Page 7 of A Perilous Passion

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?

He came to a halt not far from the first tumble of rocks that marked the end of the beach. “Tell me again how you came to find the lace,” he demanded.

She blinked at his tone. “It was just bobbing about—”

He raised a hand. “Wait. Are they following us?”

“Who?”

Charlotte peeked behind her. Two men were heading purposefully in their direction. Neither looked familiar, but with the arrival of the garrison, there’d been a significant influx of newcomers in the village to provide services to the soldiers, so that was nothing unusual.

Her companion watched the men from the corner of his eye. The intensity in his expression raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

“Why do you look so grim? You’re frightening me!”

“Come,” he growled at her. “Do exactly as I say, or your life could be in danger. Take off your shoes and stockings. Quickly! Don’t appear nervous—try to look like you’ve just decided to climb over the rocks with me.”

There was an authority in his tone she couldn’t ignore. Clearly, he was used to giving orders. She followed his instructions and let him hoist her up onto a shelf of limestone. His boots slipped beneath him as he scrambled up after her, so she offered him her hand.

“Good,” he said. “We must smile and laugh like we’re lovers.”

The two men were approaching rapidly, and even at this distance, she sensed their enmity. Why? Her pulse sped. Had her father’s killers found her and Mama? Or were the men in pursuit of the stranger, and she was merely tainted by association?

He was drawing her higher up into the craggy cliffs, and she could see the sea ebbing and thrashing in the deep crevices below their feet. Pausing for breath, she spotted that the two men had halted at the edge of the rocks.

“We must go on,” her companion urged her. “Do try to look as if you’re enjoying yourself.” He reached out to steady her elbow, then leaned in and placed a kiss to her cheek.

She opened her mouth to protest heartily.

“Don’t!” he warned. “Just play along. Imagine yourself the heroine of one of your Gothic novels, and pretend I’m your sweetheart come to rescue you.”

She frowned. “You expect me to trust you when I don’t even know your name?”

He looked irritated, but nevertheless said, “Rafe Seabourne, at your service.”

“Miss Charlotte Allston,” she responded as he took her hand and assisted her over a large boulder. Once behind it, they were out of sight of their pursuers, but Mr. Seabourne didn’t slacken his pace.

“I know who you are,” he said.

Before she could query what he meant by that, a deep fissure appeared in the cliff ahead of them, wide enough to admit four men abreast. He hurried her into its concealing darkness.