscious at the time. When the captain demanded to know our names, the other man—a mariner from Roslyn village who died soon afterwards—knowing nothing of my mission, gave the captain my true identity.
‘Unfortunately it was not unknown to the French, since my coming and going between our countries engaged on secret missions during the American war had been greeted with suspicion and made me most unpopular at the time. I was taken back to Paris, where I was pronounced a traitor, and without a trial I was thrown into prison—La Force, a notoriously vile, appallingly overcrowded place, a common jail, where criminals of every kind who roam the slums of Paris and elsewhere are incarcerated.’
Laura was horrified. ‘But—how could they imprison you, an Englishman?’
‘My mother was French,’ he told her. His voice was grim. ‘They knew this. She was a member of the detested aristocracy, from the Languedoc region—the same aristocracy the people are feeding to the guillotine every day.’
‘Oh!’ Laura exclaimed, expressing her surprise. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘No,’ he said quietly, his eyes calmly watching her. ‘There is a lot we don’t know about each other, Laura.’
‘We—we hear such dreadful things about what is happening in France…with so much internal unrest,’ she faltered, unable to stem the warmth his disturbing gaze sent pulsating through her veins. ‘Did—did they interrogate you?’
‘I was—subjected to questioning,’ he told her hesitantly, sparing her the gruesome details of how he had been shackled with a length of heavy chain hand and foot, tortured at the hands of experts, before being dumped unceremoniously into an underground hell-hole, a pathetic, clanking heap of misery. This was not for the ears of a respectable young woman.
‘But I gave no account. In the beginning I was kept in complete isolation—unable to make contact with the outside world—in a place where a man loses count of the days and where death can strike in many ways. I had plenty of time to think, but I tried not to. When a man loses his freedom, thinking is a dangerous business—apt to drive him mad. Eventually I was taken out and put in a cell with two other prisoners.’
Pain and disbelief streaked through Laura at the thought of Lucas languishing in one of France’s prisons. If only she had known, she would have moved heaven and earth to rescue him.
‘How I wish I’d known…’ A knot formed at the base of her throat, shutting off her words, and, leaning forward, Lucas saw tears in her eyes.
‘You weep for me?’ he murmured, deeply touched. ‘How strange!’
‘Strange?’ she asked, finding her voice once more. ‘Is it strange for a woman to weep when her husband tells her what you have just told me—of the tragedy that befell you, of the pain and indignities you must have been subjected to at the hands of those…those foreigners, knowing you could emerge at any time and be taken to the guillotine in one of those creaking carts of death?’ She dropped her gaze and looked down at her hands. ‘I’m sorry. You must think I’m very silly.’
Lucas’s face seemed transfigured and he was looking at his wife as if he could not gaze too long. Quietly he said, ‘I happen to think you’re very sweet.’
Raising her eyes, she looked across at him. She felt a sudden quiver run through her, a sudden quickening within, as if something came to life. Something was happening to her, something golden and wonderful, and when she spoke she could only stammer, ‘H-how did you manage to get out of the prison? Did you escape?’
‘No. I was released when war broke out with the Prussians. When thousands of patriotic volunteers went to defend the revolution their departure from Paris provoked concern about the prisons, which were crowded with counter-revolutionaries who might threaten a city deprived of so many of its defenders. Already there was a rumour spreading that they were plotting their escape and would avenge themselves on the remaining defenders and hand Paris over to the Prussians.
‘Marat, a powerful member of the commune, declared that the enemy within must be destroyed before the invader could be repulsed. He called for the conspirators to be put to death. Armed bands began visiting the prisons, and the advance of the enemy gave an excuse for the mob to vent its hatred in an orgy of bloodshed.
‘There was absolute mayhem as improvised courts were set up to try prisoners. Hundreds of counter-revolutionaries were killed—and a large number were released. Miraculously I was one of them. I didn’t hang around to find out why. I immediately left Paris and headed for the coast, where I managed to find a boat to take me across the Channel.’
Laura was not ignorant of what had been happening in Paris. Since these ‘September massacres’ which Lucas spoke of, the French troops had halted the enemy advance. On September 21st the convention had abolished the monarchy, and the next day it proclaimed the republic. She had listened to Lucas calmly, deeply moved by everything he had told her, but she had the distinct feeling that there was a great deal more he had left unsaid.
‘We will speak no more of this now,’ Lucas said, ‘and not a word of it to anyone.’
‘You can rely on me not to breathe a word. I promise.’
Lucas’s eyes warmed. ‘I know. Despite betrothing yourself to Carlyle, the way you have behaved during my absence proves to me that you are a person one can depend on in a crisis.’
He watched the youthful, graceful line of her neck at the back of which her hair nestled, soft and shining. He saw the sensitiveness of her small hands folded in her lap, and the dark sweep of her long, curling eyelashes against her flushed cheeks, and wondered why he hadn’t noticed before. ‘You have spirit and courage, Laura. I commend that. In fact you are a complete contradiction in terms and appearance.’
‘A contradiction?’ she queried, looking slightly bewildered.
‘I already know that you are direct and intelligent—and quite lovely. I saw that before I married you, and it appealed to me even then. You give the impression of being rather delicate, weak and extremely vulnerable, yet I believe you are both strong and determined—and more than a little obstinate. I suspect you are not always the easiest person to get along with.’
Encouraged and warmed by his words, she tilted her head to one side, a slow smile tempting her lips. ‘I have my moments,’ she told him.
‘Oh?’
‘Now and then,’ she said.
He chuckled, and then said, ‘Have you any idea how lovely you look tonight, in your fetching blue gown?’
There was a soft, caressing note in his voice that almost turned Laura’s bones to water. She looked at him and smiled, enjoying the warmth and the intimacy of their conversation. ‘I am exactly the same person I was when you went away. I have not changed.’
‘I disagree. The charming girl has become an elegant woman. Perhaps I have changed, also.’
‘After all that has happened to you, it is hardly surprising. Will you get involved again? I ask this because I need to know. If you decide to disappear again, I should appreciate being informed before you go.’
‘I am still involved, Laura—in one way or another.’
There was a faint accent on the last sentence and Laura shivered. ‘Are you in danger? Am I in danger?’
Lucas’s look was piercing, his expression grim. After a moment of deliberation he nodded slowly. ‘Possibly, which is why it is important that no one knows I am here for the present—particularly Edward Carlyle. I have one final mission to complete before I can reveal myself. All I ask is that you be patient.’
Laura would have liked to ask him to explain more about this final mission, but the warning in his eyes seemed to pierce her as if it were a knife. ‘But—the servants. You know what they are like. The invisible grapevine that exists between them will spread the news that you have returned from the dead throughout Cornwall.’
‘I know them. They have been employed by the Mawgans for years and can be trusted; after all—’ his eyes twinkled merrily across at her ‘—they kept my presence in the house from you.’
‘So they did. When everyone finds out that you are still alive, what will you tell them when they ask where you’ve been?’
‘The truth—although I prefer the reason I went to France to be kept between ourselves. I know you’re a woman of great discretion.’
‘Of course,’ Laura said, grateful of the confidence.
Hoisting himself out of the chair, Lucas stretched his long limbs. ‘The hour is late and it’s time for bed. We will talk some more tomorrow.’
Standing up, Laura stiffened, wary of the direction in which he was moving—towards the bed. Panic struck her. ‘Lucas! I think you have not understood me. You are not staying in my room. I will not get into bed with you. After two years’ absence, you cannot walk back into my life and expect to carry on as if nothing has happened.’
An almost lecherous smile touched Lucas’s lips as his eyes swept the bed before settling on her face. ‘By any definition, you are my wife. Restraint does not come easy to a man deprived of a woman’s arms and love for so long.’
His soft answer and the way his gaze fastened on hers awoke tingling answers in places Laura tried to ignore. This betrayal of her body aroused an impatient vexation. ‘You treat the word love lightly, Lucas. It is an emotion that should be a test of devotion and commitment, and until I get used to having you back I would appreciate it if you will allow me to sleep alone.’
‘What if I refuse to agree?’
Laura swallowed and looked up at him in desperate appeal, his tall, muscular frame making her achingly aware of her own helplessness, and the futility of trying to resist him. ‘If you insist, then I will do my duty and submit to you.’
Lucas stared at her, stunned by her choice of words. ‘Submit?’ he repeated. ‘I am unable to believe that my wife should speak of the act of making love with her husband as some form of punishment. It isn’t as if you haven’t shared a bed with me before.’ When she flushed and averted her eyes he frowned with concern over the tension and anxiety he saw on her face. He moved closer and tipped her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at him. ‘Am I to understand you did not enjoy what I did to you that night, Laura?’
‘I— No, I didn’t like it—and you made me feel less than worthy of your attentions,’ she told him bluntly, with a trace of accusation. ‘I found the whole thing painful and undignified, and I can very well live without it. I made up my mind not to repeat it in a hurry.’ When he removed his finger from her chin and stepped back, unable to meet his steady gaze any longer she looked away in sheer embarrassment, her cheeks as pink as the roses that clambered in profusion over the walls at Roslyn.
Lucas looked at her intently, as if he were seeing her for the first time. The things he had done to her on that one night they had lain together as man and wife paraded across his mind, bringing pain and regret. In his prison cell he had often found himself lost in that memory, and afterwards he was left with a lingering feeling of failure.
There had been no tenderness or regard in his treatment of her. His mind had been so preoccupied with the importance of his mission to France the following day that he had given little thought to the fears of his young wife. She had surrendered her virtue without a struggle, and he had coldly and deliberately taken her innocence as his due. He realised now that he must have scared the hell out of her.
She was standing an arm’s length away from him, and she looked flushed, extremely lovely, and terrified half to death. He was surprised that it gave him intense pleasure to contemplate taking her to bed and guiding her gently, tenderly, along the paths of love until she was moaning with rapture in his arms.
‘Laura, this marriage might not have been of our choosing, but it was done and we will have to find a way to live in harmony with it. I did you a great wrong on the night I took your virtue, and nothing I can say or do will change that,’ he said, speaking with great gentleness, firstly because he was dealing with an anxious and bewildered young woman, and secondly because he genuinely wished to make amends for any pain he had caused her.
‘I should have exercised more care and consideration for your youth and inexperience. I hurt you, and for that I implore your forgiveness. I promise not to treat you like that again. Please believe me when I tell you that the next time I make love to you it will be different from before.’ She looked so relieved that he smiled crookedly. ‘You needn’t work yourself up into a fevered anguish. You are reprieved—for now, at least.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I would be grateful if you would allow me a little time. I’m so glad you understand.’ Fixing his gaze on her lips, he smiled, a slow, lazy smile that made her heart leap. ‘Now what are you thinking?’
‘That the reprieve I grant you will be harder for me to bear than it will for you—so do not take too long.’ He lifted a brow in tender mockery. ‘I’m not cut out to be a monk.’
‘No?’ She laughed lightly, teasingly. ‘My mother always used to say restraint is good for the soul.’
‘I doubt your mother was referring to our making love,’ he countered, his gaze caressing her smiling face. The radiance of her smile heartened him.
‘No,’ she replied, pink-cheeked. ‘I don’t suppose she was.’
His eyes glowed warm and he grinned roguishly. ‘You are blushing—that’s charming. I don’t intend to spare your blushes. We know so little about each other, Laura, that we will find it interesting to discover more—and we have all the time in the world to make those discoveries.’
Picking his jacket off the bed, which Laura foolishly realised had been his true reason for crossing to the bed in the first place, and not because he’d had any designs on sharing it with her, he took two objects from the pocket and handed them to her—her sapphire necklace and the silver snuff box he had taken from Edward.
‘I think these belong to you.’
‘I could not understand why you took Edward’s snuff box and left the rest. Why did you?’
‘It was your betrothal gift to him, was it not?’
‘Yes, but I don’t see—’
‘I don’t like my wife presenting gifts to other men,’ he told her sharply.
‘How could you have known I had given it to him—or that he would have it on his person tonight, for that matter?’
‘I didn’t. I took a chance. It was John who told me you had given it to him.’
She frowned crossly. ‘I think I might have told John far too much. Why did you take my necklace?’
‘To make the robbery more convincing—and it pleased me to discover how reluctant you were to part with it.’
‘You took it all the same.’
‘And now I have returned it. And if you are ever accosted by a highwayman again, my pet,’ he chuckled, gently tweaking her cheek, ‘I expect you to guard it with your life.’ Collecting his pipe and tobacco pouch from the hearth, he strode towards the door.
‘I will. I promise. There is just one more thing, Lucas.’ He turned and looked back, waiting for her to go on. ‘Who was your accomplice tonight?’
He didn’t deign to reply, but cocked a brow and looked at her with ill-concealed amusement.
Laura moved closer, determined to find out. ‘Who was it, Lucas? Tell me.’
‘Don’t you know?’
She stared at him through eyes huge with horror and disbelief. She recalled how his accomplice had moved and mounted his horse with less agility than his companion, and with sudden clarity all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, presenting the whole picture. ‘That was John, wasn’t it? Oh—Lucas, how could you? To take him, as old as he is, on such a dangerous mission—why, the poor man might have had a seizure.’
‘John may be sixty, Laura,’ Lucas said, opening the door, ‘but a doddering old man he is not. He’s as tough as old boots. Besides,’ he said, chuckling softly and with a gleam in his eyes, ‘he enjoyed himself.’
‘Did he, now?’ she said crossly, thinking that master and servant must have slipped into the house unnoticed while she had been telling Edward she wasn’t going to marry him. ‘Well, I shall have plenty to say when I see him in the morning. You see if I don’t.’

Chapter Four
O nce alone, Laura stripped off her clothes and slipped into a deep-pink silk robe, tying the sash about her waist. Sitting at the dressing table, she studied her face in the mirror. She was almost twenty-one years old, and little of the girl who had come to Roslyn remained. The fresh glow of innocence had been replaced by a patina of cool sophistication. Two years of hard work and living in Cornwall had given her maturity, had transformed the girl Laura into a woman.
When Lucas had brought her to Roslyn, after he had done his duty she’d had no doubt that her husband of three days would eventually return to London to his former pleasures and leave her buried in Cornwall without family or friends. It had never entered her head that he would disappear out of her life altogether—permanently, she had thought. And now…now he was back.
It was inevitable that prison had changed him in several ways, as it must change many once carefree men. His time spent in that French prison must have been like a malevolent humour festering inside him, destroying hope of survival, faith and self-respect. But all humours of the flesh could be healed—now the prison walls had fallen away, and, though the healing process might take time, time was the greatest healer.
But how did she feel about him?
The truth hit her. Physically she was no more immune to Lucas Mawgan now than she had been when he had dazzled her in London, blinding her to every other man. She could withstand his anger but not his smile—the smile that had shattered her heart two years ago. When she had lain with him she had almost swooned as he had taken her into his arms, convinced that something glorious was going to happen to her. Despite what had followed and her searing disappointment regarding that intimate side of marriage, despite everything that had happened in between, he could still twist her entire being into exquisite knots of yearning, just as he had done then.

The following morning, in possession of an unfamiliar exhilaration, and feeling vibrantly, gloriously alive, Laura rose and went downstairs, inwardly convinced that her mood would stay that way from now on. The house was quiet, the sun streaming in through the latticed windows set beneath Norman arches. She paused and gazed fondly at the familiar surroundings, elated that she would not be leaving it to marry Edward.
Roslyn Manor had at one time been a castle, built in Norman times. Over the centuries a certain amount of conversion and rebuilding had taken place, but parts still remained of the original castle, the most prominent being the square, battlemented tower at the opposite end of the house to the hall. From the hall a wide stone staircase rose to the long gallery on the first floor, built during the Tudor period to connect the hall with the tower, offering a splendid view of the sloping gardens and the sea beyond.
Laura had come to love the Mawgans’ ancestral home. As she moved about its rooms she could feel the past and the people who had inhabited the house closing in on her, and Lucas was an essential part of it. With the rooms beneath the long gallery not in use, she kept few servants—just John and his wife, her maid, Susan, Martha, two gardeners who lived in Roslyn village, George, the groom—a huge, strong figure of a man with muscles like a bear’s and fists like a prize fighter—and his son, Joss, who helped his father with the work in the stables.
Seeing no one, humming a little tune, Laura passed through the hall and stepped into the kitchen, finding John alone. He was preparing a breakfast tray for her and looked up when she entered, his face wearing its usual impassive, solemn expression. She breathed in the delicious smell of fried bacon and toast.
‘Good morning, John. Is there something to eat? I’m absolutely starving.’
‘Good morning, my lady. I knew you would be, so I prepared your favourite—bacon, eggs, steamed mushrooms and buttered toast. You’ll want tea, too, I suppose.’
‘At least two cups.’
John always addressed her as ‘my lady’. At first she had felt uncomfortable with it and asked him not to, but he had slipped back into it and she had got used to it. She picked up a piece of toast to munch on as she went into the dining room. Seating herself at the table that commanded a splendid view of the sea and coastline, she found herself confronted with a huge vase of flowers—blue delphiniums and huge white roses, their petals like soft velvet and still moist with early-morning dew. ‘Why, John, you’re spoiling me. They’re lovely.’
John gave her one of his rare grins. ‘Only the best, my lady.’
Spreading a napkin over her lap, she waited as he placed a heaped plate in front of her and proceeded to pour the tea. ‘You look pleased with yourself this morning,’ she remarked casually, knowing he was waiting for her to mention the previous night’s events, and the part he had played, but she enjoyed teasing him so delayed the moment.
He cocked a quizzical brow. ‘Pleased?’
‘Mm. Maybe it’s the weather. It does look an exceptionally fine morning.’
John made a pretence of glancing out of the window. ‘Aye, so it does.’
‘I must say I’m surprised.’
His eyes were upon her as he placed a cup of tea in front of her. ‘You are?’
‘Mm,’ she murmured, taking a forkful of egg and placing it in her mouth. ‘I fully expected you to be still in bed—following your extraordinary exertions last night.’ She glanced up at him obliquely. ‘I congratulate you. You are a consummate actor. It was quite a performance you put on—in fact, you were very convincing. You fooled me completely, and poor Sir Edward was all at sea.’
‘That was the idea, my lady.’ He shrugged. ‘What could I do? ’Twas an emergency.’
‘And your master is a bully and quite unscrupulous, I know,’ she stated, with a smile on her lips.
‘I fear that be so, my lady—but ’twas exciting.’
‘I gathered that,’ she quipped, spearing a piece of bacon. ‘With a pair of pistols levelled at Sir Edward and poor old Amos—whom you scared half to death, I might add—you seemed to be enjoying yourself. Although I visualised someone a mite younger in the part.’
‘A man’s as young as he feels, I always say, my lady.’
‘Of course,’ she agreed amiably.
‘Shocked, are you?’
With a mushroom halfway to her mouth, she paused and glanced up at him. ‘Shocked? A little—and surprised. But you should have told me we have a guest,’ she said, popping the mushroom between her lips.
‘Guest, my lady?’
‘Yes, John. And where is our guest? Still abed, I expect. Where does he sleep, by the way?’
‘In the turret room, and he was up and out at first light.’
‘Was he? Where did he go?’
She followed John’s gaze out of the window and along the coast to Stennack’s engine house with its tall chimney in the far-off distance, built precariously on the edge of the cliff. The mine, closed now for a good many years, was owned by the Mawgans. It was the deepest and richest mine in the area, with tin and copper brought up from its deepest workings—from the southern reaches beneath the sea itself—until tragedy had struck and the sea broke in, claiming the lives of twenty men and boys. Their bodies were still down there. No one had been able to get them out. After that the deep workings had been abandoned to the sea.
John had told Laura that the mine was always dear to Lucas’s heart. Before he had left for France he was seriously considering reopening it, and had employed mining experts to give him advice.
Savouring the knowledge of having Lucas back at Roslyn where he belonged, Laura finished her breakfast. Then, with a happy spring in her step, an apron tied around her trim waist and a need to do something constructive with her day, Laura went to the part of the house that had not been used in two years. Perhaps it was time to take a look and see what needed to be done.
Entering the passageway beneath the long gallery, she closed the heavy door behind her. It squeaked loudly on its hinges, and she made a mental note to ask John to oil them. The passageway was dark and eerily shadowed, with doorways leading to several rooms. At the end a large window outlined a smaller doorway where a stairway led down to the cellars. This entrance was never used, since the cellars could be reached from the kitchen. Seeing that the door was ajar, she went towards it. As she peered down into the dark the silence was tomblike, the mournful wail of the rising wind intruding upon the stillness. A cold, dank draught wafting up from below invaded her clothing, and with a shiver Laura pulled the door closed.
Going from room to room, she assessed what had to be done, pulling the dust covers from furniture and artefacts. Becoming warm from her labours, she loosened the neck of her wool dress and rolled up the sleeves. Working her way back to the first room along the passageway, upon entering she paused to catch her breath. Dust clung to her apron, resisting her efforts to brush it away. Wiping the perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand, she inadvertently smeared the black smudge that was there into a long streak.
The room, with ghostly shapes of furniture spread with dust covers, was wanly lit by the faint October light. With her hands on her hips she paused in the centre and looked about her. Bookshelves lined the walls and a handsome, heavily carved desk made in the reign of the Stuarts stood near the window. Picking up a small carving of a horse from its surface, she studied it. Even to her inexperienced eye she could see it wasn’t a particularly fine piece of craftsmanship, but it had been lovingly carved by someone.
Still holding the carving, she moved towards the stone fireplace, recalling the first time she had wandered through these rooms. How captivated she had been by the many aspects of the manor, and the many fine objects and personal effects of Lucas’s forebears that it housed. A portrait of a woman hung above the mantel, and the resemblance she bore to Lucas was unmistakable. The lady was his mother.
Suddenly, feeling a presence and that someone’s eyes were boring holes into her back, she turned. Her heart gave a leap of surprise and a certain excitement. Lucas was standing in the open doorway, one shoulder resting negligently against the door frame and his arms folded across his chest, casually watching her, still and patient, staring at her with a brooding, sombre gaze. Dressed for the outdoors, from the jacket to the high, trim boots he wore, with his unruly locks of raven-black hair tumbling wildly over his forehead, he looked impossibly handsome, she thought, feeling her heart quicken at the sight.
‘Good heavens! You almost scared the wits out of me!’ she exclaimed, experiencing a rush of emotions, among them pleasure and surprise, wondering how he had managed to appear without being seen or heard, there being no stairway to the upper storey and no outside door in this part of the house. A tingling that she could not explain crept up her spine. ‘Have you got unnatural powers that you can appear unobserved? John said you were out.’
‘Why,’ he said, relinquishing his stance in the doorway and approaching her slowly, his eyes sweeping over her dishevelled, rather soiled appearance, and her shining hair that was escaping the confines of its pins, ‘were you looking for me?’
‘No. I was curious, that was all,’ she said. He seemed extraordinarily tall as he came nearer. He paused within reach and stood looking down at her, his eyes on her face. He was studying her with those strongly marked eyebrows slightly raised. His clear gaze was penetrating, and Laura felt uncomfortable beneath it.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said, ‘nor did I expect to find my wife looking as if she’d just crept out of a dustbin.’
Vaguely irritated by the intensity of his inspection, Laura glanced down at her soiled apron. ‘I suppose I do look a sight, don’t I?’
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, casting a casual glance about the room.
‘These rooms have hardly been touched in two years, and I thought that now you’re back you might want them reopening.’
‘Why close them in the first place? Did you take exception to cleaning them?’
Stung by what she mistakenly took to be a reprimand, Laura bristled. ‘Not at all. Why not close them? I didn’t need them. The house is enormous, and with just myself living here it hardly seemed worth keeping servants to clean empty rooms. Every now and then I see to it that a superficial cleaning is done, and fires lit during winter months to keep them aired.’
With a look that betrayed a mild degree of amusement he nodded. ‘Since when did ladies of the manor start doing menial chores themselves? We are not exactly in the position where we’re too poor to employ extra servants.’
‘I know, but I’m not above or averse to doing housework—or scrubbing floors, even, if I have to. Do you want these rooms reopened?’
‘Yes, but from what I’ve seen, you’re going to have your work cut out. Are you sure you’re up to the challenge?’ Lucas asked, but she seemed so eager, and her smile so disarming, that he really believed she was looking forward to the task. He noticed the carving of the horse she held and reached out to take it from her. His long, lean fingers traced its lines. ‘This was a keepsake of my mother’s,’ he murmured distantly. ‘When her horse died, my father carved its likeness and gave it to her one Christmas.’
‘It—it’s beautiful. Your father must have been extremely talented,’ Laura remarked generously.
‘No, he wasn’t,’ Lucas countered. ‘You’re being too kind. He would be the first to tell you that he was no craftsman. It’s a poor likeness, but Mother loved it.’
After placing the carving on the mantel beneath the portrait he turned, folding his hands behind his back and looking thoughtfully about the room with deceptively lazy eyes.
‘This is one room in particular I would like to make use of. It was my father’s study. We spent many an hour discussing matters that were of import at the time—issues from as far afield as India and America, to what was happening here at Roslyn. Sometimes Mother would be seated by the fire, quietly occupied with her sewing—listening.’
‘Why did you go away?’ Laura found herself asking, for it puzzled her, when he had so much here in Cornwall, why he would want to leave it.
Lucas shrugged absently. ‘That is a question I have asked myself countless times during my imprisonment. My parents didn’t want me to leave Roslyn, but they didn’t try to dissuade me, either. I was young and restless, with a sense of adventure and a yearning to see foreign places. I wanted more than what Cornwall had to offer, so I went to work for the government. I suddenly found myself surrounded by intrigue—danger. It appealed to me. But in the end I always knew I would come back to what I know and understand. My father knew it, too. Roslyn is my home—my life,’ he finished quietly, as if speaking his private thoughts aloud.
Uncertain of his mood, and with a sense that he had momentarily forgotten she was there, Laura remained still, watching him.
After a moment Lucas’s gaze came to rest on her once more. A shaft of light slanting through the window fell on her small proud head with its crown of shining curls. With her delicate hands clasped in front of her, her dark eyes were watching him intently, causing something to stir within his heart.
She was completely female, not just feminine but womanly, lovely, and she also had the softest, most inviting mouth he had ever seen. There was a vulnerability about her, a sweet, wild essence that still belonged to the girl he had married, and he remembered how these qualities had appealed to him as much then as they did now. Despite the unpleasant circumstances which had led to their marriage, he had felt proud to have her at his side on their wedding day.
Unconsciously she reached up a hand to brush away a wisp of hair, and the movement of her arm lifted the rounded fullness of her young breast. Lucas’s eyes narrowed in appreciation and he felt his blood run warm in his veins and the heat of it move to his belly.
He didn’t understand why Laura had such a volatile effect on him, but he understood that he wanted her, wanted her soft and willing in his arms. He tried to tell himself that this growing fascination with his wife was merely lust caused by two long years of abstinence, but he knew it was more than lust that held him enthralled.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he moved closer to where she stood and looked down at her. His expression was grave and serious, at the same time inquiring. ‘Do you enjoy your life at the manor, Laura?’ he asked unexpectedly. ‘A young woman—alone in this great house without company?’
‘I—I have John and his wife.’
‘They’re good, loyal people, I grant you, but they are servants.’
‘Their position has nothing to do with it. I have become extremely fond of them both, and class them as my friends.’
‘Do you not long for the gaieties of city life?’ he asked, watching her closely. ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you had chosen to seek the social whirl. Do you regret not doing so?’
‘Do I look regretful? I don’t long for any kind of social whirl,’ Laura told him frankly. ‘I am happy here and never lonely.’
‘Nevertheless, London can be a very alluring place to a young woman who suddenly finds herself an extremely rich widow. Your protected upbringing would never have prepared you for the situation you found yourself in on my alleged demise. Weren’t you tempted to leave all this behind? After all, it meant nothing to you.’
‘No,’ she said quickly, offended that he might think that and eager to make him understand otherwise. ‘I’m not like that. When you know me better you will see that I do not shake off my responsibilities so easily, Lucas. I told you last night that I considered it my duty to remain, and that I have come to love this place. I did not speak lightly. Oh, it can be unnerving when there is a storm,’ she admitted, ‘and at times the wind does seem to buffet the house so hard I often think it’s about to be blown off its perch. Sometimes it shrieks so loud I feel frightened when I hear it.’
‘And yet you stay.’
‘Yes. It’s my home. Besides,’ she said, the trace of a smile tugging at her lips, ‘what sort of figure do you think I should cut in London without the right escort?’
‘You have your brother and his wife, and Carlyle is often in London, I hear. Did he not ask you to accompany him?’
‘No. And if he had I would have refused,’ she said with absolute honesty.
‘But you must miss your brother and his family,’ Lucas persisted.
‘I told you that I have seen them recently. Philip and Jane brought the children to Roslyn for the summer months.’ She looked sideways at him. ‘Are you, by any chance, telling me that I should not have stayed at the manor after all, Lucas? Are you trying to get rid of me?’
Lucas shook his head. ‘No, indeed,’ he answered, ‘and I am extremely grateful that you didn’t desert the old house and those dependent on the family for subsistence. But, on reflection, I realise that it can’t have been easy for you.’
‘It was a difficult time, I admit that, but the way I saw it I had no choice.’
Lucas smiled and ran a finger down her cheek, gently taking hold of a stray curl and hooking it behind her ear, thinking how adorable she looked with her hair all mussed up and smudges of dirt on her lovely face.
‘I have every reason to be grateful to you for your loyalty. You certainly looked after my interests in my absence. I can see I could not have left my affairs in more capable hands.’ He nodded slowly, his astute gaze on her face while a slow smile drifted across his own. ‘You’re a strange creature, Laura, and not a conventional one. I can see that. Just as I think I’m getting to know you, some new trait shows itself.’
‘May God spare me from being predictable,’ she laughed, quite appalled by the idea and sharing his humour.
‘Something tells me you’ll never be that. That’s your appeal,’ Lucas responded quietly. He gave her a long, silent look, and then moved away. ‘I have things to do and I shall disrupt your work no longer.’
‘What are you planning to do with yourself today?’ Laura asked, reluctant to see him go.
‘Oh, this and that,’ he replied casually, shooting her a brief smile before disappearing out of the door.
Alone once more, Laura wandered around, mechanically going about her chores. Her emotions seemed to be all over the place, and thoughts of Lucas filled her head. She had a feeling that something deep inside him was reaching out to her, and, finding an answering response in her, this strong, magnetic pull was drawing them closer together. The thought warmed her.
Despite their volatile encounter on the road last night and the angry words they had exchanged—when Lucas had made it plain that he expected complete obedience from her, that she would be governed by him and bend to his will—every instinct that she possessed told her that he was a sensitive man, capable of great gentleness as well as strength.

Laura waited all day for Lucas to return to the house. When he failed to do so and the light began to fade, she went in search of John. ‘I thought our guest would have returned by now, John. Would you instruct George to saddle my horse? I think I’ll ride to Stennack. I believe that is where I shall find him—don’t you?’
‘Aye, my lady. That’s where he’ll be.’ John watched her go, seeing there was an added spring to her step, and that her large eyes were aglow and animated. He smiled, his wrinkled face alight with happiness for her.
Laura rode along the narrow, winding path along the top of the cliffs, with Stennack always within her sights. She breathed deeply the crisp October air, tasting the salt of the sea on her lips. She came to a place where the land was broken by a fast-flowing stream which looped its way through the valley below, among marshes and reedbeds, until it was funnelled into a deep lagoon.
Following the path down, she paused, gazing at the still waters, quiet and beautiful, but, as everyone in these parts knew, depending on the weather, this could change and be quite frightening. Over the years several drownings had occurred here, and at least one ghost was reputed to walk and disappear into the cold and mysterious black depths.
But this did not trouble Laura, her mind being too preoccupied with other matters. At the end of the lagoon the water spilled into Roslyn Cove, running out to the sea. Slowly she followed its course, the precipitously wooded cliffs rising on either side. At the point where the river ran onto the sands the rocks fused above, forming an archway through which she could see the sea beyond, with the last rays of the setting sun resting on its dark waters with a translucent clarity.
Further out in the cove there was a large number of rocks, some of which showed themselves at half-tide, some at low water, but by far the greater of these never appeared at all. Many stricken ships had met their doom on these submerged rocks. The coastline with its small, sandy beaches was littered with the naked bones of wrecks. It had many hidden coves and creeks and inaccessible caves, which together gave rise to tales of smuggling and wrecking.
When Laura had first come to Roslyn there had been excitement and romance in some of these tales, but after she had borne witness to one ill-fated ship that had run aground on the rocks during a storm the reality had destroyed the romance. She had seen with her own eyes the ruthless desperation of the men and women who had come from the nearby hamlets and surged into the cove to salvage what they could when the spoils of the sea were dragged onto the beach, all half crazy and behaving like animals as they made sure there were no survivors from the stricken vessel.
Roslyn Cove was better situated than most. It was an ideal place for vessels from France to deposit their cargoes of contraband. The cliff was riddled with caves and chambers beneath Roslyn Manor, and it was rumoured that there was a tunnel linking them to the house, but Laura had never found it.
Contraband was often stored in the caves until the dark nights when the packhorses and wagons would come and take it away across the moor, the majority of it destined for London. Because of the reputation of this part of the coast, where smuggling was carried out with great skill and cunning, and which was so extensive it was virtually impossible for the coastguards and revenue cutters to control, Laura had learned to tread warily, and to hold her tongue.
Following the path up to the top of the cliff on the other side, she looked further west, where the coastline continued to trace its intricate way in and out of tiny coves and around the handsome headlands as far as Fowey’s graceful river and town.

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