Page 108 of A Perilous Passion

She could ask him to give back the lace.

She grabbed a shawl and hurried out before her mother could change her mind about letting her go alone.

Mama would be furious if she knew what she had in mind, but Charlotte was mercifully too much an adult to warrant a beating. In fact, if anyone ever raised the birch to her again, she would snap it in front of their eyes and throw the pieces into the fireplace.

Her mouth twisted as she recalled the treatment she’d received from Mr. Hampney, the tutor employed by her mama to remove her childhood stutter. Mr. Hampney would burn in hell, if there was any justice in the world.

Charlotte’s pace quickened as her mind traveled back to the frightened, stammering child she’d once been. According to Mama—who was a minor baronet’s granddaughter—no young lady of breeding could be permitted such an impediment, which was why the elocution teacher had been employed.

Thankfully, his frequent use of the cane on his pupil hadn’t terrified her into stammering more, but rather, had simply made her determined to improve herself in order to be rid of him. As a result of this horrid experience, her young self had vowed never again to be cowed by threats or bullying.

From any quarter.

Which firm resolve had served Charlotte well in life, as it had turned out, even if it didn’t exactly earn her the admiration of her mother.

Beyond the heath, the dark cliffs of Portland rose up, crowned by the gray walls of its castle, recently refortified and enlarged in fear of a French invasion. Spread out below, well within sight of the fort, lay the beach, hemmed in at either end by tumbled rocks and flattened slabs of limestone, looking just like ruined cities shattered by the sea.

She barely took in the sight of the bent-backed cockle women, or the swarm of children freshly released from Mrs. Carboys’ Dame School.

Because she spied the very gentleman she sought.

He stood stiff and erect by the water’s edge, watching the antics of the children and occasionally dusting his sleeve and straightening a cuff.

Anticipation balled in her stomach. Was he waiting for someone? Could that someone be her? Flushing, she realized she must make it look as if she’d happened along by chance, so he didn’t get any inappropriate ideas. All she wanted was the lace.

Today he wore serviceable moleskin trousers, battered Hessian boots, and a forest green coat, clothing that made him look like a country squire. But the military bearing and his cultured accent hinted at a different background. The man was a conundrum. She was bored in this small village, she was heart-sore missing her banished sweetheart, and she needed a diversion. Here was the perfect solution to her ennui.

Stopping just behind him, she gave a little cough.

Immediately he swung round, and she knew a moment of alarm at his fierce expression. Upon recognizing her, his look softened, but only for an instant. He said sharply, “So, you’ve ignored my advice about walking out unchaperoned. You feel equipped, do you, to protect yourself against highwaymen and smugglers?”

She said, “A very good day to you, sir. How delightful to see you again. I’ve come to reclaim the lace I found yesterday.”

“Have you, indeed?”

“I have. Return the lace, and I’ll take your advice and head home forthwith. Although, I could point out there are plenty of people abroad, more than a match for a single felon, should one choose to attack me.”

He gave a disparaging sniff. “All I can see are old women and children. And surely you must recall that no one helped you when I threw you onto your back yesterday.”

She straightened her spine. “I was unlucky no one happened to be looking. Or should I say lucky, due to the indignities you heaped upon me? No one molested me yesterday as I walked home in broad daylight. Your fears were quite unjustified.”

He regarded her somberly. “Are all the folk hereabouts as wool-witted as you?”

“I’m sure they know when they’re under threat, and when they are not.”

“We’re all under threat,” he said darkly. “Napoleon gathers his fleet and his armies at Boulogne as we speak.”

“Thankfully, we have our new garrison to protect us,” she countered.

“True. But I doubt any of the soldiers have been detailed to follow wayward wenches around all day. I advise you to curtail your unchaperoned wanderings.”

Damn the man! No, he wasn’t mysterious or interesting at all. He was utterly infuriating.

“I shall. As soon as you return my lace.”

His expression turned uneasy. “Not so loud. Come further up the beach where we can’t be overheard.”

Grudgingly, she fell in beside him and trotted along, trying to keep up with his long stride. What did he have to say that required such privacy, anyway?