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Authors: Charlotte Louise Dolan
Tags: Regency Romance
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alter the fact that she was a lady and he was a bastard.
What perverse vanity had made him want to have her see him finely dressed? And what twisted desire had made him want to see her dressed as a woman of his own low social standing?
Feeling quite disgusted with himself, and knowing how weak was his own resolution where this girl was concerned, he quickly left the bedroom. This time he closed the door firmly behind him, but he was quite unable to close his mind as easily to thoughts of what might have been—and what could never be.
Despite Miss Pepperell’s fears, by tomorrow night the identity of her wicked cousin would doubtless be known, and in two more days, information could be laid against him in London. Which meant that in less than a sennight, just as soon as the miscreant was safely incarcerated, Miss Pep perell would no longer have any need of his protection ... or any reason to be sleeping in his bed.
Glancing around the room, he realized that he was not well equipped for company. With only one bed in the cottage, he had but two options, the floor or the chair. Neither promised him a good night’s sleep, and his only consola tion was that he had passed many a night under far worse conditions. At least the cottage had a good roof, and he had ample driftwood for a fire.
In the end he decided upon the chair, but sleep was a long time in coming and was troubled by unpleasant dreams, in which he searched in vain for Miss Pepperell, whom he could hear crying to him for help.
* * * *
Bethia was not sure what woke her early the next morn ing, but all at once she was wide awake, her ears straining to hear the slightest sound. Everything was quiet—too quiet.
Sliding noiselessly out from under the covers, she tiptoed over to the door, opened it a crack, and peered into the other room. She fully expected to see Mr. Rendel’s reassuring form, but he was not there.
Immediately the desperate terrors of the day before flooded back, turning the little cottage into a place of fear ful danger, of frightening shadows, of unseen perils lurking in every corner.
The clock on the mantel began to strike the hour. Auto matically she counted the chimes—five times they sounded. She had not slept too late and missed the ren dezvous with the other smugglers, so why then had she been left alone? Had the murderers returned and done something horrible to Mr. Rendel?
Frantically Bethia struggled against the waves of panic that washed over her, threatening to pull her down, to drown her. Desperately she fought against the desire to let loose her hold on sanity, to melt away into the darkness, to shrink down into nothingness.
Then she heard footsteps outside, and she would have screamed if she had been able to take a breath.
The door was slowly pushed open while time stretched out into an eternity of heartbeats. Then Mr. Rendel stepped into the room, his arms filled with wood for the fire, and at once everything returned to normal. The shadows retreated, and the room became a cozy place again, filled with warmth and the mouth-watering smells of food cooking, which made her realize how ravenously hungry she was— as if she had not eaten in three days, which indeed she had not.
The only remnant of her terror was her heart, which still raced wildly in her chest. But perhaps it beat so quickly not from the residue of fear, but because the man closing and bolting the door behind him was altogether too attractive?
“I am surprised you are awake already,” he said, dump ing his armload of wood into a bin by the fireplace and then crossing to the table and pulling out a chair for her.
Feeling as if her legs might give way at any moment, Bethia walked the few steps to where he was waiting and sat down. Unexpectedly, bitter memories intruded. She was not supposed to be here. Someone had intended that she should never see the light of another day, never eat another meal, never...
“I was going to let you sleep another half hour.”
What perverse vanity had made him want to have her see him finely dressed? And what twisted desire had made him want to see her dressed as a woman of his own low social standing?
Feeling quite disgusted with himself, and knowing how weak was his own resolution where this girl was concerned, he quickly left the bedroom. This time he closed the door firmly behind him, but he was quite unable to close his mind as easily to thoughts of what might have been—and what could never be.
Despite Miss Pepperell’s fears, by tomorrow night the identity of her wicked cousin would doubtless be known, and in two more days, information could be laid against him in London. Which meant that in less than a sennight, just as soon as the miscreant was safely incarcerated, Miss Pep perell would no longer have any need of his protection ... or any reason to be sleeping in his bed.
Glancing around the room, he realized that he was not well equipped for company. With only one bed in the cottage, he had but two options, the floor or the chair. Neither promised him a good night’s sleep, and his only consola tion was that he had passed many a night under far worse conditions. At least the cottage had a good roof, and he had ample driftwood for a fire.
In the end he decided upon the chair, but sleep was a long time in coming and was troubled by unpleasant dreams, in which he searched in vain for Miss Pepperell, whom he could hear crying to him for help.
* * * *
Bethia was not sure what woke her early the next morn ing, but all at once she was wide awake, her ears straining to hear the slightest sound. Everything was quiet—too quiet.
Sliding noiselessly out from under the covers, she tiptoed over to the door, opened it a crack, and peered into the other room. She fully expected to see Mr. Rendel’s reassuring form, but he was not there.
Immediately the desperate terrors of the day before flooded back, turning the little cottage into a place of fear ful danger, of frightening shadows, of unseen perils lurking in every corner.
The clock on the mantel began to strike the hour. Auto matically she counted the chimes—five times they sounded. She had not slept too late and missed the ren dezvous with the other smugglers, so why then had she been left alone? Had the murderers returned and done something horrible to Mr. Rendel?
Frantically Bethia struggled against the waves of panic that washed over her, threatening to pull her down, to drown her. Desperately she fought against the desire to let loose her hold on sanity, to melt away into the darkness, to shrink down into nothingness.
Then she heard footsteps outside, and she would have screamed if she had been able to take a breath.
The door was slowly pushed open while time stretched out into an eternity of heartbeats. Then Mr. Rendel stepped into the room, his arms filled with wood for the fire, and at once everything returned to normal. The shadows retreated, and the room became a cozy place again, filled with warmth and the mouth-watering smells of food cooking, which made her realize how ravenously hungry she was— as if she had not eaten in three days, which indeed she had not.
The only remnant of her terror was her heart, which still raced wildly in her chest. But perhaps it beat so quickly not from the residue of fear, but because the man closing and bolting the door behind him was altogether too attractive?
“I am surprised you are awake already,” he said, dump ing his armload of wood into a bin by the fireplace and then crossing to the table and pulling out a chair for her.
Feeling as if her legs might give way at any moment, Bethia walked the few steps to where he was waiting and sat down. Unexpectedly, bitter memories intruded. She was not supposed to be here. Someone had intended that she should never see the light of another day, never eat another meal, never...
“I was going to let you sleep another half hour.”
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