If he was arranging for contraband to come ashore, it would be best the stranger did not see it.

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

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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.’

‘You’ll have to keep him quiet once Michael returns or all your good work will be for nothing.’

Morwenna didn’t answer, but a cold shiver ran down her spine as Bess left the chamber. If Michael suspected the man had come here to spy on them he would show no mercy. Gazing down on him as she began to bathe his body with cool water, Morwenna felt something protective stir inside her. She did not know who this man was and he could mean nothing to her, but he was a human soul and entitled to her care whilst ill.

‘Morwenna Morgan … no …’ he muttered suddenly, flinging his arm out in an arc. ‘Jane … please don’t leave me …’

‘Rest easy, sir. You are safe now,’ Morwenna said, stroking his damp hair back from his forehead.

‘Nowhere … no place to hide …’ the man muttered. ‘Alone … she’s gone, nothing left … Morwenna … Morwenna …’ He cried out in anguish, ‘I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to kill him … it wasn’t my fault … please …’ He was tossing in agony, clearly suffering from the dreams or memories that plagued him. ‘Forgive me … forgive me …’

Morwenna’s heart wrenched. ‘You are forgiven. Hush now.’

‘No, no, she will never forgive me.’

Wringing her cloth out, Morwenna bathed his forehead again. She thought he felt a little cooler but it was clear he was still wandering in his mind. Was her name on his lips because she’d told him who she was on the beach? What was it that haunted him so much?

‘It’s all right,’ she whispered softly close to his ear. ‘You’re safe here with me. Hush now and you will soon feel better.’

His eyes flew open suddenly and for a moment he stared up at her. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said and leaned forwards, as though he would sit up or touch her. Then his eyes closed and he fell back against the pillows. ‘Morwenna … lovely name …’

‘Here, my lovely, give him a sip of this.’

Morwenna turned as Bess entered bearing a tankard of hot liquid. It smelled strongly of cinnamon and she knew it contained brandy and the herbs that were effective for fever.

‘Help me lift him,’ Morwenna said. She took the cup, one arm beneath the man as she and Bess lifted him into a sitting position. ‘Open your mouth, sir. This tisane will help you recover.’

She pressed the edge of the tankard to his mouth, unsure that he would respond or could even hear her. Surprisingly, his lips parted and she was able to tip a little of the mixture into his mouth. He coughed and choked, but when she tried again he allowed her to pour some of the mixture into his mouth and this time he swallowed it easily. When she tried again his hand gripped her wrist, pushing her away.

‘Enough,’ he muttered. ‘No, Mother, enough.’

‘He must be sick if he thinks you’re his mother,’ Bess said with a sniff. ‘He looks cooler now. He’ll probably settle. Go back to your bed, lass.’

‘No. If I’d thought he was truly ill I wouldn’t have left him last evening. I’ll sit with him for a while, Bess. You go to bed. If he is ill for a few days, we’ll have to share the nursing and you need your rest too.’

‘So do you, miss, but have it your way. Just watch yourself if he starts to fight—and don’t let him shout out. Your brothers came in a few minutes ago and they’ve gone to their beds.’

‘‘Tis nearly morning. Where have they been all this time—and on a night like this?’

‘The storm blew itself out a while back,’ Bess said. ‘The darker the night the better for the “gentlemen”.’

‘I dare say it was some such business,’ Morwenna said and yawned behind her hand. ‘Go to bed, Bess. In a couple of hours it will be time to get up again.’

Morwenna sat in a solid oak-carved chair with a high back. She had made cushions for its seat and the centre splat had horsehair padding covered by tapestry and studded each side to make it comfortable. The first time Morwenna had brought a survivor to this room she’d installed the chair so that she would at least have some comfort as she watched over her patients. Mrs Harding had been very ill, but Morwenna had nursed her back to health and she’d been overwhelmed by gratitude when she was able to return to London and her husband.

‘We are cloth merchants, Morwenna,’ Mrs Harding had told her as she took an emotional farewell. ‘My husband will always be pleased to have you stay with us. If ever you should be in trouble, think of me, my dear, for I would do anything to help you.’

‘Thank you.’ Morwenna had smiled and kissed her cheek. ‘If ever I am in London, I shall seek you out, at least for a visit.’

Morwenna sighed at the memory. It was unlikely she would ever go to London. Her hopes of making a good marriage had gone when her mother died. Since her father’s death she had been little more than a servant in her half-brother’s house. Michael had resented the woman who had taken his dead mother’s place and she suspected that he might resent her, too.

She would not brood on her life no matter how hard or hopeless it might seem at times. While she had Jacques to make her smile she would find the courage to face each day, though there was little else to make her smile in this bleak house at the top of the cliffs.

Sitting down again, she studied the man in the bed. His hair had dried now and she saw it was dark blond. On the beach he’d looked colourless, but now there was a flush in his cheeks. When he’d opened his eyes for a moment she’d seen they were a greenish blue; his nose and forehead had a patrician look, which gave him a slightly forbidding expression, but his mouth was soft and sensual. She felt tempted to kiss him as he lay sleeping, her cheeks growing warm as she realised her own thoughts.

Was she so starved of love that she would consider lying with a stranger? He had beautiful strong limbs and there was not a part of him that she had not seen as she bathed him with the cooling water. A little smile touched her mouth. She’d nursed her brothers before this, so why was she behaving as if she’d never seen a man naked before?

Time passed and she closed her eyes for a while, woke and realised she’d slept, and then she looked at the bed. Her patient was still there, apparently sleeping peacefully. She’d thought he might have disappeared for surely she’d conjured him out of her dreams. Men like this one did not come into her life often. He was every bit as handsome and powerful a man as her brothers, but there was something about him that made her pulses race. Something about his mouth that made her want to kiss it.

Giving herself a mental scolding, Morwenna laughed softly. She was a fool even to consider such a thing—especially if this man had come here to spy on them.

‘Why are you laughing?’

Her eyes were drawn to the bed and she saw that he was looking at her. Getting up from her chair, she moved closer to the bed. He seemed to be awake, but was he still feverish? Sometimes patients appeared to be normal, but when you touched them they became violent and tried to fight you. Her brothers had often tried to get out of bed while still too ill to stand and she’d had to fight to keep them there.

‘I was thinking foolish thoughts,’ she said. ‘You were ill and I bathed you to take down the fever. Are you feeling better?’

‘I don’t know.’ He stared at her in bewilderment. ‘My head hurts like the devil. I was dreaming … I thought my mother …’

‘We carried you here from the beach. Your ship foundered on the rocks, sir. You have a nasty cut on your head.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Morwenna Morgan. I told you my name when I found you last night. For a moment you were conscious, as you are now, and then you fainted.’

‘Did I? I don’t recall.’ He frowned, his eyes moving about the room as if seeking something familiar. ‘I don’t remember anything. Where is this place?’

‘This is Deacon’s House. It belongs to my elder brother, Michael. We live on the Cornish coast. Ships are too often driven in on the cruel rocks in our cove. We do what we can to help the survivors and the villagers bury the dead.’

‘And then take what you can scavenge from the wreck—is that not the custom in these parts?’ He wrinkled his brow. ‘I do not know why I should remember that but nothing else.’

‘You cannot recall even your name?’

‘No.’ He drew a hand over his forehead, as if it pained him. ‘Is that usual after being washed up from the sea?’

‘Perhaps, though I have not known it to happen before,’ Morwenna said. ‘It may be the bang to your head. Have you truly no memory, sir—or any idea why you came here?’

‘I can’t remember anything.’

‘You must surely remember your own name? You called out things in your fever, personal things concerning your mother and other things that I couldn’t quite make out.’

‘Did I? If they haunted me, then they have left me now. Was there no clue to my identity?’

‘None. My brother found nothing in your clothing. Your coat was gone, abandoned or cast off perhaps as you tried to swim for the shore. You can recall nothing of the storm or how you came to our cove?’

‘No. My mind is a blank, there is nothing but the sea raging about me and then I opened my eyes and saw a beautiful face. She said her name was Morwenna Morgan … was that you?’

‘Yes, sir. It was. I found you in the inlet, which is away from the main beach. My brother Jacques helped me bring you here.’ Morwenna placed a hand on his forehead. He was still warm but cooler than before.

He threw back the covers, as if he would get up, then glanced down at himself, realising that he was naked. ‘My clothes?’

‘What’s left of them—your breeches and boots—are drying in the kitchen. Your shirt and coat were, I fear, lost to the sea—and there was nothing to identify you, no papers or even a ring on your hand. Your baggage must have been lost with the ship, but there was one small bag I found near where you lay. It is lying here on the window seat.’

‘Please bring it here,’ he said and made an effort to sit up but fell back with a moan. ‘My blasted head. Please open the bag for me and see what is inside. It may tell us something of who I am.’

Morwenna fetched the bag and brought it to the bed. Opening it, she found brushes, crayons, bottles of powder in different colours and some soggy boards that she knew might be used by an artist. There was also a small leather purse that felt quite heavy. She tipped the contents on to the bed and twenty gold coins tumbled out.

‘It would seem that you have some money and perhaps you are an artist, for these things must belong to an artist.’

‘Yes, so it would seem.’ He frowned. ‘Is there nothing else that bears my name?’

‘I don’t believe so.’ Morwenna felt something in a side pocket and inserted her fingers, drawing out a small metal token. It had writing on one side. She read the lettering and frowned. ‘I think you must be a gambler, sir, for this is a token from what would appear to be a gaming house in London.’

‘Let me see, please.’ He took the little token and studied it. It bore the words Harlands of London and was a token for five guineas. ‘It would seem that I have recently been in London, would it not?’

‘Yes, I think you must have been,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you won the money there at this place? There are no clues to your identity, but if you returned to London and asked someone might know you at this place.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ he said and closed his fingers over it with a kind of desperation. ‘I must hope that someone will tell me who I am.’

‘Do not despair just yet, sir,’ she said and smiled at him. Now that she suspected he might be an artist she was no longer afraid that he had been sent to spy on her brothers. ‘You had a nasty bang on your head and the loss of your memory may be temporary. In time it will return to you.’

‘Perhaps. You are good to be concerned for a stranger.’

‘I have helped others in similar circumstances, sir. I am glad to have been of service to you.’

‘Yet I should go,’ he said. ‘I must not be a burden on you. Pray turn your back, Mistress Morgan. Preferably leave the room. I need to relieve myself.’

‘Lie still and I shall bring you the chamberpot, sir.’

‘Turn away for your modesty.’ He put his legs over the side of the bed, touched the floor with his feet, then moaned and fell back. ‘Damn it, I’m as weak as a kitten.’

‘You have been shipwrecked, sir, and your head bled from the blow you received. You will feel dizzy at first. Lie back and I’ll give you the pot.’

Morwenna reached beneath the bed and brought out the chamberpot. She handed it to him and retreated to the other side of the room to gaze out of the window. The sun was coming up over the sea, turning it pink and orange; this morning it would be as if the storm had never been except for the wreckage on the beach and the man in her bed.

‘Have it your own way.’

The sounds of him using the pot kept Morwenna looking out to sea until he had done. She turned as she heard him place it on the chest beside the bed with a grunt, then returned to take it by the handle.

‘I am used to nursing my brothers, sir. Please do not be embarrassed. Someone will need to care for you while you are forced to stay in bed.’

His gaze narrowed. ‘Have you no servants to do the menial tasks?’

‘How do you know I am not a servant here?’ she challenged.

‘You spoke of living here with your brothers—besides, you are too proud a wench to be in service, methinks.’

Morwenna laughed. ‘At least then I should be paid for my work. My mother was a lady and my father called himself gentry, though he had rough country ways. However, they are both dead and we have little money. I do have one servant. Bess was our nurse and she helps me now that we have no other servants.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To empty this, sir. If you wish for it, I could bring you something to eat. There is a tisane by your bed. It must be cold now, but it will still taste good. I shall return soon with food and more drink.’

‘It is not fitting that you should wait on me or do these things for me. Send your servant instead, Mistress Morgan.’

‘Bess is asleep and I shall not wake her.’

‘I am grateful for all you have done, Mistress Morgan, but I feel it wrong that a young woman of your breeding should do such things for me.’

‘You are no different to me than my brothers,’ Morwenna lied. ‘As soon as you feel able to leave your bed you would do best to leave us, sir—but until then I shall help you as best I can.’

She went out before he could answer her, pride and temper carrying her down the stairs. Who did he imagine he was to tell her what was right and proper? She was accustomed to doing much as she pleased, for even Michael did not interfere unless it suited his purpose.

It was awkward that the stranger had lost his memory. Michael would want to know who he was and why he was here—he suspected any stranger that came to their village. Morwenna would not have him mistreating the stranger. She must find a way to keep him safe until he was well enough to leave them.

It might be best to tell her brothers that he was an artist—and if necessary she could invent a name for him. Better that than leave Michael suspecting the worst about the stranger in their midst.

The stranger smiled as the door closed with a little snap. The fire in Morwenna’s eyes as he’d told her it was not fitting that a woman of her breeding should care for him had amused him. She was proud and beautiful and it seemed that she had compassion, for she’d taken him in without knowing who he was or where he came from. His smile faded as he tried to remember who he was and why he was here in Cornwall.

The token in his bag suggested he’d once been in London. Why had he left town to come to a part of the country that most thought of as God-forsaken?

Someone had said that recently. At least, the phrase had come easily to his mind. He seemed to recall that he found the Cornish coast rugged but beautiful—that he had either painted it before or was looking forward to painting it in the future.

Perhaps that was his reason for being here. If this bag belonged to him, he must be an artist. Was he a successful one? Did he have money—more than the few gold coins lying on the bed by his side?

Something was not quite right. He felt that there was more to his life than that of an itinerant artist, moving from place to place to earn a living as best he could.

Was he a gambler down on his luck? Did he have a family and where did he belong?

Something told him that he was not married. He had a feeling that he was a lonely person and that there was an empty place inside him.

Now why did he feel that? For a moment a feeling of panic swept over him. Why could he not recall even his name? Supposing he never did?

Fighting his panic, he focused on the girl who had just left the room. She was right to suggest that he must seek his identity in London. Whatever his reason for being here, he must return to town and try to discover his name and family.

Once again a smile touched his mouth as he thought of Morwenna. She and her brother had carried him to their house and the girl had nursed him through the night. He dimly recalled feeling very ill and crying out as he tossed and turned, but whatever had haunted him then had gone, lost in the mists of amnesia. When he’d woken he’d seen the girl sitting in her chair near the bed. She was laughing to herself … at her own thoughts. The look on her face had intrigued him. What was she thinking? She might almost have been dreaming of her lover.

Something in him had rebelled at the thought of her with a lover. Perhaps he’d spoken out of turn, telling her that it was not fitting for her to do what she’d done. Had she left him on the beach he might have been killed, though the villagers would find little profit in robbing him for he wore no jewellery—at least he wore none now. Could the girl or her brother have taken it?

No, that was an unworthy thought! Had she been a thief she would have taken the money from his bag. If he wore no jewellery, he could not be anyone in particular—a gentleman often wore a signet ring with a crest, but he did not.

Yet instinctively he knew he was of gentle birth. Perhaps he came from an impoverished family and had chosen to make his living from his talent, if he had talent? He was still not certain that the bag belonged to him. Other men would have been on the ship that went down.

One of the first things he must do when he felt able to get up was to find something to draw on and then he might discover if he could be a painter. Until then he could only surmise that he was an artist.

He would have liked to get up, but for the moment he felt too ill. He must just lie here until his strength returned. Since he had nothing more to occupy his mind, he would think of Morwenna and that look in her eyes …

‘Will you take this tray up to him?’ Morwenna asked when Bess entered the kitchen. She had prepared a plate of hot crispy bacon with eggs and bread fried in the fat, also a mug of grog made from ale spiced with cinnamon and a dash of brandy. ‘He was awake and he may be hungry or thirsty.’

‘This is food for a hearty appetite,’ Bess observed. ‘If he is sick he needs porridge or gruel to ease his hunger.’

‘I think he would throw it at you. He cannot yet leave his bed for he is dizzy, but there is little wrong with him—though he claims he does not know his own name or from whence he came.’

‘You think he lies?’

‘I don’t know. Michael mustn’t suspect it or you know what will happen—but he ought to leave this house as soon as he is able to walk.’

‘Aye, I know it. Give me the tray. I’ll ask if he wishes for anything more.’

‘I emptied the pot and will bring it up with a can of water. It’s my day for cleaning the bedchambers, though my brothers will sleep clear through the morning if I know them.’

‘Least said the better, lass. They were out helping to rescue men from the sea last night. No need to say more.’

Morwenna nodded as Bess picked up the tray and went out. She cut a slice of cold ham, placed it between a thick slice of bread and munched it as she waited for the water to boil. A part of her was eager to see the stranger again, though her common sense told her she would be best to let Bess care for him. By his manner and his look he was gentry, though perhaps like her he had little money. Why would he make his living as an artist if he were wealthy?

She shook her head. It was unlikely—though, sometimes, rich aristocrats spent time sketching simply to amuse themselves, of course. Twenty gold coins were not a fortune, but it was more than Morwenna had ever owned in her life.

A little smile touched her lips as she thought how handsome he was, but she shook her head almost at once. She was a fool to daydream over a stranger. She could not deny the instant attraction she’d felt, but he was unlikely to have felt the same.

It was because she seldom saw anyone other than her brothers, of course. Morwenna had no life of her own, nor any amusement or pleasures outside of what she made for herself.

Bess was always telling her to go to her mother’s sister in London, but she knew her aunt to be an unkind, bitter woman. She’d buried two husbands and she had money to spare, but she was unlikely to spend it on the daughter of a man she despised.

‘My sister, Agnes, never forgave me for marrying your father,’ Morwenna’s mother had told her when she was ill. ‘She warned me that he would break my heart or drive me to an early grave. It is not your father’s fault that I am sick, dear heart. I was always sickly, which was why my sister warned me against marriage to a man like William Morgan. I needed a gentle, kind man, but I loved him and I followed my heart. I do not regret it, though the bitter winds here have been my undoing.’

Morwenna had mourned her mother more than her father, though she knew that he, too, had grieved deeply, and despite his denials it was love of his dead wife that had caused him to neglect his own health and die of an infected boil on his neck. Morwenna would have cleansed it and bound it for him, but he would not let her touch him. At the end the physician told her that the poison had seeped into his blood and led to the fever that ended his life—but perhaps he had not wanted to live. He had quarrelled fiercely and often with his eldest son and ruined the family with his gambling and bad investments, though no man could govern the weather and a risky cargo lost at sea was the undoing of more than one merchant adventurer.

Her father had been given to risky ventures, but he had always been loyal to Queen Bess in her time and the King, even if he disliked his politics. It had been on a visit to court after his first wife died that he’d met and married Morwenna’s mother, bringing her back to this house at the edge of the cliff. Jenna Morgan had always dreamed of taking her lovely daughter to court, but the girl’s father had forbidden it.

‘No good giving the girl ideas above her station. She’ll marry a local man and do what I think best for her,’ he’d declared, but he’d never bothered to find her a husband and Michael was too wrapped up in his work to think of such a thing.

Carrying the empty pot in one hand and a pewter can of warm water in the other, Morwenna started up the stairs. Pausing outside the door of the guest chamber, she heard a curse and then a muffled laugh.

‘Damn you, old mother,’ the stranger muttered. ‘Have it your own way, crone. I’ll suffer you to help me since I cannot do it myself.’

Opening the door, she went in and saw that her patient had managed to struggle into the hose and breeches he’d been wearing when she found him. Bess had provided him with one of her father’s best shirts and a doublet of well-worn leather. He was now lying on the bed, propped up against the pillows. She noticed that he had eaten the food and had the tankard of warmed ale and cinnamon in his right hand. His gaze fell on her as she entered and he frowned.

‘I brought you some water to wash, but it seems you forestalled me.’

‘I used the cold water in the jug, with Bess’s help,’ he said and made a wry face. ‘Did I not tell you it is not fitting for you to wait on me, Mistress Morgan?’

‘You’ll tell her until you be blue in the face.’ Bess chuckled. ‘Mistress Morwenna be a law unto herself, sir. She never minds me nor yet Master Michael, though sometimes we all have to take care for he has a rare temper.’

‘Bess, do you not have something to do downstairs?’ Morwenna asked. ‘Take the tray down. I’ve work to do up here but we’ll start the baking when I come down.’

She turned to the door when the stranger spoke. ‘I’ve decided you should call me Adam, mistress. ‘Tis not my name, but it will do as well as any until I know my own name.’

She stopped, turned to look at him. ‘Adam was tempted by Eve and thrown out of the Garden of Eden for his sins. This house is not Eden, sir—but you should think of leaving as soon as you can walk. My brother does not care for strangers in the house.’

‘What does he have to hide?’

Morwenna’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘You should not ask. Believe me—you would not like to see my brother in a temper.’

‘Does he treat you ill?’

‘He shouts at me and orders me to do his bidding, but I keep a still tongue and then do as I please. I am his sister and Jacques would stop him if he lifted a hand to me. Besides, I am useful. Michael knows that I would leave this house if he once struck me.’

‘Where would you go?’

‘I do not know. Perhaps to my aunt’s in London.’

‘If she would take you in, you should go. A house like this is not fitting for a woman like you.’

‘Indeed? What do you know of this house or my family?’

‘Only what you have told me. Forgive me, mistress. I dare say you think me arrogant, but I am grateful for your help. Let me give you some of this money to start a new life somewhere else.’

‘You presume too much, sir. I need no help from you nor anyone else. If I needed to, I could find my own way in the world. I am strong and I can work.’

‘You might find it harder on your own than you think,’ he replied. ‘The world is a wicked place, Mistress Morwenna. You need someone to protect you when you leave—your aunt or—’

A look from Morwenna silenced him. Once again he looked rueful.

‘I have said too much. Away to your work, mistress. I thank you for the food and your kindness. As soon as I am able I shall leave this house, but I shall not forget you.’

‘I pray that you recover your memory soon, sir. I need no thanks or recompense for the little I did—but ‘tis for your own sake that I tell you to leave as soon as you are able. Michael does not care overmuch for strangers in his house.’

He inclined his head, but said no more. Morwenna left him and went slowly along the narrow passage to her own room. She would clean her chamber and Bess’s, leaving her brothers’ bedchambers until later when they were out about their own business.

She had warned the stranger to leave for his own good, but knew she would regret it when he had gone. Yet she could expect nothing from this chance encounter. Her life would be the same when he had gone. If she wanted more, then she must either go to her aunt or look for a husband nearer to home.

There was only one man who would ask her to marry him, but she disliked the man who was in charge of the local militia. Captain Bird was waiting for his chance to ask for her hand, but she would rather be single all her life.

Captain Bird was a Revenue Officer, but he had struck up an odd relationship with Michael. Although he told her nothing, Morwenna knew that her brother was involved in smuggling goods from France. The local gentry paid him well for brandy and silks that had never paid a penny in tax. That alone would see Michael hang if he were ever taken, but somehow he always seemed to know when the soldiers were coming and he was never in the house. It was Morwenna who had to fend off their questions—and yet Captain Bird never made more than a perfunctory search of the house before leaving them in peace.

Why should he be so accommodating? Did he and Michael have some understanding?

It would not be unusual for money to change hands in such business. If Captain Bird took bribes, he was little better than the smugglers he was supposed to arrest when he found them.

Morwenna was frowning as she began to rub beeswax perfumed with lavender oils into the solid oak furniture. She had drifted from one day to the next, vaguely unsatisfied with her life, but unsure of what to do to change it. Now she was aware of feeling restless. Unless she went to live with her aunt she really had little choice, for she knew that it wasn’t enough to be willing to work hard. She wasn’t as innocent as the stranger imagined and knew what might await her if she went to London or one of the big cities to ask for work. She would find herself being forced into a profession that would shame her.

Chapter Three

‘He says he feels much better,’ Bess said when she entered the kitchen later that day carrying a tray. The food had been cleared from the pewter platter and the tankard was empty. ‘He asks your indulgence for one more night and says he will go in the morning.’

Morwenna hunched her shoulder, feigning indifference. ‘He must stay until he is better. I would not grudge him a bed or food.’

‘I’ve told him so, my lovely. Jacques went in to see him before he left to go fishing. Michael asked me about him and I said he was still tied to his bed. He went off on some business of his own before you finished cleaning upstairs.’

‘We must hope the stranger is well enough to leave soon—before Michael decides to throw him out.’

‘Your brother said he might be away for some days.’

‘Michael has gone away—to France?’

Morwenna knew that from time to time her brother had some business in France. Whatever he did there was secret. He did not even tell Jacques what he did when he was away for days at a time. She supposed he must be dealing with merchants or some such thing, but when she’d asked once he’d flown into a temper and told her to mind her tongue.

‘He did not tell me. He said only that I should tell you not to expect him home until you see him.’

‘Then he has gone somewhere on his own business. It is useless to ask for he tells us nothing.’ Morwenna felt the relief sweep over her. ‘If Michael has gone, we need not be too anxious, Bess. Jacques will not mind the stranger resting here for a while. He has his own work with the fishing fleet and only answers Michael’s call when he must.’

‘Jacques speaks of leaving Cornwall and finding a new life elsewhere. I think he does not like what his brother does.’

‘He should go sooner rather than later. I sometimes fear that Michael will bring trouble on us all and I would not have Jacques hang as a smuggler.’

‘And where would that leave you? You wouldn’t live here with Michael without him.’

‘No, I should go away.’

‘You would be best with your aunt. I’ve told you so a hundred …’

Morwenna put a warning finger to her lips and then went to the door, wrenching it open swiftly. As she had suspected, the stranger was standing there.

‘How long have you been there? Were you listening, hoping to learn something?’

‘Why should I spy on you, mistress?’

Morwenna felt her cheeks heating. ‘Forgive me, sir. I should not have accused you.’

‘I heard nothing. I came to speak with your brother Michael—is he here?’

‘No, he has gone away. Jacques is out fishing with other men from the village. What did you wish to speak with Michael about, sir?’

‘I thought I might hire a horse somewhere.’ He frowned. ‘Will Michael be long?’

‘He has gone away on personal business for a few days. I do not know why. He does not discuss his affairs with us, sir.’

‘Will you not call me Adam, as I suggested?’

‘It is not your name, so why should we?’

‘So you prefer sir?’ He smiled oddly. ‘Have it your way, mistress. Since your brothers are not here perhaps you would show me the way down to the inlet where you found me—if you have the time?’

‘Why did you wish to go there? You have no need to leave for a day or so. With Michael away no one else will bother you.’

‘I think I shall go straight to London when I leave here. However, would you allow me to stay here a little longer? I’d like to try my hand at some painting, perhaps it will help me to recover my memory. I can repay you from the money you found in my bag and still have sufficient for my journey.’

‘Have I asked for money?’

‘No, you have not. I would like to explore the inlet. If I can find anything that belongs to me there I might recall my name at least, and then I might find a way to be of assistance to you.’

‘I told you earlier, I need no help from anyone. However, I’ll take you down there myself. The way is steep, but it’s easy enough once you know how. I doubt you’ll find anything. If the sea brings anything of value ashore the villagers take it. The living is hard here, sir. You cannot blame them, for they live by the bounty of the sea. There is little work other than on the land or in the mines, but they often close if the copper runs out.’

‘Do they not have silver or gold in their mines?’

‘Very seldom and only in small amounts. No, the living comes mostly from the sea for local people. They may have some sheep on the common or a cow, but little else. What comes to them from a shipwreck is seen as a gift of God.’

‘Perhaps it is—but not if they lure ships in to their doom.’

‘Do you think that is what happened to your ship? I should be sorry to think it. My father was always against it and so are my brothers. My father was seen as the law in these parts and he would have punished anyone who was caught wrecking.’

‘I am glad to hear it, Mistress Morwenna.’

Morwenna looked at him proudly, then reached for her shawl and pulled it around her shoulders. The storm might have blown itself out, but it could be cold on this part of the coast, especially now it was autumn.

‘Follow me, but tread carefully,’ she instructed as she went out. ‘In the dark the path is difficult to find unless you know it, but it is easy enough to follow in daylight.’

The stranger followed behind her, though she did not turn her head to look at him. ‘What made you think of looking in the inlet when everyone else was on the main beach?’

‘I found some survivors there after a different ship was wrecked last year and took them to the house. It was a woman and child. We cared for them until they were well enough to leave us—but she knew who she was.’

‘How fortunate for her.’

Morwenna concentrated on the descent, resisting the urge to glance back at him. He made her angry and yet he intrigued her. Something in his manner told her that he must be more than the itinerant artist she had thought him for at times he was arrogant, as if used to being obeyed.

Who was he really and why was he here? Had he truly lost his memory?

The inlet was tiny and belonged to Michael, though it was no use for anything and normally the sole province of sea birds and small crabs that lived in the shallow pools and were not nice to eat. Sometimes the villagers took mussels or limpets from the rocks. Michael allowed them to take what little harvest there was, because he and Jacques set their lobster pots out further in the bay. They normally caught enough fish to sell in the village or further inland, besides what they brought to the house for use at table.

Apart from a few pieces of driftwood the beach looked clear. Obviously, someone had been here before them and it was unlikely that her guest would find his possessions even if anything else had been there to find. He walked down to the water’s edge and stood looking at some rocks, then, seeing something in the water, bent down and picked out a piece of drift wood.

‘Have you found anything interesting?’

‘It looks as if it came from a rowing boat,’ he said and showed her what was in his hand. ‘The tide must have dashed it against the rocks.’

‘A rowing boat?’ She saw some lettering on the wood, though not enough remained for her to be able to read the name. ‘It must have broken free of the ship when it foundered. I doubt anyone would have been foolish enough to try to come inshore in a small boat last night. It was obvious what would happen; he wouldn’t have stood a chance.’

‘No, I’m sure you’re right,’ he replied and smiled. ‘There is nothing to see here. Thank you for showing me the way. I can find my own way back if you have something else to do?’

‘I’ve done most of my work for the day.’ Morwenna shaded her eyes and looked out to sea. ‘There’s a ship out there. It’s safe enough on a day like this. I wonder what it is waiting for?’

‘What makes you think it is waiting for anything?’

‘Well, it appears to have anchored. I don’t think it’s moving, do you?’

He looked towards the horizon. ‘I expect they just want to admire the view for a while.’

‘It can’t be fishermen. I cannot imagine that a merchant vessel would anchor off shore just to admire the view.’

‘Perhaps it is a spy waiting for dusk,’ he said, a teasing note in his voice.

‘Or waiting to take a spy off again once he’s done his business.’ Morwenna threw an accusing look at him. ‘Just why did you come here?’

‘The sea brought me,’ he replied. ‘What would a spy want with you or your family, Mistress Morgan—unless you have something to hide?’

She turned from him. ‘I have nothing to hide and my brothers, well, they can speak for themselves. If you question them you may wish you hadn’t, sir. If you’re at all worried, I advise you to leave now before you wish you had not become involved.’

‘If only I could.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I do not know where to go,’ he said. ‘What else should I mean? Since it is obvious I shall learn nothing here I may as well return to the house.’

‘No, stay and search for whatever you hope to find. Sometimes things get caught there.’ She pointed to the jutting rock. ‘There is a little pool round the bend and the tide takes things there. It’s slippery, so take care, but the villagers do not bother to look there because the tide can be treacherous. You might find what you seek.’

‘Thank you for the advice. The name of the ship might help me—should I find the rest of this.’ He indicated the piece of driftwood, which must have come from a rowing boat.

He walked away across the beach in the direction she had indicated. Morwenna watched for a moment, then began the steep ascent back to her home.

Had he truly lost his memory? Could she believe him? Or was he here for the reason she dreaded? Michael might have a terrible temper, but he was her brother and she did not wish him to come to harm. She ought to send the stranger away before he could discover something that might lead to her family’s destruction.

If only the look in the stranger’s eyes did not make her feel as if she wanted to melt into his arms.

Adam walked the length of the beach, searching for anything that might have been washed ashore at the same time as the sea drove him this way. There was nothing to see. The villagers must have taken even the driftwood to keep their fires going through the winter. He could understand their need, yet felt a sweeping despair that he would find no clues here to help him rediscover his life.

It seemed that he must return to London as soon as he was able to travel and hope to trace his last movements at the gaming hall. He could not even be sure that he had meant to come here—his ship might have been driven off course by the storm.

Had he been travelling on his own ship? He was not sure why the thought should occur to him, but the sight of that ship out in the bay had made him wonder if at some time he’d been the owner of a vessel similar to the one they’d seen.

It was no use. Try as he might, he could not lift the curtain of mist in his mind.

He should return to the house, discover the nearest hostelry and hire a horse. There was no help for him here and yet he had a feeling that he had indeed come here for a reason. Besides, he was oddly reluctant to leave this place too soon.

Why? Surely he could not be thinking of remaining here longer because of Morwenna?

True, she was beautiful. Even her name sounded like music on his lips. He felt something each time he saw her, but could not place what emotion was uppermost in his mind. She infuriated him with her accusations. Clearly, her brothers were involved in some kind of nefarious business. Smuggling was rife on this coast and it was likely Michael Morgan was off on some such business—if nothing more serious.

Now where had that thought come from? What else might Michael Morgan be doing?

He shook his head. It was as if he were reaching for something—an important fact that lay just behind that damned curtain.

No, he should not speculate. It was not his business and yet something was nagging at him, telling him he should use the time while Michael was away to discover all he could.

Discover what? It was no good, his mind was confused—blank at times and at others teeming with pictures that did not make sense. Faces flitted through his mind. An older woman and another, pretty, but not his wife or his lover. Who were they?

Morwenna had said he’d cried out thinking her his mother when in his fever. Was his mother still living? Did he also have a sister?

Somehow that seemed right. He felt instinctively without knowing that he had a family, but no wife. Were his family worried about him?

He shook his head and pushed the thought away. It was not his family that taunted him, trying to burst through the fog in his mind. For the moment something else was more important, but he did not know what it was.

He turned back towards the path that led up the cliff. He would be wiser to leave and return to London, but something was holding him here. There was something about the wild-eyed Cornish woman, something that turned his guts soft and made him burn with a need he recognised. His memory might be missing, but his instincts were intact. He wanted to lie with her. He wanted to know her body, to touch that soft white flesh and kiss those full lips. Whether she knew it or not she had a pure, clear sensuality that called to a man of his nature, arousing the hunting instinct. He wanted her and knew he would stay until she sent him away. Perhaps he might persuade her to go with him. She obviously did not have much of a life here.

She was a fool to let the stranger get beneath the guard she normally kept on her senses. Morwenna frowned as she chopped roots and onions to add to the stewpot. It had been simmering for two days now, fresh meat and vegetables added each day so that the gravy was very thick and the flavour intense. Morwenna had cooked oatcakes, fresh bread that was flat and hard on the outside, soft within. She had butter, pickles, cheese and cold ham as well as a dish of neeps and a large piggy pie that Bess had made to an old Cornish recipe.

It was a hearty meal, the kind her brothers relished, but the stranger was to join them at table that night and she wondered if he would think it plain fare. Neither of her brothers had a sweet tooth and though she liked curds and custards herself, she scarcely ever bothered to make them. Michael called them pap and turned his nose up at such trifles. Yet if the stranger were an aristocrat, as she suspected, he would be used to finer dishes.

After his return from the beach she’d asked if he would join them in the kitchen for supper. He’d hesitated for a moment, then inclined his head. Something told her that he was not used to eating in a kitchen with the servants, but she had no time to set out the huge table in the large hall. It was seldom used these days and her brother Jacques would have thought she’d gone mad had she done so. Her father and mother had held dinners and feasts there for special occasions, but Michael did not bother. Often enough the brothers ate at different times, coming in to the kitchen to snatch what they could find before disappearing again. She hoped that Jacques would sit down with them that night, but there was no telling what time he would return from his fishing trip.

* * *

As the church bell tolled the hour of six down in the village, her brother entered the kitchen. She was pleased to see that Jacques had made an effort to dress as befitted a gentleman’s son instead of his usual jerkin and breeches.

However, she frowned at him as he snatched at one of the freshly baked rolls and began to eat.

‘You might wait for our guest,’ she reprimanded.

‘You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,’ Jacques said with a grin. ‘Your guest will have to take us as we are, dear heart. It’s too late to change us now.’

‘Mother would turn in her grave if she could see you …’ Morwenna began, the words dying on her lips as the kitchen door opened and the stranger entered. He was wearing the clothes she’d given him, but somehow he made Jacques look disreputable. He wore his pride like a velvet cloak, so obviously a gentleman that she felt a moment of shame for the way her brothers usually behaved at table.

‘Forgive me for being late to table,’ he said. ‘The food smells good, Mistress Morgan. I believe I am hungry.’

‘You spent a long time walking on the cliffs and in the village today,’ Jacques said. ‘What were you looking for?’

‘I was admiring the scenery,’ he replied. ‘It appeals to my senses. I think I may be an artist, for my fingers wished for some charcoal that I might sketch what I saw.’

‘An artist, are you?’

‘If you would permit, I could try my hand after supper. I might sketch Morwenna—or any of you if you care for it. At least we would know if I have any talent.’

‘A bang on the head often renders the mind hazy for a while,’ Jacques observed. ‘If you feel you can draw a person’s likeness, your memory may be returning.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said and his eyes moved to Morwenna. ‘I must have had a reason for coming here, though as yet I cannot recall it, or my own name. I have asked that I be called Adam for the time being.’

‘As you wish, Adam. What will you do next?’ Jacques asked. ‘You can stay here until you feel able to leave, but Michael would not be pleased to find you still here when he returns.’

‘Your elder brother is averse to strangers?’ The stranger looked up as Morwenna ladled stew into the bowl in front of him. ‘Thank you, mistress. I am sure it will taste as good as it smells.’

‘Morwenna is a good cook. She needs a husband, someone to keep her in the manner to which she is accustomed,’ Jacques quipped, but his smile faded as his sister glared at him. ‘Sorry, I know you shouldn’t be waiting on us the way you do. It was merely a jest, dear heart.’

Morwenna made no reply. She finished serving the others and then took her own place at the far end of the table.

‘I think I shall find somewhere else to stay tomorrow,’ the stranger said. ‘I wonder if I should stay here in the cove for a while in case someone comes to look for me. News of the shipwreck will have reached London by now, I dare say, and my family—if I have one—may look for me here.’

‘What makes you think they will hear of the wreck? Do you come from London, then?’ Jacques asked, his gaze narrowed.

‘I do not know if I have a family, but I must have friends, people who know me. I think it is in London that ships are registered when they founder. I feel that I may have come from there—just as I feel I may be an artist. I cannot know anything for sure, which is why I perhaps ought to stay close until someone comes who can tell me who I am and whence I came.’

‘There is no need to leave for a few days. Michael will not return for a while. Stay here in case your fever returns. He has no need to leave, has he, Morwenna?’

‘He may stay until Michael returns if he pleases.’ She kept her gaze lowered. ‘It is no trouble to feed an extra man.’

‘That is kind. It would suit me to stay—if I may?’

‘We shall not hear of your leaving for a few days, until we are sure you have recovered,’ Jacques said. ‘‘Tis a pity the sea took your papers, for you might have known where to begin your search. If you feel you came from town, why not return to London when you are completely well and be seen there? If you are known, someone will hail you and you may find your family sooner.’

‘That was my first thought.’ The stranger glanced at Morwenna. ‘I feel I owe your family something, because your sister saved my life. Once I regain my memory I may be able to repay her in some way.’

‘Morwenna wants for nothing. She does not need your money, sir.’

‘Perhaps there are other things more important to Mistress Morgan. I may know people who would sponsor her in town so that she could find a husband best suited to her needs.’

‘She has a suitor if she wants one.’ Jacques threw him a challenging look. ‘Captain Bird would be happy to oblige, would he not, Morwenna?’

‘I will thank you not to discuss me at table—any of you.’ She glared at her brother and then at the stranger, surprising a look that might have been concern or sympathy in his eyes.

‘Help yourselves to bread and cheeses and the oatcakes. There’s honey if you want it, sir. I’m going up to my room. I’ll come back later to clear up, Bess.’

She rose from her chair and walked from the room, her back very straight. Behind her there was silence until Jacques laughed.

‘I fear I have offended Morwenna,’ he said. ‘It was a mere jest, of course. Morwenna wouldn’t have that militiaman if he paid her his weight in gold.’

Hearing the stranger laugh in response to Jacques, Morwenna smarted with anger and humiliation. How dared the brother she loved and trusted discuss her in front of a stranger? How dared the stranger suggest that if he regained his memory he might know someone who would sponsor her—as if she were in need of his pity or compassion!

She had been shocked to learn that he planned to leave the next day and felt a sense of loss until Jacques invited him to stay—but after that remark she would be glad to see the last of him. The last thing she needed from anyone was pity!

Turning away from the stairs, she went outside into the cold night air. She was suddenly weary of her life and the duties she performed every day, rebelling as she realised that nothing was likely to change for her unless she made it change herself.

It seemed her only escape was to go to her aunt, but would it be a change for the better or would she be trapped in the house of a bitter old woman?

Tears stinging behind her eyes, she walked up to the top of the cliff and stood looking out to sea. The wind tugged at her gown and pierced her shawl, making her shiver in the cool night air. Autumn would soon be gone and then the winter would be upon them and it would be too dangerous to stand at the edge of the cliffs lest the lashing rain had made the soil loose. For a moment her eyes were blinded with tears, but then she saw a light flash from somewhere out at sea. She thought someone must be signalling with a lantern. As she stood, her nerves tingling, she saw a light from the shore, which appeared to be answering the ship. Was it the stranger? Was he indeed a spy and was he signalling to the ship in the bay?

Even as the thought came into her mind, she heard a sound behind her and turned to see a man walking towards her. It was the stranger and he did not carry a lantern. So it could not have been him on the beach.

‘I thought you would be here,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if what I said at table upset you, Mistress Morwenna.’

‘It wasn’t your fault. My brothers think it is a great joke because Captain Bird makes no secret of his hopes.’

Since he wasn’t the one signalling to the ship, it must be someone else—and that person was likely to be Michael, who might not have gone abroad after all. If he was arranging for contraband to come ashore, it would be best the stranger did not see it. She moved towards him, pretending to trip and falling into his arms. He caught her and held her. She looked up at him and the heat in his eyes startled her. A fierce shaft of longing 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, exploring her mouth with his tongue, 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 down 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.

‘No, you must not,’ she cried, though her heart rebelled and her senses screamed to be back in his arms. ‘I can’t … I can’t …’

Wrenching away from him, she ran back down the path to her house, as sure footed in the dark as she was when it was light. She would be a fool to trust a man who claimed not to know his own name. Instinct told her that to let the stranger into her heart could only lead to sorrow.

‘Morwenna, please.’ She heard his shout, but dared not look back. If she did, she would end by giving in to the need inside her, the need of a lonely girl to be loved.

Chapter Four

‘You look like a ghost,’ Bess muttered the next morning when Morwenna went into the kitchen. ‘Are you sickening for something?’

‘I didn’t sleep very well last night,’ she replied. ‘Where is Jacques?’

‘He went out this morning early. He didn’t tell me where he was going, but said he’d bring me a crab for supper or some fish.’

‘Has he gone out yet?’

‘If you mean “Adam”, aye, he’s gone to find a hostelry. He gave me a gold coin and thanked me for caring for him and for the food.’

‘A gold coin. He was generous, for he has few possessions and only a few coins.’

‘He was grateful and insisted that I take it for my trouble. He said he would like to give you a present, but feared to offend you.’

‘I do not want his money.’ Morwenna frowned. ‘It is odd that the sea did not take everything from him. Unless …’

‘What are you thinking?’

‘There was driftwood in the cove the next morning—wood that might have come from a long boat. He might have come ashore that way.’

‘He did not fake the gash on his head.’

‘The rocks are slippery and treacherous when the sea is rough. He could have been washed off by a wave after he’d landed.’

‘Only a spy would come in that way.’ Bess looked at her. ‘If Michael guessed he didn’t come from the shipwreck he would find him and kill him. We gave him food and shelter, but if he came here to spy on your brothers …’

‘I know.’ Morwenna turned away, fighting her feelings. ‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to Jacques or Michael, of course.’

‘Well, let’s hope he’s truly lost his memory.’ Bess sent her a pitying look. ‘He was a fine strapping man, but I doubt you’ll see him again once he leaves these parts. Think of your brothers, girl. That man can never mean anything to you. He’s not one of us.’

‘I know.’ Morwenna blinked away her tears. ‘I’d best get on with the baking.’

‘We need more butter. Walk down to the farm and fetch some, lovey. I can manage here until you return. There’s not much needs doing I can’t manage.’

Morwenna nodded and reached for her shawl, wrapping it about herself. She took some coins from the shelf and went out. It was windy again and the door whipped from her grasp and blew shut with a bang. Shivering, she pulled the shawl tighter about her as she set off toward the bottom of the cliffs and then turned away from the beach. The farm was about half a mile further inland, but she was used to the walk and it did not bother her. Bess was right, it would do her good to walk and help her to rid herself of the feeling of restlessness that had been with her for the past few days. Crying herself to sleep had done nothing for her, but the stranger had gone now and she would probably never see him again.

Morwenna was lost in thought as she began her journey back to the house after making her purchases from the farm. When a man approaching on a horse suddenly halted and dismounted in front of her, she was startled until she realised who it was.

‘Captain Bird, good morning. I trust you are well.’

‘All the better for meeting you, Morwenna.’ The militia officer leered at her, his narrow eyes gleaming and his thick lips set in a look of satisfaction.

His manner made her instantly uncomfortable, for he was obviously well pleased at finding her alone. At home she had always felt well able to cope with his official visits, but here alone on this windswept path she felt suddenly vulnerable.

‘Excuse me, I must get home for I have much to do.’ She attempted to walk on, but he moved to block her way.

‘Surely you can spare a little time for me? I thought we were friends. I’ve turned a blind eye to your brothers’ business many times. You might be a little grateful to me.’

Morwenna shuddered inwardly. She lifted her head, giving him a straight look. ‘I do not know what you mean, sir. Now, I pray you, let me pass.’

‘Give me a kiss for my trouble. I’ve heard there’s folk asking in the village about the Morgan family. I intended to warn your brother to be careful. I’m not sure what business he’s mixed up in now, but it’s more dangerous than he realises and folk have become interested in him all of a sudden.’

‘What folk?’ Her heart raced. ‘I do not understand you.’

‘Your brother is a smuggler and well you know it. He’s escaped the law because I’ve helped him, but now there’s London folk asking about him and I thought he should know.’

‘London folk? How do you know they come from London?’

‘Because they came on official business, that’s why, mistress—and I can’t tell you more, except that Michael may be in trouble if he doesn’t watch his step. You tell him he owes me a debt for sending them on a false trail. He knows what I want from him.’

Something in his eyes made her shiver and feel suddenly afraid. Had Michael promised him something—and did it concern her?

‘As you wish.’

‘You know I would not see you or your family come to harm, Morwenna.’

‘I thank you for your good intentions.’

Once again she tried to pass, but he caught hold of her. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her arm, but she did not cry out, merely lifting her head to look at him proudly. ‘Not so fast, sweet mistress. I deserve a kiss and I intend to have it.’

‘No! I do not wish for your kisses.’ She thrust him away, kicking his shin as he tried to hold on to her.

‘You little hellcat. I ought to teach you a lesson.’

Morwenna screamed, though there was no one to hear her. ‘Lay a hand on me and you will be sorry.’

‘Michael told me I need only ask if I wanted you. I’ll marry you, Morwenna. You know I care.’

‘No, leave me alone. I don’t want you to touch me. Let me go.’

‘I should do as the lady asks if I were you, sir.’

Morwenna was startled. She turned her head and saw the stranger from the sea glaring at her. Where had he come from? She had not seen him approach.

‘And who the hell are you?’ Captain Bird demanded, bristling at his interference. ‘This is between me and Mistress Morgan. Stay out of my business.’

‘Forgive me, but when I see a lady being molested it becomes my business.’ The stranger glared at him. ‘I suggest you get on your horse and leave now—before I teach you a lesson you’ll regret.’

Captain Bird stared at him, then looked at Morwenna resentfully. ‘I don’t know who he is, but your brother has promised me I can have you if I can get you and you’ll be sorry for this.’

‘Michael would never force me to wed you or anyone else.’ Morwenna lifted her head proudly.

His face a mask of fury, Captain Bird walked to his horse, mounted, then rode off without glancing back. Morwenna breathed deeply, shaking and clearly distressed until the stranger put out his hand to touch her. She flinched away, as if she’d been stung.

‘I’m not going to seduce you,’ he said, smiling wryly. ‘I’m not like that insensitive oaf. Last night I was tempted, though, when you fell into my arms.’

‘I tripped.’

‘Did you? Yes, I suppose you did, though it seemed to me that you were not exactly averse to finding yourself there.’

‘It was foolish of me. I was upset and … I shan’t deny I liked being kissed by you,’ she said, putting her chin up. ‘It gets lonely here when I hardly ever see anyone other than my brothers. Perhaps I shall go to my aunt—though she may not welcome me. She was not kind to my mother.’

‘If I could help you, Morwenna.’ He moved closer to her, his eyes intent on her face. ‘Believe me, I am not your enemy. If ever I could be of service to you I would—without asking for anything in return.’

‘I’m not sure that would work,’ she replied, but she was smiling now, because there was something about him that reached out to her. ‘I think you know I like you more than I ought.’

‘Believe me, I like you too, far more than is good for me. I shouldn’t let my feelings interfere with my search.’ He hesitated, then, ‘I need to discover who I am and why I came to this part of the Cornish coast.’

Morwenna looked at him intently. ‘You gave Bess a gold coin … there was no need. You should keep what you have until you knowwhere you came from. That money may be all you have in the world.’

‘I dare say I can earn my living with my paints and crayons.’

‘Are you’re certain you can draw now?’

‘I proved it last night. I drew pictures of your brother and Bess. My work made them smile and Jacques has asked me to draw a picture of a house in the village as a gift for a friend. I am going to meet him and the owner now.’

‘I’ll walk a part of the way with you,’ she said and wondered why she was so pleased to meet him like this. It wasn’t just because he’d saved her from an unpleasant incident with Captain Bird. She ought to ignore him, to do all she could to make him move on, leave her house and the district, but somehow, all she wanted was to be with him. The memory of his kiss was melting her insides, making her long to be back in his arms. Yet she recalled Captain Bird’s warning about strangers from London—could this man be one of those sent to investigate Michael Morgan?

And what was Michael doing that the militiaman thought so dangerous? What business other than smuggling was her elder brother engaged in now?

She had known for a while that Michael was hiding something from them. He had always been secretive, but mostly the smuggling was an open secret within the house—this other work was different.

Could it have something to do with the signals on the beach the previous night? And where had her brother gone?

‘I’ll be travelling to London in a few days,’ the stranger said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘If you wanted, I would take you with me. You’d be safer travelling with me than alone and I could take you to your aunt’s house. If you stay here, your amorous friend might try to seduce you again and next time you may not have anyone around to help.’

‘He wouldn’t hurt me. Michael would kill him first.’ Morwenna turned her thoughtful gaze on him. ‘Why should you do that for me? Take me with you to London? I might be a burden to you, if you are still searching for your own life, your memories.’

‘You saved my life. If escorting you to London would help you, I should be happy to be of service, Morwenna.’

The way he spoke her name sent little spirals of sensation winging through her body. She turned her face aside, not wanting him to see how he affected her, because her need mustn’t show. It was a chance for a different life and something told her if she accepted his offer she would never get to her aunt’s house. If she gave into this feeling, this roaring heat she felt between them, she would end by becoming his mistress. She could feel the physical pull between them and knew that he was feeling it too.

Would it be so very bad? At least she would know a little happiness. She might see a different kind of life for a while, but in time he would tire of her and then she would be alone, unable to return to her old life. Her aunt would never take her in if she’d been this man’s lover. Yet it might be worth the risk to know what happiness was like just for a while.

‘Perhaps,’ she said and risked a look at his face. ‘I shall think about it.’

‘I should like to draw a likeness of you,’ he said, surprising her. ‘Would you meet me on the cliffs later this afternoon, after I’ve been to your brother’s friend’s house?’

‘Why on the cliffs?’

‘Because it’s how I see you, standing there looking out to sea, the wind in your hair and blowing your cloak about you. You are very beautiful, Morwenna—did you know that?’ She shook her head and he smiled. ‘Given the right clothes you would be a sensation at court.’

‘Do you often visit the court?’

‘I think perhaps I have in the past,’ he replied and his gaze slid away from hers. ‘I am beginning to remember a few things. I think my family has a house in the country, but spends time in London—and if they are of any consequence, therefore, at court.’

‘You do not seem the kind of man who would come here simply to sketch the views,’ Morwenna said. ‘I wish I knew who you really were and why you were here.’

‘I mean you no harm, believe me.’

She lifted her eyes to his. There was sincerity in his voice but his eyes were shadowed by doubts. She sensed that there were things he would not tell her, things in his past, perhaps, but what of his reason for being here?

‘What of my brothers? What do you mean for them?’

‘Why do you fear for them? Why should you think I might seek to harm them?’

‘What makes you think I do?’

‘You are defensive about them, as though you think they may be in trouble—or danger. I believe you care for them and particularly Jacques?’

‘Jacques is the closest to me, but I would not see harm come to Michael. He is not always kind, but he is my brother—at least, my half-brother. My father married again after his first wife died and I sometimes think that Michael resents me because of it.’

‘But you are close to Jacques?’

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