A Stranger's Touch

Morwenna moved towards him, pretending to trip and falling into his arms. He caught her and held her. She looked up and the heat in his eyes startled her. A fierce shaft of heat shot through her and she gasped. The next moment he had her pressed hard against his body and his arms were about her. She ought to push him away, but if she did not distract him he might notice the flashing lights.

Now he was bending his head, and his mouth was on hers, taking possession of her lips, sending little thrills of heat racing through her body. She moaned with pleasure, unable to pull away or tell him to stop. It was as if a sudden fire had begun inside her and she was burning up with the need to allow his kisses and so much more. She wanted him to hold her for ever, to take her here on these cliffs and kiss her senseless … She wanted to love him, to stand by his side and keep the world at bay.

No—how stupid of her. She was allowing her loneliness and her frustration to take over her mind. To lie with this stranger could lead to only one thing: her ruin. He did not feel as she did, even though his kiss had touched her soul. She must stop this now—before it was too late.

About the Author

ANNE HERRIES lives in Cambridgeshire, where she is fond of watching wildlife, and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books, although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers. She is a winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize. She invites readers to contact her on her website: www.lindasole.co.uk

Previous novels by the same author:

THE RAKE’S REBELLIOUS LADY

A COUNTRY MISS IN HANOVER SQUARE*

AN INNOCENT DEBUTANTE IN HANOVER SQUARE*

THE MISTRESS OF HANOVER SQUARE*

FORBIDDEN LADY†

THE LORD’S FORCED BRIDE†

THE PIRATE’S WILLING CAPTIVE†

HER DARK AND DANGEROUS LORD†

BOUGHT FOR THE HAREM

HOSTAGE BRIDE

THE DISAPPEARING DUCHESS**

THE MYSTERIOUS LORD MARLOWE**

THE SCANDALOUS LORD LANCHESTER**

* A Season in Town trilogy

† The Melford Dynasty

** Secrets and Scandals

And in the Regency series The Steepwood Scandal:

LORD RAVENSDEN’S MARRIAGE

COUNTERFEIT EARL

And in The Hellfire Mysteries :

AN IMPROPER COMPANION

A WEALTHY WIDOW

A WORTHY GENTLEMAN

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Stranger’s

Touch

Anne Herries

Prologue

‘You understand, Melford? This mission is important for there are dangerous men at work. If they discover your true identity and why you are in Cornwall, your life could be forfeit.’

‘Yes, I understand that, sir. I shall keep a close mouth. I know that his Majesty’s life could be at risk and I have given my promise that I will serve both him and the Government of England with a true heart.’

Lord Rupert Melford frowned. His family had a long history of serving the crown. When Henry Tudor took the throne from the last ruling Plantagenet, Sir Robert Melford had stood with him. The family had prospered since those times and was extended over England, with branches of the family living in France and the New World. Rupert had never met his cousins from the Americas, though he’d heard they did well. However, he knew his French cousins, and had been on the verge of departing for France to visit Stefan de Montfort, the present lord, when he was summoned to Lord Henry Cecil’s house.

‘I knew your grandfather Anton and your father Richard,’ Lord Henry continued. ‘Losing his first wife was hard on him, but fortunately he met and married your mother. Your birth and that of your sister was a blessing to him.’

‘Thank you, sir. My father was a good man.’

‘And you are very like him. When this unfortunate business was first brought to my attention, I knew you were just the man for this work. I know you are brave and intelligent, but we also need discretion. There are rumours, but nothing definite. If these rogues had any idea that we knew of their existence, they might go into hiding and we should lose them.’

‘A family of two brothers and one sister,’ Rupert said. ‘All of them smugglers and ruthless, you say?’

‘If smuggling were all it was it would be a matter for the Revenue Officers. A few barrels of French brandy or some silk that does not pay tax is one thing, but these Morgans are at the heart of a nest of spies and vicious enemies of the Crown. They are the means by which the spies enter and leave the country in secret—and it is these ruthless men who plot to bring down the King.’

‘King James is not popular with everyone, particularly some Catholic families,’ Rupert said. ‘However, he was the only heir to our Gloriana and is therefore England’s rightful king. These men deserve to hang if they harbour traitors. Why do you not simply send soldiers to arrest them?’

‘If I ordered their arrest, they would disappear into the sea mist or one of the caves that abound on that coast. It is a wild rugged part of the country, Melford. As I said, if it were merely smuggling I’d say be damned to them and leave it at that, but the smugglers are too clever for the Revenue and too many of our men have lost their lives to this already. It will not be easy for you to discover what is going on and get away with your life.’

‘Is the whole family involved—even the girl?’

‘I believe the ringleader is the eldest brother—Michael Morgan—but do not trust any of them or anyone else in the area you meet for that matter. They stick together in that part of the country, which is why we can never get close enough to catch them in the act.’

‘I shall do my best for you, sir. As you know, I have a small talent for sketching and I shall let it be known that I have come to draw and paint the charm of the Cornish coast.’

‘Charm?’ Lord Henry shook his head impatiently. ‘In my opinion ‘tis a god-forsaken place, but I dare say the excuse will make a good cover for you. I wish you well, Melford. If you discover anything important, get word to me as soon as you can.’

‘I shall make arrangements for my men to travel independently and if there is anything to report one of them will bring word to you at once.’

‘Then all I can say is God keep and save you. His Majesty is in your debt, sir.’

‘I ask for no reward,’ Rupert replied and grinned, his blue eyes dancing with humour. ‘In truth the mission is reward in itself, for I was bored and restless.’

‘I heard that you lost the lady you were to wed. I am sorry for it, Rupert.’

‘The marriage was arranged when we were born,’ Rupert replied and a cloud passed across his face. ‘I loved my sweet Jane, but the fever claimed her before we could marry. I am sorry for it—and no doubt it is a part of the reason I felt I needed something more in my life. Had I not received your letter, I would have been on my way to France tomorrow to visit my cousins.’

His true reason lay deeper, but was not one he wished to discuss for it was a festering hurt that lay buried deep inside him; one he had tried many times to dismiss, but which returned to haunt him when he least expected it.

‘Then I was fortunate to find you in England. I shall bid you good day, sir—and good luck.’

Rupert nodded. He was thoughtful as he left Westminster Hall and began to make his way through the streets of London. His ship was provisioned and waiting for him. He would travel to his destination by way of the sea rather than on horseback. His trusted men could take the land route and establish themselves in the area quietly. If dealing with smugglers, it might be useful to have his own ship close at hand just in case.

For a moment he thought of Jane Follet, the young woman he had been betrothed to since they were both little more than children. As fond as he’d been of Jane, it had not been a raging passion. He had wanted to wed her, to give her the care he sensed she needed, because the children they would have might fill the emptiness inside him. Fate had decreed it was not to be and he had accepted it. He had promised he would marry a girl of good family for the sake of the family and in time he would keep his word, but as yet he had not been able to bring himself to offer for any of the young women brought to his attention.

An oath left his lips, for the matter was one that troubled him, though he tried to ignore it. He’d given his word and must keep it, because of that dark happening in his past. Not yet! He was not ready to take a wife. It was too soon after poor Jane’s death.

Rupert had his mistress, a feisty dark-haired wench he visited when the need took him. Since he would be away for some weeks, perhaps longer, he might call on Mollie and make certain she had enough money to tide her over until she could find a new protector—just in case he did not return.

Mollie was the only one who would miss him. The only one who would care—and perhaps she only cared because he kept her in luxury?

Was it possible to find love? To find someone who would make his heart sing and his body throb with needy passion? Mollie satisfied his basic needs, but not this inner loneliness. It was too strong a word and yet since he was a young boy and his elder brother had died there had been this empty place inside him.

He frowned. It was foolish to think of the past or of the aching regret that still lived with him day and night.

Rupert had work to do and he would do it well, even if it meant risking his life. After all, it hardly mattered if he lived or died.

Chapter One

‘There’s a ship in trouble in Deacon’s Cove.’ Morwenna Morgan looked up as her elder brother, Michael, entered the kitchen where she sat with her younger brother, Jacques, and her servant Bess, eating her supper. ‘I’m going down to see if I can help the survivors.’

‘I’m with you …’ Jacques leaped to his feet, closely followed by Morwenna and Bess, and the kitchen became a hive of activity as they gathered ropes, hooks, grappling irons, lanterns and their weapons.

A shipwreck would bring the villagers to the beach and sometimes fights broke out over the spoils. It needed a firm hand to control them and on occasion, Michael had been forced to fire a musket over their heads.

‘Not you, Morwenna,’ Michael said as she reached for her shawl. ‘There’s no need for you to come.’

‘I shan’t be in your way, Michael.’

‘Do as you’re told,’ he snarled. ‘Stay here and make yourself useful. We’ll need hot food and drinks when we get back.’

Morwenna’s hand dropped to her side. She saw Jacques glance at her and smile, giving him a proud look in return. Waiting until the sound of the men’s voices had gone, she picked up her shawl and wrapped it over her head.

‘Where are you going?’ Bess asked. ‘You heard what Michael said. He wants you here for when they return.’

‘I’ll be back in time to help,’ Morwenna said. ‘I can’t just stay here while people out there are in trouble. Michael doesn’t own me even if he thinks he does.’

‘You know his temper, girl. Your brothers will do all that is necessary.’

Morwenna tossed her head and went out, ignoring the dark look from Bess. It was bitterly cold as she made her way down the cliff towards the cove. She could see that the main beach was teeming with people. A ship had been driven on to the rocks and foundered. She could see figures in the water. Men were swimming out towards the wreck. She knew her brothers would be amongst the first, ropes tied to their waists that were held by others on shore. It was true that she was not needed on the main beach, but, as she knew from experience, sometimes men were carried by the tide round a spur of rock to another smaller cove. Turning aside, she scrambled down a path towards the inlet. As she’d known, no one else had thought of the cove and the tiny beach was deserted … apart from a man stumbling up the beach.

From his manner, she could see that he was injured. As she ran towards him, he fell to the ground and slumped forwards to lay face down on the sand. She threw herself down on her knees and rolled him on to his back. The moon was bright and she could see a nasty gash on his head, which was bleeding. His eyes were closed and for a moment she feared that he might be dead, but then he moaned, his eyelids flicked and he looked up at her.

‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Morwenna Morgan and I’ve come to help you,’ she said. ‘Your ship was wrecked, sir, and the current brought you towards this cove.’

‘Mor …’ He groaned again. ‘My head hurts … I can’t … I can’t remember …’

His eyes closed and she knew he had lost consciousness again. She would need to get help if she wanted to take him back to the house. Standing, she was preparing to run to the next beach when she saw a man coming towards her and knew it was Jacques.

‘I knew you would be here,’ he said as he came up to her. ‘This is where you found the others. Is he still alive?’

‘He was conscious for a moment, but I think he has passed out again.’

Jacques bent over him. ‘Help me get him up, Wenna. I’ll carry him over my shoulder. Did he have anything with him?’

‘Yes, there is a bag just at the water’s edge. He must have dropped it,’ she said and ran to retrieve what was possibly all that had survived of the stranger’s possessions. As she rejoined her brother, she nodded at the unconscious man. ‘He’s had a nasty bang on the head, Jacques. He will need nursing or he may die.’

‘He’s lucky you found him then,’ her brother said. ‘Most of the men they’ve pulled out are already drowned. One is badly injured and may not last the night—but there were no women or children that we could see. There was some cargo, a few barrels of rum or brandy. The villagers will have them away before the militia gets here. Give me a hand and I’ll put him over my shoulder.’

Like her brothers, Morwenna came from strong stock and she helped Jacques to hoist the unconscious man over Jacques’s shoulder. Going ahead of them, she held her lantern to show Jacques the way. Because this cove was nearer to the house than the main beach, they would be home in time to have the injured man in bed before the other men returned.

Bess stared at them, shaking her head as they entered.

‘Now what have you done, girl?’ she muttered. ‘There’ll be trouble over this, you mark my words.’

‘We couldn’t leave him to die. We’ll take him up to the spare room.’

She followed behind her brother, ignoring Bess’s grumbling. The bed was already made up and Morwenna pulled back the clean if slightly shabby sheets.

Jacques soon had the stranger stripped of his wet things and his long boots, while Morwenna hurried back down to the kitchen and helped Bess to boil kettles. The stewpot was always kept bubbling away on nights like this, for they simply added meat and vegetables to what was left of supper to make a nourishing soup.

When Michael came home the soup was ready for him and a couple of the men that crewed his ship; they’d helped on the beach and accompanied him home for some warming food as a reward. Morwenna ladled the nourishing soup into thick earthenware bowls. Served with chunks of bread baked earlier that day, it was a filling meal for men who had fought the sea.

‘I found one survivor in the inlet,’ Jacques said as he entered the kitchen, giving his sister a warning look. ‘He’s in the small guestroom upstairs. For the moment he’s unconscious, but I think he will recover—unless the fever takes him.’

Michael glared at him. ‘What manner of man is he? Did you find anything on him of value—anything to tell you whether he’s worth a ransom? Any form of identity?’

‘He was wearing good breeches and boots,’ Jacques said. ‘He had nothing in his breeches pockets and the sea must have taken his coat. Yet by the look of him I would say he was of good family. If Morwenna nurses him, he will likely pay her well for her trouble.’

Michael glared at him, then turned his dark gaze on her. ‘Are you willing, girl?’

‘Yes, of course. My mother would never have left anyone to die of neglect, whoever they might be. I care nothing for whether he will pay or not.’

‘Then you’re a fool. We work hard for what we have, girl, and he should pay if he can. There, I might have known what you would say. Your mother was never one of us,’ he muttered. ‘I’m not a murderer. I’ll allow you to keep your survivor—and don’t think I don’t know you two were in it together. Nurse him, but be careful. Remember he’s a stranger and keep a still tongue in your head. You tell no one anything that is family business. This is important. Listen to me, both of you—make one slip and we may all find ourselves in trouble. It won’t be just me they hang, it will be both your brothers, Morwenna—and if they think you’re involved you could find yourself in chains and whipped at the cart’s tail or in prison.’

‘I should never tell anyone even if I knew what you were doing—and I don’t,’ Morwenna said, a flash of fire in her green eyes. ‘You’re my brother, Michael. I don’t want either of you to hang.’

‘Well, remember that when this man starts to recover and becomes curious.’

‘I’m not a fool,’ she flared back. ‘I may have a different mother, but I’m a Morgan the same as you.’

‘Just remember that and we shan’t fall out.’ Michael finished his soup and nodded to Bess. ‘Very good. Away to your bed now. You, too, Morwenna—unless you need something for your patient, don’t come down again for a while. I’ve something to say to Jacques and my men, and it’s better if you don’t know, then you can’t tell.’

Morwenna was smarting inside. As if she would tell even if she did know! She didn’t answer him, but simply filled a jug with clean water before following Bess from the room. Behind her there was silence. Michael was waiting until she was safely out of earshot before telling his men whatever he did not trust her to hear.

She felt a little resentful and yet she knew that he probably thought he was protecting her. If she could truthfully claim she knew nothing of his darker activities, she might escape should he and the others be caught.

Pray God it would not happen! She did not wish either of her brothers to die a cruel death or the men who sailed Michael’s ship—but Jacques was the only one she truly felt close to, the only one who ever took any thought for her. Michael took her service for granted, forgetting that she should have been waited on instead of waiting on them.

She thrust the thought of Michael’s secrets to a tiny corner of her mind as she went into the room in which her patient was lying. He appeared to be peaceful, his eyes still firmly closed. Touching his forehead, she was relieved that he did not appear to be suffering from a fever as yet, though he could of course develop one in the next day or so.

She poured some water into a bowl and dipped a cloth into it, then she bent over her patient and bathed the wound at the side of his head. It had bled quite a bit, but was not deep enough to have opened his skull. He had been lucky, because she’d seen men pulled out from amongst the cruel rocks with their heads cracked open and their brains spilling out. There was never any hope for them and if they still lived Michael despatched them with his knife. It was quick and less painful than seeing fatally injured men suffer a slow death.

‘You were lucky,’ she said as she bent over him, noticing that he was a fine-looking man. Jacques was right to say he looked like gentry. ‘If we had not found you, you might have lain there all night and died of cold.’

For a moment his eyelids flickered, but they did not open. Morwenna poured some of her water into a horn cup and set it on the chest beside the bed. Then she took the salves she had stored in this room and a strip of linen and bound his head. Once again, his eyelids flickered, but did not open.

‘You are safe here,’ she said, though she was not sure he could hear her. ‘My brother Jacques brought you here and Michael has given me permission to nurse you. I’m not sure if you can hear me—but be careful, sir. My brother does not care for strangers. Do not go wandering about the house at night or you may find yourself in trouble.’

The man gave no sign that he’d heard her.

‘I shall leave you and return later,’ she said. ‘I do not know who you are but be careful.’ Leaving him to rest, Morwenna went out and closed the door behind her.

She hoped that Jacques had not helped her carry a spy into her home. It would not be the first time the militia had sent someone to try to discover the truth about her brother’s activities. If Michael discovered that this man was one of them, he would not hesitate to kill him—and that would be a shame, as well as dangerous for them all.

Her brother claimed he was not a murderer, but if he acted in defence of his family he would not consider it murder. He had learned to be ruthless since their father died and he’d been forced to seek his living from the sea. Yet at times she could still see in him the brother that had carried her on his shoulder when she was too tired to climb the cliff to their home.

Even so, she would not like anything bad to happen to the stranger.

Morwenna smiled to herself. She was used to the company of strong handsome men, but she liked the look of the stranger and she would not have harm come to him if she could prevent it.

Chapter Two

Morwenna woke as a hand shook her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see that Bess was bending over her and struggled to sit up.

‘What is the matter?’ she asked groggily. ‘Have the Revenue men come?’

‘Nay, lass. ‘Tis the stranger you brought from the beach. He’s burning up and calling out loud enough to waken the dead. ‘Tis as well your brothers have not yet returned.’

‘Why?’ Morwenna leapt out of bed and pulled on a wrapping gown that lay over the chair. ‘Michael sleeps like one of the dead and Jacques is the same.’

‘Aye, well, best they don’t hear what I think I heard him call out.’

Morwenna looked at her curiously. ‘He must have been having a nightmare. What did he call out?’

‘Your name and then …’ Bess glanced cautiously over her shoulder ‘… I’m not sure what he said then for ’twas slurred, but I think he said “Nest of traitors,” but I can’t be certain.’

‘If Michael heard that then he would think the worst. Yet on the beach he asked my name and I told him. It might just be that it was all that came to his mind. Mayhap you imagined the rest, Bess.’

‘I might have done for ’twas not clear.’

Morwenna went ahead of her servant into the bedchamber where her patient lay. Bess had left a lantern burning and she saw immediately that the man was ill. He had thrown off his covers and she could see his body was covered in a fine layer of sweat. Going to him at once, she touched his forehead.

‘He is in a bad fever, Bess.’ There was no doubting that he was ill now. ‘I must bathe him with cool water. Brew the tisane you use when any of us is ill, please. We’ll do our best for him, whoever he is.’