From orphan to blushing bride!

Lowena Trevanion has never known her family. Abandoned as a baby, she was eventually taken in by the wealthy Carberrys as a servant. But she has always wanted to truly belong somewhere...

When Marcus Carberry returns from the army, he can’t believe the innocent girl he left behind has blossomed into a stunning woman. The difference in their stations means their love can never be... Yet the closer Marcus gets, the more he wants to give this orphan the happy-ever-after she deserves!

Lowena watched his gaze drop to her mouth in a state of anticipation that was reaching dizzying heights.

Marcus took two steps to close the distance that separated them, his gaze still focused on her lips. She caught her breath. She could feel his warmth, the vital power of him. The size and heat of him had the power to shock her. Sensations of unexpected pleasure flickered through her. She was powerless to prevent what she hoped with all her heart would happen next.

Taking her arms, he drew her to his chest. Their faces were close together, his breath warm on her lips. Her trembling hands reached up to hold him. Under her clutching fingertips the muscles of his shoulders beneath his coat coiled and quivered reflexively. Placing his finger below her chin, he tilted her face to his, lowering his head and covering her mouth with his own.

Author Note

Cornwall, steeped in its history of smuggling and shipwrecks and ancient legends, has provided inspiration for numerous authors—and I am no exception. It never fails to capture my imagination.

Some years ago I wrote Highwayman Husband—the setting was Cornwall and I really enjoyed writing it. I’ve spent many memorable holidays in that lovely county, and I was drawn to writing another book set there.

After ten years of soldiering, it is on a smugglers’ night that Marcus Carberry returns to Tregarrick, his home on the south coast of Cornwall. Here he becomes reacquainted with his hostile older brother and the innocence of Lowena Trevanion. Having experienced an unhappy affair in the past, he is in no rush to step up to the altar—but Lowena is a challenge he has not bargained on…

The Foundling Bride

Helen Dickson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

HELEN DICKSON was born and still lives in South Yorkshire, with her retired farm manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she raised their two sons, she now has more time to indulge in her favourite pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, travelling, reading and music. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that drove her to writing historical fiction.

Books by Helen Dickson

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

Destitute on His Doorstep

Beauty in Breeches

Miss Cameron’s Fall from Grace

When Marrying a Duke...

The Devil Claims a Wife

The Master of Stonegrave Hall

Mishap Marriage

A Traitor’s Touch

Caught in Scandal’s Storm

Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant

Lord Lansbury’s Christmas Wedding

Royalist on the Run

The Foundling Bride

M&B Castonbury Park Regency mini-series

The Housemaid’s Scandalous Secret

Mills & Boon Historical Undone! ebook

One Reckless Night

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

1761

Beresford House was a large, rambling old place. It stood away from a small Devon village, perched on a rocky promontory overlooking the sea. It was the home of the old and distinguished Beresford family, and until twelve months ago it had housed three members of the family, until Sir Frederick Beresford had died of a fever, leaving his wife and only child Meredith alone.

Twenty-year-old Nessa Borlase stood in the cold, dim light of the house, which smelled of death, and looked with great sadness at her young mistress. She was in her white nightdress, and at the side of the bed was her four-day-old daughter in her crib. The fever that had taken this girl’s father had spared her, only for death to take her in childbirth. Her labour had been an interminable agony. When she had finally thrust the babe out into the world she had lived just three days before breathing her last.

When her labour had started, her mistress’s mother, Lady Margaret, had retired to her room, leaving Nessa to minister to Meredith, her pregnant daughter. When Nessa had gone to her and begged her to send for the physician she had coldly refused.

Suddenly the door was thrust open and Lady Margaret stood there. As her gaze passed over her dead daughter there was no change in her self-righteous, steely-eyed expression. It was as cold an expression as Nessa had ever seen on a woman who had just lost her only child.

‘So, she’s dead, then.’ Her voice was as cold as her eyes.

Nessa swallowed audibly and nodded. ‘Yes—just now. I—I was just coming to tell you.’

Lady Margaret nodded, her eyes settling on her granddaughter in the crib. Her eyes were wide open, but the child was too young to comprehend what was happening, that her mother had just died. However, seeming to sense the malevolence in the woman—her grandmother—she began to whimper softly.

Something cold and heavy descended over her heart as Nessa went to the motherless babe and swept her up into her arms and held her close. ‘The babe is hungry. I must feed her.’

‘I don’t want her here. Take her away—anywhere, I don’t care, as long as she is out of my sight.’

Bewildered, Nessa stared at her. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Take her away? Forgive me, my lady—I don’t understand. Where...?’

‘To Castle Creek. Where else would she go if not to that libertine of a father of hers? And do not insult my intelligence and pretend you don’t know who I mean. Don’t play the innocent.’

She was so certain of herself, so dreadfully intimidating as she stood beside the bed.

‘You played your part in the wretched affair when they were carrying on behind my back.’

Nessa was feeling colder by the minute, and Lady Margaret’s words hammered on her nerves. ‘But Sir Robert is still in Mexico. There will be no one at Castle Creek.’

‘There are servants. Let them deal with her. It’s not my concern. It’s either that or the orphanage.’

Nessa remained silent, but inside her anger stirred. Suddenly this embittered woman put her in mind of a witch—and she even seemed to hiss. It was the only way to describe the low-pitched, hate-filled words. If Nessa had hoped for compassion in her for her dead daughter, she knew better now. There wasn’t an ounce of compassion in this woman.

In her grief at losing Meredith, her beloved mistress, Nessa wanted to shout her anger, to remind her that if she hadn’t been so against her daughter seeing Robert Wesley there would have been no need for them to carry on behind her back. She took a deep breath to calm her jangling nerves, telling herself not to sound desperate, not to plead for the babe in her arms, but to be reasonable.

Lady Margaret’s hatred was deeply rooted in the past. Robert Wesley’s father, whose family had been greatly involved with the mining of silver and lead in that part of Devon for decades, had been her first love, and she had never forgiven him for throwing her over in favour of Robert’s mother. Nothing would have persuaded her to allow her daughter to form a liaison with his son.

As young as she had been, Meredith had been possessed of a passion for Robert Wesley she hadn’t been able to control. Lady Margaret had seen it—lust, she had called it. Lust, not love. And in her opinion lust was wicked—a sin that destroyed.

In the beginning Meredith had concealed her condition from her mother and the other servants, but it could not be concealed for ever. When she had told her mother she was to bear Robert’s child, her mother had railed and stormed unendingly, her face twisted with fury, accusing her of behaving no better than a peasant girl and calling her a whore.

Had it been anyone else who had fathered the child she would not have objected so strongly and merely forced a marriage, but she had not allowed her daughter to marry Robert Wesley. It had been too appalling for her to contemplate—and Nessa’s young mistress had been too young and too weak to disobey. Lady Margaret had not even allowed her to write and tell him of her predicament, and had kept her confined to the house, allowing her to see no one but her maid.

But the servants had talked among themselves in hushed whispers, and when Miss Meredith had taken to her bed they’d made up their own minds about what ailed the young mistress.

Lady Margaret had had no intention of letting her daughter keep the child. But, whatever her objections to the child’s father, neither did she wish to become involved in any scandal. People would talk, and she did mind about that. Not that she cared for their opinion, but to draw attention to one’s self in any way she considered ill-bred.

She had decided that when her daughter had been delivered of the unwanted burden, if it survived she would see it dispatched to an orphanage in another county. She had not expected her daughter to die, and now it no longer mattered what happened to the child.

‘And me, my lady?’ Nessa’s voice was low, her expression controlled.

‘You?’ Lady Margaret spoke as if addressing someone completely stupid. ‘What about you?’

‘Am I being dismissed?’ Nessa asked.

‘Yes, you are,’ she replied, her face a mask, her mouth inflexible. ‘Your services are no longer required in this house.’

Nessa looked at the pale figure of her young mistress, feeling a deep sadness. ‘But—I can’t leave,’ Nessa objected. ‘Miss Meredith—’

‘Is dead. She no longer has any need of you. You heard what I said. Oblige me by taking the child far away from this house. I don’t want you here.’ Her eyes dropped to the child. ‘Either of you,’ she added.

Nessa was stunned by the viciousness of Lady Margaret’s words. ‘But—my lady—you can’t do that,’ she ventured bravely. ‘The child is your granddaughter...’

‘And Robert Wesley is her father,’ she snapped back.

Decency and honesty came first in Nessa’s mind, and she could not understand how a woman could discard her own grandchild. ‘But—but what you are doing, my lady, is—is cruel.’

Lady Margaret’s eyes sliced over her. ‘You—a servant—dare preach to me about cruelty. Life is like that. Now get your things and go.’

‘But—my money—and a character...

Lady Margaret walked to the door, then turned to look back at the servant. ‘A character? I don’t think so. Get the child ready. I’ll give you whatever money is owed to you before you leave. I have nothing more to say.’

She gave her a last withering look and left.

* * *

With the child held in one arm, and carrying a bundle containing her few worldly possessions in the other, Nessa left Beresford House. Not that she was sorry to leave. In fact she was relieved to be gone. Tall, and carrying herself upright, Nessa was near to weeping—but anger prevented it.

The big problem was what she should do. She wondered what life had in store for her. It was important that she found work, otherwise she would be unable to ensure that regular money went to her mother and father. They lived across the Tamar in Cornwall, and they both suffered from ill health. Without her money they would be turned out of their cottage. But who would employ her? She had not been given a reference, and without a character she would not find it easy to find employment in service.

With these thoughts heavy on her mind she followed a route which took her along the two miles of pathways to Castle Creek, mentally damning Lady Margaret with every step she took. The woman should be ashamed—getting rid of her granddaughter as she would a stray dog.

It was a hot day, and the child was heavy in Nessa’s arms. She was wondering at the reception she would receive when Castle Creek came into view. Commanding a view over the English Channel, it was a solid, square-built house, with crenelated walls and innumerable windows. It was bigger and more imposing than any house Nessa had ever seen. She found it quite awesome.

Reaching the lodge, she knocked on the door. Getting no response, she peered through the window. It appeared no one was at home. She carried on up the long drive to the house and reached the heavy wooden doors. The shutters were closed, and when she pulled the rope that rang the bell inside the house sounded hollow and empty.

An old man in working clothes and a floppy felt hat who was tending the gardens told her that the old master had passed on two months back. His son, Sir Robert, had been in Mexico on silver mining business. He had been notified immediately, but before arrangements had been made for him to return home he’d been fatally wounded. The house had been closed and the other servants dismissed until further notice.

When the man had shuffled off to go about his work, Nessa stared after him. Clutching the babe in her arms—an orphan, she realised—she looked around. The beautiful house had a look of desolation about it, a feeling of emptiness, as though all the life it had known since the day it was built had been whisked away for ever.

What was she to do? What was to become of them? She had to find work, and the child would only hinder her. But for now there was nothing for it but to take the child with her to Cornwall.

The journey was hard. Without the usual method of feeding a young baby, she had to buy milk to spoon-feed her.

She had a spinster aunt who lived in Saltash, but being a harsh, self-righteous woman she would not take kindly to her turning up with an infant. Perhaps by some miracle something would turn up.

One thing she was sure of—Lady Margaret might not want her grandchild, and she, Nessa, had no part of her, but she would not take Miss Meredith’s defenceless daughter to any orphanage.

* * *

Two days after the lumbering farmer’s cart carrying Nessa Borlase and her young charge crossed into Cornwall, leaving her at a crossroads to go her own way, with her spirits crushed and no hope of finding a place for herself and the baby, a young boy rode over the undulating terrain.

Gripping the spirited roan with his strong legs, Marcus Carberry bent low over its glossy neck as he rode—at great danger, it seemed, not only to him but to the animal, as he galloped with complete abandon across the great expanse of undulating parkland. At any other time he’d enjoy courting danger—the thrill of it. But today he rode his horse hard in an attempt to rid himself of his brother’s harsh words.

Edward, his half-brother—the elder by six years—had arrived home from school. To his disappointment, Marcus had known immediately that Edward’s resentment towards him was unchanged.

‘Come, Edward,’ their father had said. ‘Aren’t you going to say hello to your brother? You haven’t seen him for almost twelve months.’

Edward had regarded Marcus with cold, malevolent eyes as he’d pulled off his leather gloves, and from his expression Marcus had known that Edward could quite happily have gone another twelve months and more without seeing his younger brother.

‘It’s good to see you, Edward,’ Marcus had said, in an attempt to reach out to his brother, despite his aura of barely concealed ferocity. ‘You are looking well.’

‘So are you,’ Edward had replied, before turning his back on him.

Marcus had stared at his straight back, angered by his attitude. His dislike of his brother at that moment had been so intense that he’d been afraid of losing his temper—and with it any advantage he might have.

Marcus’s mother, Lady Alice, was Lord Carberry’s second wife. Edward had been born to his first wife, who had died as a consequence of a carriage accident. At five years old, Edward had not welcomed his father’s second marriage. Even at so young an age he had resented the intrusion of a stranger into his well-ordered world—and he had resented it all the more when Marcus had come along, followed three years later by his sister Juliet.

In the distance the blue sea met the sky, and to the left of him a large lake on which many species of beautiful birds glided serenely and silently over the smooth surface was half a mile away. The boy gave it no more than a cursory glance as he rode towards the woods in the distance.

Once there, he slowed his horse and followed a narrow path into the trees. It was cool within the confines of the wood. The beech and the oak trees were heavy with leaf, dappling the path. In patches where the sun came through he felt the heat of those stray sunbeams as he rode through.

At ten years old he was a handsome boy. His eyebrows swooped fiercely upwards and his heavily fringed eyes were a startling silver-grey in a face as dark as a gypsy’s. His mouth had a hint of hardness, even in one so young, but at his age it was mobile, and he smiled easily and often. His hair was thick, and as smooth and black as a raven’s wing.

Hearing a rustling ahead, he paused and waited, smiling and looking with awe at the beautiful creature that suddenly appeared—a deer, slender and graceful, with long legs and stick-like antlers growing out of its proud head. Startled, it stopped and stared at him, before bounding away. The darkness that had shrouded him with his brother’s return melted away.

Laughing easily, the boy dismounted and led his horse along the path, delighting in the rabbits that ventured from the undergrowth and loving the peace of the wood which was shrouded in timeless tranquillity. The May sunshine had turned the beauty of the woodland and the quiet glades of ash and sycamore and venerable oak to every shade of green and brown.

He was so entranced with his surroundings that he could not believe his ears when he emerged into a circular glade and heard what he thought to be a young animal crying. The ground was thickly carpeted with delicate white wood anemones and bluebells, their scent quite intoxicating. Looking about him for the source of the noise, he found his eyes drawn to what looked like a bundle of rags beneath a canopy of leaves. He was sure he saw it move, and suddenly what looked to be a tiny hand reached up and thrashed the air.

Tentatively he moved towards it, unable to believe his eyes when he found himself looking down at a baby. It was wrapped in a pink woollen shawl which the infant, clearly objecting to being so confined, had worked loose with its wriggling about.

Marcus glanced around, unable to believe the baby was unaccompanied—surely someone would appear at any moment to claim it. Hunkering down, he studied the tiny scrap of humanity with interest.

‘Well, what have we here?’ he murmured.

The infant was female, by the look of it, and couldn’t be any more than a few days old—although he was none too sure, not having much knowledge of babies and never having given them much thought.

He felt a prickle of curiosity. She was a lovely-looking child to be sure, he decided, simply lovely. His heart softened towards the infant. She was distressed. Great fat tears brimmed from her incredible eyes and her face was red and screwed up with anger and exasperation.

‘Hush, now—stop yelling,’ he murmured softly, touching her cheek gently with the backs of his fingers.

He thought he must have a magic touch when she stopped crying almost immediately. Her eyes were as bright as two great blue jewels beneath their burden of moisture as they became fixed on his. When he held out his finger and placed it within her palm she gripped it and clung to it with a strength and fierceness incredible in one so young.

Maybe it was an instinct of self-preservation that made her grip so hard, as if she sensed she had been abandoned and stood the greatest chance of survival with this strange boy who had found her. Taking his finger to her mouth, she sucked on it hard, bringing a smile to Marcus’s mouth.

‘So you are hungry, are you, little one? Well, what is to be done with you? I can’t leave you here, now, can I?’

Retrieving his finger, he was about to get to his feet when, feeling a strong sensation of being watched, he glanced around him. He hoped someone would emerge from the trees and claim the child. When no one did, and beginning to realise that would not happen, he gently picked the child up and carried her to his horse. Mounting with some difficulty, and settling into the saddle, he cradled her in from of him.

He would take her to Izzy. She would know what to do.

Izzy Trevanion was the only child of a parson and his wife, and from Somerset. She had been educated by her father, and when she was of age had found employment as a governess to three young girls on an estate bordering Tregarrick, which had been the home of the Carberrys for generations. On her marriage to Colin Trevanion, the head steward at Tregarrick, she had left her employment to look after Colin and raise their family. They lived in a cottage on the Carberry estate.

Riding up the path towards the cottage, Marcus found the aroma of a tasty stew cooking in Izzy’s oven assailing him. It was plain fare Izzy prepared for her family, unlike the fancy dishes at Tregarrick. But Izzy’s stew was probably mutton with fresh vegetables, to be followed by a tasty suet pudding—well-cooked, nourishing, and mouth-wateringly tasty.

Having heard the horse, Izzy came out to see her visitor. Marcus knew she had a soft spot for him. He remembered the times when he had found his way to her cottage, when she had lifted him up and folded him to her ample bosom and told him stories which had held him agog. Now, wiping her hands on her apron, she smiled a welcome—but the smile faded when he swung himself out of the saddle with one hand and holding a child with the other.

Izzy watched the youngest of Lord and Lady Carberry’s two sons approach, waiting with an air of expectancy, her hands on her hips. She gasped, her eyes fixed on the infant. ‘My goodness, what have we here?’

‘A baby, Izzy. I found her in the woods.’

A slight breeze ruffled the child’s curls and the sun shone warmly on her pink cheeks. Izzy stared at her in amazement. ‘Found her? But—you don’t just find a baby. Who was she with?’

He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. She was quite alone.’

Carrying the child ahead of Izzy into the house, he was greeted by Hester, the oldest of Izzy’s three daughters. She was kneading dough on a floured board. At eight years old, with a shock of brown curls and bright green eyes, Hester was a pretty girl, and already adept at running the cottage and controlling her younger sister Kenza, who was whisking eggs in a bowl. Annie, the latest addition to the household, was asleep in a basket beside the fire.

As one, the two girls at the table came to a halt to gape in wonder at the baby. It was a homely scene.

Marcus loved Izzy’s cottage. There was always a welcoming warmth and a place by the fire. There was also a stove, and all manner of kitchen things hanging on the walls. The sunlight shone on copper pans, and the dresser against one wall was crammed with blue and white crockery. A vase of wild flowers sat in the window, and a large black cat stretched out on the rug in front of the stove.

‘Poor little mite,’ Izzy said. ‘Someone will be looking for her.’

‘How do we know that?’ Marcus said. ‘She didn’t lose herself. Someone put her there on purpose—abandoned her. She must be unwanted by those who did it. Imagine what would have happened to her if I had not come along. It’s too dreadful to contemplate. It’s a crime, Izzy—an act of wickedness. That’s what it is. Who could do that to an innocent babe too young to fend for itself?’

Izzy shrugged, taking the infant from him. ‘Some poor girl who found herself in trouble and couldn’t cope, I’d say. She wouldn’t be the first to find herself in that unhappy state—no money and the stigma of bearing a child out of wedlock,’ she uttered sympathetically, and instantly offered up a prayer for the mother of this child and her misfortunes.

‘Perhaps you’re right. But someone’s been looking after her, and she looks well fed. Until we find out who she is she must have a name. We can’t call her “the girl”, can we? What shall we call her, Izzy?’

‘Eh, Master Marcus, I’ve no idea. She must have a name already.

‘But we don’t know what it is.’

‘Then what do you suggest, Master Marcus? You can choose until we know more about her.’

Marcus looked at the child, whose steady gaze hadn’t moved from his face since he’d found her. They were the loveliest eyes he had ever seen. He studied her for a moment and suddenly felt his heart stir with warmth towards this tiny scrap of humanity. As she continued to stare at him, with her wide and trusting eyes, he found himself quite enchanted by her, with her mop of deep red hair. Just looking at her sent a wave of tenderness through him.

The strange feelings hit him with an impact that stunned him, creeping into his heart and arousing a love quite different from the love he bore his adored mother and Juliet, and at the same time made him want to be her protector should she ever need one.

‘Lowena,’ he said suddenly. ‘Until we know different we’ll call her Lowena—for joy.’

Izzy stared at him. ‘Lowena? That’s a nice name, I must say.’

‘I think so too,’ Hester remarked, leaving the bread to come and take a look at the child. ‘Lowena is a pretty name.’

‘Thank you, Hester,’ Marcus said, smiling warmly at her, which brought a soft flush to her cheeks. ‘I see nothing wrong with it. And you’re right. It’s a pretty name for a pretty girl. I found her among the anemones and bluebells, so I suppose we could call her Bluebell, but I think Lowena is better. Lowena it is.’

‘And what are you going to do with her—with Lowena?’ Izzy asked. ‘Will you take her to the house? I don’t suppose Lord Carberry will be too happy about you turning up with a foundling waif.’

Marcus frowned when he thought of his father, knowing how he would react if he were to turn up with an abandoned child, spoiling the well-ordered running of his home.

‘You’re right, Izzy, Father wouldn’t like it one bit. Besides,’ he said, a shadow passing over his eyes, ‘Edward’s home and he wouldn’t like it either. I’ll have to tell Mother, though. She would want to know, and maybe she might learn something of Lowena’s family on her visits to the village. I’ll make some enquiries of my own. Perhaps I will find out who she belongs to.’

‘She’s a plump little thing. You are right. She’s not been neglected,’ Izzy remarked, reaching out and fingering the pretty smock the child was wearing. ‘Her clothes are quality, so she obviously belongs to someone well-to-do. And see,’ she said, fingering the elaborately embroidered initial on the blanket she was wrapped in. ‘The letter B. Well, that could be significant, and a start as to discovering her identity. But in the meantime what are you to do with her?’

Folding her arms across her large bosom, Izzy looked at him hard, knowing perfectly well what the young master was about to ask her.

Marcus removed his attention from the child and, placing a cajoling arm about Izzy’s waist, smiled infectiously, disarmingly, as though to ask forgiveness for what he would say next—for there really was nothing else he could do. And because Izzy was so fond of him he knew she would not refuse.

‘You’ll look after her for me, won’t you, Izzy? You have a brood of your own—one more won’t make any difference.’

‘Will it not?’ she said, glancing at Hester and Kenza, their chattering voices filling the kitchen once more. ‘With three mouths and my husband to feed how will I manage?’

‘Babies don’t eat much, Izzy, and I’m sure Mother will help.’

Izzy hesitated, looking at him hard again. Master Marcus had discovered how to manipulate those who cared for him from an early age. Whereas his brother, Master Edward, was rebellious, given to fits of temper and nastiness when he could not get his own way. He was proud and haughty where Master Marcus was generous and tender-hearted and full of irresistible charm, and all those around him—from the cook down to the scullery maid—could not help but respond to him—especially Izzy and her girls, who adored the very ground upon which he walked.

Izzy sighed, unable to refuse his request. ‘With that clever brain of yours, that pleading look in your eyes, Master Marcus, and the way you have of getting the better of others—especially me, even with my strong powers of reasoning—you know I can’t refuse you anything. But when people ask where she came from what am I to say?’

‘The truth, of course,’ Marcus replied, satisfied that he’d got his way and gently chucking Lowena under her softly dimpled chin.

‘I’ll look after her for the time being, Master Marcus,’ Izzy said, cradling the child in her arms and thinking what a lovely little thing she was. ‘You know I’ll take good care of her. But I want you to promise me that if anything should happen in the future—what I mean is if we fail to find her family and should anything happen to me—you will take care of her, see that comes to no harm.’

Noting the gravity of Izzy’s words, Marcus nodded, and his answer was spoken quietly, equally as grave. ‘I will, Izzy. I promise.’

‘That’s all I ask. Now, then, let’s get her settled and I’ll see about feeding her. I don’t suppose Annie will mind sharing...’

Before Marcus left the cottage Izzy was already unbuttoning her dress and settling down beside the hearth to feed the new and what she believed to be the temporary addition to her family.

* * *

As the years passed Lowena flourished within the warmth of Izzy’s family. She was a happy child, adored by all who met her.

Izzy never made any secret of the fact that she was a foundling. Enquiries had been made, but no one could throw any light on where she had come from, and as time went by it ceased to matter...

Chapter One

1780

The crowd melted away, making a pathway before Captain Marcus Carberry as he walked from Fowey Harbour with long, purposeful strides. Some turned to look again at the well-built figure of the tanned military man in his late twenties. His face was disciplined, strong, striking—and exceptionally handsome. He was conspicuous in his tight fitting-red jacket with its cross-belt of white which emphasised his powerful chest, and tapering white trousers above knee-length black boots emphasised long legs and muscular thighs.

Having left the ship outside Fowey’s deep harbour, on its way to Portsmouth, and rowed to shore, he was eager to get home. Looking around the familiar bustling streets he felt his heart swell. For him, the war in America was over. Having served the ten years he had signed up for with the army, he had been on the point of extending his post, but the death of his father had brought him back to Tregarrick.

Cornwall was in his heart, and he had always known he would come back. Everything he had ever cared about was here. Breathing deep of the salt sea air, he thought even the cloying stench of fish that hung over the harbour smelled sweet after five years of war.

And then there was the family mine—Wheal Rozen, named after his grandmother. From the moment his father had taken him there as a boy he’d set about learning all there was to know about mining and everything connected with it, from anyone who was prepared to talk to him. The memory of the times he had spent at Wheal Rozen as a boy and then as a youth, listening to the noise and action of the great pump engine demonstrating its power, made his body tingle.

Now, on his father’s demise, Marcus’s elder half-brother Edward had inherited the estate—which was the way of things—but his father had left Marcus one hundred per cent ownership of the mine, so all the decision-making would be up to him, and the freedom to explore for further mineral deposits was his priority.

As soon as he had eaten at a hostelry he hired a horse and headed out of Fowey. The horse would be returned in due course. It was already dark. He knew it was dangerous to travel at night but, believing his uniform would protect him against anyone who might be tempted to waylay him, and eager to get home, he set out for Tregarrick.

Thoughts of his brother brought a hardening to Marcus’s jaw and an ache to his heart, and as he covered the miles he was unable to stave off his anxiety as to how his homecoming would be received by Edward.

Marcus knew better than to expect him to welcome him home with warm words. Spoiled and fawned over by an adoring mother, Edward was one of the most unprincipled men he knew. He and Marcus had led separate lives, meeting only when one or the other had come home from school, and later when Marcus came home from the military academy. After a lifetime of resentment Edward was unlikely to have had a change of heart towards Marcus. But if he had, Marcus would welcome that and hold out his hand.

As brothers they should be able to forgive each other anything—shouldn’t they?

Almost at the end of his journey, and seeing a flash of light out at sea, he dismounted and walked to the cliff’s edge. His eyes were drawn down to the beach, where dark figures moved and horses waited. From his vantage point Marcus knew he was witnessing the centuries-old Cornish tradition of smuggling.

It was something he had grown up with, and he knew that to those involved in the trade it was a way of life. For the families with many mouths to feed times were hard, and smuggling was their way of trying to make ends meet—the ring-leaders often became rich on the strength of it. But those who got involved in this illegal trade did so at a high cost, for the penalty for smuggling would be found at the end of a rope...

* * *

Tonight the wind was blowing and the sea was choppy. Conditions were perfect for the run. The night was dark, with only a half-moon showing now and then between heavy clouds. Lowena didn’t like being on the cliffs after dark, but Edward had left her with no choice.

Edward Carberry! The mere thought of him had the power to fill her with fear and hatred. It was hard to believe that a man of such high standing in the community, and indeed the whole of Cornwall, would involve himself in the illegal and highly dangerous practice of smuggling. But since taking up employment as a servant at Tregarrick, Lowena had come to realise that her employer was clever and as slippery as an eel—and notorious for his ruthlessness.

It was as though smuggling gave him a much needed outlet for adventure, and the danger provided heightened his emotions. He also seemed to take great delight in cocking a snook at the Government in faraway London, for the exorbitant taxes imposed on the people of Cornwall to fund its wars and other schemes that did not concern the county.

As soon as she had started work at Tregarrick, after Izzy’s death, Lowena had caught his eye. When she’d resisted his advances, he had taken a perverted delight in drawing her into his ring of smugglers. She had courageously stood up to him, and told him she wanted no part of it, but he had left her in no doubt that if she did not comply she would have to seek employment elsewhere.

With no family to support her and nowhere else to go, Lowena had had no choice but to do as she was told.

Had his brother Marcus been at home then things would have been different. In all the years she had known him Lord Carberry’s younger half-brother had shown her nothing but kindness and consideration. He had often come to see Izzy when he was home from school, to sample some of the wonderful appetising food that she’d put on her table.

How he’d loved to talk! And how Lowena had loved to listen, with her eyes wide and nothing to contribute but her admiration of this handsome youth. Tenderness still shook her every time she thought of him. He would not have allowed Lord Carberry to use her in this manner.

Her heart warmed as she thought of him now. Izzy had told her that Mr Marcus had all the characteristics his half-brother had always envied and resented. Lowena remembered that his features were quiet and intent, that they were also strong and noble—in all he was taller and significantly more handsome and manly than Edward Carberry. Edward’s features were fine—his eyes a watery blue, his hair ash-blond.

It wasn’t the first time Lowena had been dragged from her bed when there was a run. She knew the routine. She was positioned at the highest point along this part of the coastline, and it was her responsibility to light the beacon of furze should trouble appear. Someone else was guarding the narrow track that ran down to the cove—the one that led to the high moor, which was dominated by a bleak, hostile landscape and where no one lingered longer than was necessary.

The wind snapped at her hair and she shuddered as she looked down into the cove, unmoving, watchful, staring into the darkness, hoping and praying that all would go to plan so she didn’t have to light the furze.

A cloud moved off the moon, shedding light on the small horseshoe cove. This was where, on a terrible stormy night, a ship had once found itself at the mercy of the wind, the sea and the rocks—where it had floundered and broken up. Wreckers had soon been drawn to the stricken vessel, before the customs men had appeared on the scene. They had looted the vessel, killing without mercy anyone who had survived.

It was said that on certain nights the souls of the dead could be heard on the wind, as if they refused to move on and continued to haunt the environs of the cove.

Ever since that night people had said the cove was cursed, and no one came here—which was to the smugglers’ advantage. It was a haven for smugglers—if they knew how to pilot a boat among the reefs.

Two strings of horses were already on the beach. They were hardy workhorses, along with specially adapted saddles which could carry the heavy casks of liquor and chests of tea.

The men in the boats were professional seamen, the shore party less so, being made up mainly of agricultural labourers and miners. A successful run could earn them as much as two weeks working on the land, and it was with Lord Carberry’s approval that they brought with them carts and horses wherever they could be found, to assist in the landing.

Edward’s estate manager, William Watkins, was keeping his eye on proceedings and giving orders to the men on the beach.

Looking out to sea, Lowena saw a light. It flashed three times. This was the signal indicating to those on shore that the ship they were expecting was there for the rendezvous, hidden in the darkness out at sea. The men in the boats began rowing towards the light in the treacherous waters, careful to avoid the submerged rocks and soon being swallowed up in the darkness.

The suspense was unbearable to Lowena as she paced back and forth along the cliff edge. It was a cold night and her heart was racing, her eyes blinded by gusts of wind.

After about an hour or more the boat returned. The men jumped out carrying their oars and placed them on the sand. They worked swiftly, unloading the cargo with silent speed and loading it into carts or securing it onto the horses and leading them up the narrow valley which opened into the cove.

Some of the smuggled goods would be taken up-country to Devon or beyond, and some would be stored locally, to be sold in the community. Lord Carberry had established contacts to shift the goods.

As the horses began to move off with their heavy, lucrative load, Lowena gave a sigh of relief and yawned. At last she could return to the house and her bed.

Suddenly something made her turn her head and look along the cliff. Straining her eyes in the darkness, she felt cold fear grip her. Her heart almost stopped when she saw the silhouette of a man, watching the activities below. His feet were slightly apart, his back straight, his hands clasped behind him. Instinctively she shrank into the shadows. How long had he been there? What had he seen? It was too late now to light the beacon.

Holding her breath, Lowena slowly edged towards some tall shrubs, hoping he hadn’t seen her. When she looked again the man had gone. Her gaze scanned the blackness all around her, but there was no sight of him. Not wanting to wait a moment longer, she turned and headed for home. Moving swiftly along the path, she felt her foot stumble against a stone and only just managed to keep herself from falling.

Straightening herself, she came face to face with a tall figure in the uniform of a soldier. A dragoon—he had to be a dragoon. At the sudden appearance of this ghostly apparition, looming large and menacing, she trembled with fear. A bolt of terror shot through her and she stood rooted to the spot, unable to move or to speak. When he stepped closer to her she pulled herself together, and with no thought other than to escape turned to run. But the man caught her arm in a vice-like grip.

‘Don’t be a fool,’ he growled. ‘Stay where you are.’

Stunned and stricken dumb, Lowena heard that low, deep voice and thought she was in some kind of nightmare. She spun back, her eyes wide, staring up at him through the tangled mass of her hair. Her heart was beating hard and seemed to roar in her ears. The man towered over her, and in the darkness she could just make out his face.

She felt herself drawn to him, as if by some overwhelming magnetic force, and for an instant something stirred inside her. She experienced a feeling of strange, slinking unease—the unease of shadowy familiarity—and she shivered with a sense of deep foreboding.

The blood drained from her face. Recognition hit her and she gasped, thunderstruck.

It was Mr Marcus, back from the Americas. At least it looked like him.

With her hair strewn across her face and in the dim light she prayed he hadn’t recognised her—not now, not when she must look a frightful sight and was breaking the law. Struggling fiercely to release herself from his grip, closing her ears to the low curses he uttered, she succeeded in freeing herself and fled.

On reaching the back of the house at Tregarrick she let herself in, breathing a huge sigh of relief that he hadn’t recognised her or followed her. In her room, high in the eaves, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her body taut, her head in a whirl. She tried not to think of Mr Marcus, wondering if perhaps it hadn’t been him who had taken hold of her, if she had been mistaken and it had been one of the dragoons from the barracks at Bodmin who had accosted her.

After a while she heard a dog bark in the stables and the whinny of horses. Voices sounded outside and she knew the men had returned from their night’s work in the cove. She froze, her desire to flee this house overwhelmingly strong.

Covering her face she began to sob, and great tears oozed from her eyes. ‘Oh, Izzy,’ she moaned, with a wretchedness that came straight from her heart. ‘Why did you have to die? Why did you have to leave me?’

There was no help for her.

* * *

Two hours later, when the two half-brothers finally faced each other across the drawing room at Tregarrick, the air about them had turned cold, lapping around them like a winter sea. It held the two of them in its deathly chill.

Edward took judicious note of the taut set of his brother’s jaw, and the small lines of ruthlessness around his mouth, and could see he was a youth no longer. Marcus presented a towering, masculine, imposing figure. An aura of authority and power seemed to surround him. It was etched in every line of his lean, taut frame, and he possessed a haughty reserve that was not inviting.

Edward mentally despised the implacable authority and strength in Marcus’s manner and bearing, which no doubt stemmed from his military training and the ensuing years fighting the war in America.

‘Ah,’ Edward said, his eyes cold. ‘You survived the war, I see... So the soldier condescends to return home? Good of you, Marcus. Better late than never, I suppose.’

Marcus’s lips curled in derision. ‘I am the sort who clings to life, Edward, as you should know. I was sorry to hear about Isabel,’ he said, his tone flat as he referred to Edward’s wife.

Edward’s face hardened and became closed, but not before Marcus had seen a hidden pain cloud his eyes.

‘Mother told me it was a riding accident that killed her.’

‘These things happen,’ was all Edward said, clearly irritated that his brother should remind him of that time in his life when he had been at his most vulnerable. ‘I am surprised to find you here at this late hour. You must forgive my absence. I have been occupied with other matters tonight.’

‘I saw.’

Edward smiled thinly, pouring himself a drink. Dropping into a leather chair by the fire, he stretched out his long booted legs. ‘As long as you were the only one who saw then I am not concerned.’

Before Marcus had left for America he had known that Edward had become the leader of a well-organised smuggling ring operating hereabouts. It would seem nothing had changed.

‘I had thought you would have put the trade behind you with your new position. Even the cleverest smuggler will make a mistake eventually—and then he will be either arrested or dead.’

Edward’s brows lifted imperturbably. ‘I and more than half the population in Cornwall do not see smuggling as a crime. Those involved in various ways either buy, sell, or drink—respectable ministers of the church, doctors, lawyers, and...oh, yes...even magistrates and excise men. They all look the other way for a drop of fine French brandy or a bolt of silk or lace for their ladies.’

‘You are good at impressing people, aren’t you, Edward? People who don’t know that beneath your fine clothes and affectations you are in possession of a ruthlessness and cruelty which will stop at nothing to possess or destroy what you cannot possess. But there are those who are law-abiding and will not turn a blind eye to your activities for ever. You would do well to remember that you are not beyond reach of the law.’

Marcus had spoken quietly—too quietly for Edward’s comfort—and there was a judgemental expression in the cold, pale eyes assessing him.

‘The law can go to hell,’ Edward bit back, with apparently righteous indignation. ‘The various schemes I devise with those across the Channel for our mutual profit will continue until I call a halt. I shall continue to land contraband in that cursed cove until I can no longer elude the Revenue men and the dragoons.’

‘Nevertheless it is still a crime, and should you get caught your title will not save you.’

‘So you imagine I might be arrested?’ Edward said, tilting his head to one side and peering at his brother through narrowed eyes. ‘Perhaps you may propose to do something yourself.’

Marcus shrugged. ‘What can I do that the excise men can’t? I can’t forbid you to cross the land to the cove, since you own it. But you will not escape without retribution—and if you were not my brother it would be all the sweeter if it were by my own hand. I know you, Edward. The methods you use for disposing of those who get in your way are not mine. I am first and foremost the King’s servant. Eventually you will be caught, and you will have to stand trial and suffer the ultimate penalty for your crime—and when you do you will ask yourself if it was worth it.’

Edward laughed lightly, unconcerned by his brother’s argument. ‘The men who work for me are as audacious and cunning as I am. We are not such amateurs that we would leave contraband lying around for the excise men to find.’

‘And those in the community who are not directly involved? Huge rewards are offered for the successful conviction of smugglers. Does it not concern you that someone might speak out?’

‘Anyone tempted by the rewards will know that their lives would be short if they were to do that. The Cornish coast is long, Marcus, with many hidden coves riddled with caves. Smuggling goes on from Land’s End to the Tamar and beyond. The excise men and the dragoons cannot be everywhere at once. But I suppose if I should be arrested that would please you, would it not? To become Lord of the Manor?’

Marcus didn’t answer. He knew Edward was trying to bait him, but he refused to be drawn.

‘The funeral is over, Marcus,’ Edward said, having had enough discussion of smuggling and wanting a change of subject. ‘Our father has been interred in the church next to my mother.’

Marcus knew exactly what he was alluding to. He wanted to remind him that his own mother took second place as their father’s second wife. ‘I know. That’s as it should be. I came as soon as I received Mother’s letter.’

Edward glanced at his brother. ‘Is it your intention to return to the war, or are you home for good?’

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Edward, but I am here to stay. My time with the army is at an end. I’m weary of war—which is not going well for the English.’

‘I am aware of that. The world has not passed me by here at Tregarrick,’ Edward replied drily.

‘I am surprised to find you still at home, Edward. In her letter informing me of our father’s demise Mother mentioned something about you going to London. I imagine that now you have the estate to manage you will not spend so much of your time in the city as you have in the past.’

‘Why not? I employ Watkins to oversee the work here. He worked well for my father—’

‘Our father,’ Marcus corrected coldly.

Edward smiled thinly, arrogant in his demeanour. ‘Whatever you say.’

‘Have you considered getting yourself an heir, Edward, and marrying again? It’s two years since Isabel died.’

‘I will—when I am good and ready. It has crossed my mind to go up to London for a time, and I might have a look around for a woman who suits my needs while I’m there. I’m in need of some pleasurable diversion. However,’ he said, swirling the brandy round the bowl of his glass and settling back into the chair, his lips curved in a self-satisfied smile, ‘at this present time I have to say that a certain young woman at Tregarrick is proving to be the most charming diversion since she has come to work at the house.’

‘Really? Do I know her?’

‘You should. You were the one to bring her here after all!’

The dawning of understanding filled Marcus’s eyes. He stared at Edward. ‘Lowena?’ His face hardened. ‘Are you telling me that you and Lowena...?’

Edward laughed mirthlessly. He could almost feel the effort his brother was exerting to keep his rage under control. ‘Absolutely. She has the face of an angel—a beautiful, fallen angel in every sense. She certainly has fire in her veins. You know the type... I’m tempted to remain in Cornwall a while longer. She helps in other ways, too,’ he said quietly, meaningfully, watching his brother carefully for his reaction. ‘She is particularly alert on the nights when there is a run and we need someone to man the beacon—or woman, in her case.’

There was nothing subtle about his mockery. It was direct. Marcus looked at him, lounging in his chair, arrogant, smug, self-satisfied, with a triumphant light in his eyes. He shook his head, as if to clear it of the monstrous thought his intellect was already beginning to form, but it clung on with the tenacity of a limpet on a rock. The mere thought that Edward had made Lowena a pawn in his illegal ventures almost sent him over the edge.

‘Are you telling me that you have involved Lowena in smuggling?’

Edward looked at him. ‘Why not? She is in my employ, so she has to do as she is told. She does have her uses—in many ways.’

Marcus went cold as what Edward had implied settled round his heart like an iron band. An awful, impossible thought came sliding slowly into his mind. It was too wicked for words—and yet suddenly he knew. He had a deep-rooted conviction that it had been Lowena he had encountered earlier—the girl who had been standing as lookout on the coastal path. He hadn’t been able to see her identity because of the dark.

It was bad enough that Edward had implied that he was in a sexual liaison with Lowena—which Marcus refused to believe—but to be told that she took part in his nefarious practices was hard to take in and to accept. Edward had never been one to look beyond his own gratification. The mere thought of his brother tarnishing that sweet girl with his corruption sent a pain through his heart.

What Marcus remembered about Lowena was pure and good—all Edward would see was some sweet flesh to feed on. He had not changed. But then he had not expected him to. Edward lived his life close to the wind, in a dubious, discreditable way, caring little for the gracious things.

Contemptuous of his unworthy brother, Marcus filled his voice with scorn. ‘I will not have Lowena’s character impugned by innuendo, Edward.’

‘Innuendo?’ Edward laughed mirthlessly. ‘My dear Marcus, who said anything about innuendo? Miss Trevanion has grown up to be the most accommodating beauty. Wait until you see her. You will not be disappointed.’

Edward was boasting with an unpleasant brand of sarcasm and resentment that Marcus had heard before. His anger simmered quietly within him, but when he spoke his voice was full of menace. ‘Lowena is nineteen years old—’

‘A very delectable nineteen-year-old. You’ve been absent too long, brother. Your sweet little Lowena has grown up.’

‘I’d sooner see her burn in hell than for you to get your hands on her.’

Edward smiled, not in the least intimidated by his younger brother’s angry words. ‘That’s rather harsh, Marcus, but I believe you. However, it’s a bit late in the day for that.’

Marcus looked at his brother hard. Edward’s face was a mask of sexual greed as he anticipated the corruption of someone beautiful and innocent. There was avarice in his pale blue eyes—avarice and pitilessness, along with self-interest. There was also contempt for those he considered his inferior, and an indifference to those he destroyed in his search to relieve the boredom which drove him like a sickness—a sickness that had possessed him ever since he was a boy.

‘Your words show you in a bad light, Edward. If you attempt to touch her again you will have me to answer to. She is not a prize to be conquered. I demand that you remember that.’

Edward’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘You tempt me to put you to the test just for the sheer hell of it.’

‘Lowena is a young woman of great intelligence and tenacity. She is vulnerable and, having played a large part in bringing her to Tregarrick, I consider myself to have an obligation to protect her.’

He’d promised Izzy all those years ago that he would look after Lowena, should she find herself alone, and he would abide by that promise.

‘She is a servant,’ Edward sneered callously.

‘She is also a human being and should be treated with respect.’

‘What goes on in the lives of those in my employ is no concern of mine.’

Edward’s eyes were as cold as steel as they met his half-brother’s, and the muscles in his cheeks tensed with ire. At that moment he saw that Marcus was every inch a man, and any questions he might have had over what might result from Marcus’s time in the Americas and his arrival in Cornwall were answered.

Edward glared at him as their eyes parried for supremacy in a silent battle of unspoken challenge. It was Edward who looked away first.

When he spoke the mockery was gone and his voice was purposeful. ‘I answer to no man, Marcus, least of all to you.’

‘I would not expect you to.’

‘Nevertheless I speak the truth. Lowena is very diverting—which you would know all about had you not gone away to widen your horizons.’

‘I was a soldier, Edward, fighting a war. Listening to you, anyone would think I had gone abroad on the Grand Tour. Unlike you, I had no estate to inherit and secure my future. I had to make my own way.’

‘Until Father willed the mine to you,’ Edward uttered sharply, the tone of his voice telling Marcus how much he resented that fact. ‘You must have known he would.’

‘On the contrary. But he knew you had no interest in it.’

‘Whereas you have?’

‘Of course. You always knew that. So did Father.’

‘Nevertheless, he should have made us equal partners,’ Edward retorted, his expression hardening. He suddenly felt at a disadvantage—a unique experience for him.

‘Has it not crossed your mind that his reluctance to do so might have had something to do with your tendency to gamble, Edward? With your impetuous behaviour and lack of judgement? With such shortcomings as those he might have thought you needed keeping on a tight rein.’

‘He trusted me with the estate,’ Edward pointed out, regaining his confidence.

‘Because he saw that as your right. The mine is a separate entity, started by his grandfather. I think Father knew what he was doing when he willed Wheal Rozen to me. From the report I received in America from the mine manager, I gather Wheal Rozen is highly profitable, so there will be no need to bring in outside capital for further exploration. So you see, Edward, you are not rid of me after all. But you can rest assured I shall endeavour to keep out of your way as much as it is possible to do so.’

‘Under the circumstances, that shouldn’t be too difficult,’ Edward said, getting out of his chair.

‘Since we inhabit the same house, it is inevitable that we shall bump into each other now and them.’

About to take his leave, Edward half turned and looked at him hard, a smug smile curving his lips. ‘The house? And what house might that be, brother? Tregarrick? This house?’ He laughed—a laugh that was brittle and without humour. ‘Of course! You don’t know! But then—how could you?’

Something dark and ominous began to unfurl within Marcus. ‘Know? Know what?’

‘Your mother has moved out to the cottage. Knowing how fond you are of your mother, and knowing you would wish to reside with her, I had your things removed from Tregarrick.’

‘Moved out? Did she go of her own free will or did you order her to leave?’

Edward shrugged. ‘Does it matter? She went, anyway.’

The knowledge that Edward had relegated his mother to the cottage angered Marcus beyond words, but he would not take him to task over it until he had spoken to his mother.

‘I will speak to her tomorrow, but before I leave for the cottage there is something I have to take care of.’

‘And that is...?’ Edward asked as his brother strode to the door.

As Marcus had expected, a servant was hovering in the hall should Edward need anything.

‘Bring Miss Trevanion to me.’

She stared, nonplussed. ‘Miss Trevanion? But—but she is in bed, sir.’

‘Then wake her—and tell her to pack her things.’

His tone of authority had the girl scuttling away.

Marcus went back inside the room and gave his half-brother a dark look. ‘If you imagine I will leave Lowena under your roof a moment longer then you are mistaken.’

Edward shrugged. ‘Do as you like.’

Without another word he turned and went out.

Marcus watched him go, but the rage that distorted his brother’s face was hidden from his view.

Marcus was unaware of how Edward cursed him, how his heart was dark and full of hate. Lowena’s beauty tantalised him, and knowing the jealousy that would consume him if he saw the woman he had decided would be his mistress bestowing her favours on his brother, returned from the war in America, he had decided it was not to be borne.

Plagued by what Edward might have done to Lowena, Marcus was impatient to see her—to see for himself the changes his brother had wrought on a girl he remembered as being as sweet and pure, with the smile of an angel and an unspoiled charm. As a child she had been shy as a woodland creature, her manner as graceful, with none of the world’s callousness to cause her heartache and pain. Time after time he had been drawn to her, but he had not explored his feelings because he had felt it wrong to do so.

She had been just sixteen when he had last laid eyes on her, when he had returned home on a brief spell away from his military duties. Her childhood had been behind her, and at that age she’d been old enough to be kissed. It shamed him to remember that the half formed young woman had aroused desires within him that, although perfectly natural, had made his sexual urge immense. But he was only human, after all, and a healthy and willing lover to any young girl.

Of course her age had mattered back then, and because she was who she was, and because he had had Isabel’s affair with Edward occupying his thoughts, he would not have touched her. And Izzy would not have taken kindly to him toying with the girl who was as dear to her as her own daughters.

Edward’s vitriolic insinuations and the dark shadow of the large part of Lowena’s life without him, which he knew nothing about, concerned Marcus more than he cared to admit. His heart twisted in fury at the image of her lying in his brother’s arms.

In angry frustration he turned his mind from his tortured imaginings and tried concentrating on the joy of her instead, determined not to let Edward’s words sour his memories of her.

When she appeared at the top of the stairs he found he had to test the accuracy of his memory. The sight of her stunned him. The young woman who descended, with her softly curving form, her glorious wealth of shining red-gold hair, its tendrils coiling like serpents down her spine, her stormy amber eyes shaded by long, curling lashes, and soft pink lips, possessed a full-blown beauty certainly more vivid and lively than he remembered.

Lowena seemed to exude the very essence of vitality and life.

* * *

It had taken Lowena all of five minutes to dress and pack her few belongings into a bundle. She had paused for a moment at the top of the stairs to look down at the man pacing the hall with long, impatient strides before moving gracefully down the stairs.

As she watched him she was conscious of a sudden tension and nervousness in her. Apart from their brief encounter earlier, she had not seen him for almost four years, and she did not know how to behave towards him.

Suddenly he looked up and saw her. Her face, pale and tense, was exposed.

She wasn’t to know about the acrimonious meeting he had had with his half-brother, but she sensed that he knew more about her involvement with what had happened in the cove earlier than she was comfortable with. Everything about him exuded an unbending will, and that in turn made Lowena feel even more wretched and helpless.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she walked towards him. For an endless moment their gazes locked as they assessed one another. She looked at him with the same bright, intelligent gaze he remembered.

‘I apologise for waking you at this hour,’ he said, and there was a touch of irony in his tone. ‘After speaking to my brother and being made fully aware that you are the person I encountered on the cliff earlier, it has become my opinion that it is more appropriate for you to reside at the cottage. I trust you have no objections?’

Even in her dazed state, having been woken and told to pack her things, Lowena was shaken to the core by the bewildering sensations racing through her body. Captain Carberry—Marcus—was home at last. Home and as handsome and strong as he had been when he’d gone away. She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but in the deep, unexplored places inside her she knew it did. She’d kept the image of him in her heart, like a flower pressed between the pages of a book, and now she could open it and look at it once more.

She lowered her eyes, but his extraordinary eyes drew her back. ‘None that I can think of,’ she replied, thankful that her voice was calm and did not betray her inner nervousness. ‘You must forgive me if I appear somewhat vague, but I am not used to being woken in the dead of night.’

He lifted a well-defined black brow in question. ‘No? Not even when my brother requires your assistance on the cliff on certain nights? You little fool! I thought you would have more sense than to let him implicate you in his nefarious activities. It doesn’t matter how he persuaded you. The facts speak for themselves.’

He noted her bewilderment and apprehension, the way she looked about her as if searching for a hole down which to disappear.

‘Never mind,’ he uttered crisply. ‘We will speak of it tomorrow.’

‘There is nothing for me to say,’ she said with underlying desperation. ‘Because of my situation, and with no family of my own to go to, I cannot afford to offend a man like your brother. He is my employer. It is impossible for me to disobey him. You have no idea what it has been like for me since Izzy died...’

A smile of understanding tempted Marcus’s lips. ‘Maybe I should have, had I not been absent for so long, but I assure you, Lowena, that I have a good idea now.’

Hearing the gentleness behind his words, she looked at him and felt her heart skip a beat. Her eyes devoured him, worshipped him—his hair, his eyes, his face were all more attractive than any she had ever seen, and if what she felt for him was love, then she loved him absolutely, devotedly. With a love that had bonded her to him when she had been sixteen years old and was stronger still now, even with no hope of ever having her love returned.

She would be content to exist in the same space as he did.

His eyes were on her face, gauging her, watching for every nuance of emotion in her. He could have no notion of her wayward thoughts.

She flushed and drew herself up proudly. The spectre of his brother rose between them, intangible but strong, and an unexpected sense of pain filled Lowena’s heart that Marcus might have listened to his brother and judged her unfairly. Her heart beat a tattoo in her chest and she was afraid he would hear. There was still so much of the girl in her, at war with the young woman this man was capable of bringing to the surface.

‘All I ask is that, whatever Lord Carberry has told you, you do not judge me too harshly. Remember that I am not the girl I was when you went away.’

‘No, I realise that. If my brother’s words are to be believed, then I can only assume that your conduct has been reprehensible, that you haven’t an ounce of sense or propriety, and that your behaviour would have been an embarrassment to Izzy had she been alive.’

The unfairness of his words brought a gasp to Lowena’s lips. ‘How dare you say that to me? I have never failed to respect Izzy—but I suppose if I hadn’t, the name I bear does not permit any offence to go unpunished,’ she bit back, bristling with indignation at being wrongfully accused. ‘You said if your brother’s words were to be believed. Do you believe them?’

His eyes refused to relinquish their hold on hers as he sought the truth. ‘He implied that you and he are lovers.’ He arched a dark brow, his eyes quizzical, probing hers. ‘Should I believe him?’

Lowena stared at him in stunned, hurt disbelief, and in a blinding flash of sick humiliation she saw he really did believe that his brother spoke the truth. Anger welled up in her heart, draining the blood from her face and bringing a furious sparkle to her eyes.

‘I should know better than to speak against Lord Carberry, who has the power to dismiss upon a whim, but I have the right to speak in my defence. Do you think I invited his attentions somehow? Do you think it has been my ploy to lure him in the hopes of gaining some special privileges for myself? If so, you do me an injustice. I work at Tregarrick because I have no choice. I am not intimidated by Lord Carberry, and nor am I awed by his attentions—which are most unwelcome.’

‘Are you telling me that I have misconstrued what he told me—that is if I believed it in the first place?’

Forcing herself to remain calm, she raised her chin defensively. Her eyes were scornful and she spoke in a controlled voice. ‘Believe what you like. I do not feel that I have to justify myself to you or to anyone else, for that matter. Perhaps it would make you feel better if I admitted to everything your brother has said about me—regardless of the fact that it may not be true.’

Marcus gazed at her from beneath his lowered eyes. He could see how tense she was, and that her eyes were shining with a pain he wondered at. He was touched, despite himself, by her youth—and also by some private scruples. Whatever the truth of the matter, she still had a virtuous innocence and a warm femininity that touched a deep chord inside him.

‘Enough. Enough of this for now. The hour is late and it is not the time.’

‘Enough, you say? How dare you be so judgemental? You have been away a long time and know nothing of what has been happening in my life. I find your inquisitorial and aggressive manner both unreasonable and unacceptable. You are playing the role of an outraged father whose honour has been besmirched a little too well for my liking—casting accusations and demanding explanations. A lot has happened to me in your absence. I am no longer the complaisant, naïve, pathetic young girl you remember.’

‘You were many things, Lowena, but you were never pathetic,’ he countered softly.

She stared at him, momentarily thrown by the sudden softening in his eyes. ‘Oh—thank you. But you see I am my own person now, and I answer to no one.’

Looking at the tempestuous young woman standing before him, her eyes flashing like angry jewels and her breasts rising and falling with suppressed emotion, Marcus felt a stirring of reluctant admiration for her courage and daring to speak out so plainly.

‘Thank you for that edifying piece of information.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ she retorted.

Drawing a deep, suffocating breath, she fought with all her strength to keep back the tears which had started to her eyes and to ignore a heart beating hard with a mixture of so many emotions that they almost overwhelmed her.

‘Am I to reside at the cottage indefinitely?’ she ventured to ask, when she was confident she could speak calmly. She was bewildered by the night’s events and did not really know what she wanted to do at that moment.

‘For now. I’ll speak to my mother in the morning. Now, come along. The hour is late and I think we could both do with some sleep.’

Clutching her bundle close to her chest, Lowena followed Marcus out of the house and down the drive in the direction of the cottage. She stared at his broad back. Silly, girlish tears pricked her eyes. She blinked and set her mouth in a determined line before they reached the cottage.

They were not surprised to find it in darkness. Marcus hammered on the door and after a few minutes a woman in her night attire, carrying a lighted candle, opened it a crack.

‘Who is it?’ she enquired, clearly afraid that it might be someone up to no good.

‘It’s me, Mrs Seagrove—Lowena,’ she said quickly, in order to allay the housekeeper’s fears. ‘Mr Marcus is with me.’

Mrs Seagrove opened the door to let them in. Marcus quickly explained the situation, and in no time at all Mrs Seagrove was showing them to their rooms. Marcus insisted that he did not want his mother disturbed. Time enough for her to welcome him home in the morning.

Chapter Two

The cottage was tucked away within its own hollow, the house and its gardens concealed by a protective planting of beeches. Anyone who had never been to the cottage before would have the impression that the house was a small establishment—and in comparison to Tregarrick it was—but it was of considerable size. It was beautifully proportioned, with large windows looking out onto a terrace and the lovely gardens. Marcus had always been fond of the cottage. His paternal grandmother, whom he had loved dearly, had spent her last days there.

The following morning, Marcus’s mother, Lady Alice Carberry, welcomed him warmly, unashamed of the tears of overwhelming joy and relief that he was safely home at last which filled her eyes as she embraced her son. They sat across from each other as they ate breakfast, and she told Marcus the details of her husband’s heart problem that had resulted in his death. The lingering sadness that shadowed her eyes told him how deeply the loss of her husband affected her, and he knew she would quietly mourn him until the day she died.

Tall and slender, with silver-grey eyes like her son and a shock of dark brown hair streaked with grey, arranged neatly in an array of curls by her maid, Lady Alice led a full and happy life despite her sorrow. She was a woman highly thought of and respected in the area. She was also a strong woman, renowned for her ability to maintain her composure even in times of stress. She had run Tregarrick with precision and with perfect etiquette, demanding perfection from all who worked in the house. She could appear autocratic at times, but this was tempered by the softer side to her nature and her ability to balance the two perfectly.

‘You have seen Edward?’ she asked after a while, knowing the subject of his half-brother could be avoided no longer.

Marcus nodded. ‘Last night. He had no right to turn you out.’

‘Why not? It is his house now. I was thinking of moving out before Isabel died, but—well, it was such a sad time that I put it off.’

Marcus shifted uneasily. He had loved Isabel deeply, and found her betrayal of him with Edward still painful to deal with. He had no wish to discuss it now.

‘I do wonder what will become of Edward,’ Lady Alice said. ‘There is something terrible about him—not only terrible, but merciless and self-destructive, and it will eventually destroy him. Unlike before his marriage, his smuggling is no longer the adventure he was seeking but a distraction. Perhaps from his grief—which is an emotion unknown to him—or from the guilt that chases him...misplaced guilt over Isabel’s death. He blames himself for that. Isabel had told him she was to bear his child. He believes that if he had forbidden her to ride with the hunt things might have been different.’

Marcus’s reply was abrupt. ‘Isabel was headstrong. She would have found a way to defy him.’

‘Yes, I think you’re right. It saddens me when I think how Edward has always resented me for marrying his father. And I regret to say nothing has changed. It was best that I came to live in the cottage.’

‘But Father made provision for you to remain at Tregarrick until your death.’

‘I know, but I will not live in a house where I am not wanted.’ She smiled. ‘Try not to worry about me, Marcus. The cottage is a lovely house. Your grandmother lived here when your grandfather died and your father brought Edward’s mother as a bride to Tregarrick. That is what it is for—to house the dowager mistress of Tregarrick when a new bride arrives. I have always loved this house and I am quite content living here. It will be even better now that you’re home. I also gave some thought to you and what would be best when you came back. The two of you are better apart.’

‘I have to agree, but I wish things could have been different.’

‘So do I. Edward’s behaviour towards me and then you hurt your father deeply. But he left you and Juliet well provided for. He was not a frivolous man, and as you know he made shrewd investments in coal mining in the North and banking in London. He died an extremely wealthy man.’

‘Nevertheless, Edward deeply resents the fact that Father left me the mine.’

‘It’s what you always wanted. You won’t mind living here, will you, Marcus? When I have gone to London you will have the cottage to yourself.’

‘You are going to stay with Juliet?’

‘Your sister is always asking me to go to her. I miss Juliet and the little ones. I would ask you to come with me, but I know you have no liking for the city.’

His mother was right. London held no delights for him, but he was impatient to see his sister. They had always been close. Now she was married to Lord Simon Mallory and had left Cornwall to live in London. They had two children Marcus had not yet seen. He was impatient to rectify this.

‘You are right. London is not for me, but I would dearly like to see Juliet again. I will consider accompanying you—although if we are going then we must do so soon if we are to return to Cornwall before winter sets in. The roads—which are bad at the best of times in Cornwall—will become unpassable. I hope you don’t mind Lowena coming to the cottage too?’

‘Not at all. There’s always room for another pair of hands in the house.’ She gave Marcus a thoughtful look. ‘According to Mrs Seagrove, you didn’t arrive until the middle of the night. What made you bring Lowena with you?’

‘You may not know about it, but last night there was a smugglers’ run. Edward had her on the clifftop, manning the beacon, and I came across her. Edward also has an eye for her. I thought she would be safer here at the cottage with you.’

‘Oh, dear!’ Lady Alice said, deeply troubled to hear this. ‘I didn’t know—but then her duties are as a kitchen maid, so I rarely see her. Tregarrick is large, and we have such a large number of servants it’s difficult keeping track of them all. I leave that to the housekeeper. Edward has his own ideas, and it suits his needs as a gentleman to employ a large number of staff.’

‘It is also common practice for the gentry to take advantage of young women in their employ. My brother is no different—but why must he cast his eye on Lowena, who is little more than a girl?’

Lady Alice laughed softly. ‘If you think that then your eyesight is sadly impaired, Marcus. Lowena is a beautiful young woman.’

‘She is also a rare jewel and quite unique—as Izzy was always telling me.’

Marcus fell silent, recalling the night before and how Lowena had so boldly stood her ground and spoken her mind. Marcus cursed beneath his breath as he realised what those impressions had extracted from him—admiration and desire.

His awareness of the latter left him both outraged with himself and shaken by its swift encroachment on his life at a time when he had vowed never to become enamoured by another woman. But, try as he might to dismiss them, those thoughts gave birth to an impractical possibility that he would not let himself consider just then—for to do so would unleash the pain and heartache he had locked away when Isabel had betrayed him with Edward.

But he would not allow himself to think for another moment that the young girl he had teased and laughed with, who had enchanted and amused him, was romantically entangled with Edward. Such an idea was insane. It was obscene. He would not believe it—because he couldn’t bear to believe it.

But if there was no truth in it then why had she not come right out and said so?

‘When I said she is a girl,’ he went on, ‘what I really meant was that she is a child compared to Edward and his vast experience with women.’

‘Then we must keep an eye on her and keep her away from him.’

‘Yes, I intend to do just that. Much as I applaud Edward for his good taste, I can’t help thinking that if we let Lowena find herself in his clutches it would be like feeding her to the wolves.’

‘I think you underestimate her, Marcus. I strongly suspect that she has the courage to pit her will against any man—including you,’ Lady Alice said quietly.

Marcus’s face tensed and he gave his mother a sharp look. ‘Rest assured, Mother. Lowena is quite safe from me. Now, tell me what you have been up to since you were removed from Tregarrick.’

‘I’ve been to Devon to stay with my dear friend Anne Holland and her family—she thought some time away after the funeral would be a comfort to me. But never mind that. We must make arrangements for Lowena.’

‘Very well. What do you suggest?’

‘I shall see that she is given responsible work. In fact Dorothy, my personal maid, is not as young as she was, and I have noticed that she is slowing down of late—not that I would say anything...the last thing I want to do is upset her. Lowena is a bright young thing, and if she is in agreement—even though I think her talents would be wasted—I will train her as a lady’s maid. I’ll give her a few days to settle in and then I’ll discuss it with her. Leave it with me. I will deal with it.’

‘Thank you—that is a relief. Although I worry about what will happen to her when we leave for London. Would you think of taking her with you?’

‘Certainly, if she accepts the position I offer her. Without Izzy, and with Hester and Kenza married now, and Annie having gone to live with Hester, she is quite alone in the world, poor girl. I often wonder about her—who were her parents and where did she come from?’

She sighed.

‘I’ve always had a fondness for her—and I know you have too, and that because you were the one who found her you have always felt responsible for her. However, for all her provincial ways, I feel she is not of the servant class. My heart goes out to her, for I cannot imagine what it would be like to be without family.’

‘Lowena always considered Izzy’s family her own.’

‘I know, but it’s not the same, Marcus. After all this time I don’t suppose we will ever know where she comes from. She’s such a bright girl, with an intelligence I have not witnessed before in a young lady. Not even Juliet. Izzy taught her well—although a great deal of what she has learned she’s gleaned from the books she borrows from the library at Tregarrick. Izzy was disappointed that her own girls did not have the same enthusiasm for learning.’

Gazing at her son she smiled.

‘You really do look very handsome in your red coat, Marcus, but I imagine you’ll have to discard it now you’re no longer a soldier.’

‘I intend to. But I’ve worn uniform for so long that I’ve outgrown most of my clothes. I thought I’d ride into St Austell and visit the tailor. I intend to call at the mine on the way.’

* * *

Sheltered in the protective folds of low hills was the Tregarrick estate. It dated back several centuries, and each generation of the Carberrys had made its mark on the house with some addition or alteration. It was a beautiful house, with an air of permanence and importance about it. Built of Cornish granite, its very solidity gave it an air of solemnity. Large mullioned windows allowed light to pour into the interior, the gardens were beautifully landscaped, and the high surrounding walls and tall iron gates concealed the private lives of those within.

Lowena put her hand on the gate at the same moment as a skein of geese left the lake and took to the air overhead in a V formation, and she did not see the curtain that was let fall to cover a window as the watcher moved to follow the girl.

Once through the gates, Lowena headed towards the sea. When it reached the coastal path the land sloped down towards the village, which had clung to the Cornish cliffs for centuries. Life there was something of a challenge, fishing, farming and mining being the bedrock of the community, but the village was not to be Lowena’s destination today.

Heading west, she followed the coastal path. Lady Alice had been kind enough to allow her a day to settle in at the cottage, so she had taken advantage of the fine weather to walk by the sea. She was grateful to Mr Marcus for removing her from Tregarrick. At least now she would be free of the predatory attentions of its owner.

As she walked along she took delight in the wild flowers that grew in abundance, along with the overgrown prickly gorse bushes, ablaze with yellow flowers, and the brambles and honeysuckle running rampant in the hollows and thickets.

Having walked some distance, she suddenly had an eerie sense that she was being followed. Halting her step, she turned and glanced back. Apart from the distant faint rhythm of the sea breaking gently upon the shore she could hear nothing, and there was no one in sight, but she had an unsettling feeling—as though someone was watching her. After a moment she carried on walking, thinking that perhaps she was imagining it.

Focusing her attention on the endless miles of sea, she saw that today it was calm, the waves breaking lazily on the soft smooth sand. A small fishing boat heading towards the village sailed slowly by on the calm water, followed by squawking gulls. Ahead of her, about half a mile away, was the cursed cove, and beyond that the Carberry mine, Wheal Rozen. Its tall chimney was clearly visible.

Below ground its shafts stretched right out beneath the sea. A shudder made its way down her spine, as it always did when she thought of the men who toiled in cramped, hot and airless conditions, working in fear of rock falls and many suffering chest conditions which would shorten their lives.

At nineteen, Lowena was in the uncertainty between being a young lady and a woman. Since Izzy had died she had been cast adrift, alone in a world she did not understand. Before, she had been an orphan too, she supposed, but she had never felt like one. Izzy had loved her family and sacrificed so much for them, and Lowena would be eternally grateful to her for making her a part of that family.

They had been a joyous family—full of fun and laughter—and throughout Lowena’s childhood they had shaken their heads and teased her whenever she’d studied too long at her books, laughingly saying—not unkindly—what a cuckoo it was that had arrived in their nest from nowhere.

The description hadn’t concerned her, because the fact was that she was different. Izzy’s teachings and encouragement to advance herself had inspired Lowena. She had often reflected on her future, and before Izzy had died she had considered following the same path she had taken and becoming a governess. Her world and her aspirations for the future had fallen apart when Izzy had died, and her passing had left her bereft until Lady Alice had been kindness itself and taken her on as a servant at Tregarrick.

But Lowena was a restless soul, with a yearning to be free of all constraints, and her spirit was as wild as the moor to the north. With a sudden release of energy she broke into a run as if the Devil himself pursued her. Her skirts flapped about her legs and her unbound hair streamed behind her like a ship’s pennant.

Not until she reached her destination did she slow her step.

Cornwall had hundreds of coves along its coastline, many of them ideal for smuggling. Protected by high ragged cliffs, giving shelter to the east and west, the cove below her now was small in size. The tide was out, but at high tide it was inaccessible. Hidden from the cliff path, making it completely private, this cove was Lowena’s favourite, and she did not fear it as she did the cursed cove, which she always avoided.

Breathless from her exertions, she left the path and pushed her way through a narrow opening in the gorse bushes. Her cheeks were flushed pink, the colour heightening the intensity of her amber eyes. With care she climbed down to the beach and walked to the edge of the surf, taking in deep breaths of clean air. The sun was sitting on the distant horizon and the sky was an azure blue. Last night the sky had been red. Sailors said a red sky at night meant sailors’ delight. How she hoped that was true.

She was snatched from her preoccupations when she heard a sound behind her. Spinning round, she saw Edward Carberry swaggering towards her. She shuddered, and felt herself shrink as he approached her. She hated him with a vengeance, and distrusted his presence now as she had distrusted it many years ago, when she had become aware of him as the future Lord Carberry and he had so cruelly called her ‘that foundling bastard’.

But that had never stopped him looking at her, watching her, biding his time until Izzy or the servants she now worked with were not there to protect her.

When Edward stopped in front of her there was a sneer on his mouth—and it was a cruel mouth, twisted in perpetual contempt for those who, in his opinion, were beneath him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, beguiling, gloating and hungry. He looked at her with impudent admiration, letting his gaze travel from her eyes to her mouth and then, after lingering on its soft fullness, moving down to the gentle swell of her breasts beneath her bodice.

‘Well, well, Miss Trevanion! They do say as how, if one is patient enough, one will get what one wants in the end. My half-brother may have removed you from the house, but you are not out of my reach.’

As she tried to force words to her lips Lowena hated the smile which twisted his mouth. Standing stiffly, every nerve of her body tense, she knew her eyes were wary as they watched him.

‘I cannot imagine what you mean, Sir Edward,’ she replied, her look one of pure innocence even while she knew perfectly well what was in his mind. ‘Please be so kind as to step aside.’

‘Not yet, Miss Trevanion.’

Lowena stared at him with fear-filled eyes. Lord Carberry was a powerful man, and if he attacked her she would not be strong enough to fend him off. All she had was her determination to escape him and two good legs. Fair-haired and blue-eyed, his features handsomely wrought, his bold gaze swept over her once more, taking in every detail of her flower-sprigged blue dress, and all the while he continued to smile that hateful twisted smile, so much more suave and slippery of manner than any man she knew.

In the depths of his cold eyes something stirred, and she felt a strong desire to push him away. There was an air of menace about him that entered her heart like a sliver of ice.

Realising she was in terrible danger, she backed away, feeling sea water fill her shoes but uncaring at that moment. ‘I asked you to let me pass. I have to get back to Lady Alice.’

‘Oh, such a proud beauty,’ he said, laughing softly. ‘I’ll be happy to let you pass...for the price of a kiss.’

‘I will not. You—you followed me—’

‘I thought that was what you wanted when I saw you turn on the cliff path and look back. At any rate, I am at liberty to seek you out whenever I please.’ Tilting his head to one side, Edward cocked a smooth, elegant brow, the glint in the depths of his eyes needle-sharp. ‘You did know I was following you, did you not, Lowena?’

He was taunting her, as he invariably did when he managed to waylay her, and she stiffened, half with anger and half with apprehension at being alone with him. She met his eyes, so bold, gazing down at her, taking in every detail of her fear-filled face.

With his handsome looks and the merry twinkle in his eye, it was hard to believe he was anything other than a gentleman, and she could understand why all the girls she knew in the village, even those who had been born to rich families, made eyes at him and vied for his favours—but she was not one of them.

‘I did not,’ she said sharply in reply to his question, hating the nervous tremor she was unable to control in her voice. She knew what had happened to his wife, and had always felt sorry for him, but she found it both annoying and distasteful that he paid her so much attention. It did not go unnoticed by the people she worked with and she was embarrassed by it. It was uncomfortable to be singled out.

‘Had I known, I would not have come to the cove.’

‘No?’ he murmured, his face and voice expressing a disappointment he did not feel. ‘I wanted to thank you for standing watch last night. You did well.’

‘I was obeying orders. I didn’t want to do it, but I was left with no choice.’

‘There will be other nights I shall call on you.’

‘I will not do it again. Your brother—’

‘Will not stop you when I send for you,’ he was quick to inform her, anger flaring in his eyes. ‘It is me you answer to—not my brother. He knows better than to interfere in my affairs. Anyone—and I mean anyone—who informs on me or meddles in what I do—be it Marcus or anyone else—will rue the day he was born.’

Lowena remained silent. She found the implication of his words and the threat he posed towards his brother deeply troubling.

His sudden surge of anger had diminished and, reaching out, Edward touched the thick tress of her hair which hung over her breast. She recoiled sharply, and her eyes still blazed in her lovely face. His own eyes narrowed when he saw the expression in hers, and there was a moment of silence—intense, burning...

When Lowena failed to lower her eyes he recognised in that moment that Lowena Trevanion possessed something quite rare. Whatever it was that he saw he wanted a part of it, and he was prepared to be patient, to wait for it, secure in the knowledge that it would be his.

‘Ever since you came to work at the house,’ he went on, ‘I have waited for this. I thought the opportunity to get you alone would never come when my stepmother watched my every move. You are looking very lovely today.’

His voice was thick and seductive—a trick that had always proved irresistible to the many ladies of his acquaintance. His eyes rested on the soft flesh at the base of her neck, where a pulse throbbed gently, before lowering to the soft swelling of her breasts.

Instinctively Lowena put her hands to her throat, angry with herself for having inadvertently led him to this place where she had no defence.

‘Please do not speak to me like this. I have to go. Lady Alice will have need of me. I said I would not be long.’

‘To hell with my stepmother. Let someone else do her bidding.’

‘Let me go...’ she breathed, her eyes flashing angrily.

She made a move to pass him, but his hand shot out and he seized her arm. Snatching it away instantly, she backed further into the foaming surf.

‘Take your hands off me and let me pass at once.’

Edward stared at her for a moment, and then the mocking smile was back. ‘What spirit you have, Lowena. You remind me of a horse that is unbroken—a horse that is in need of a master. Me.’

It was not a threat he uttered—more a statement of fact. Lowena went cold, the blood draining from her face as she saw sudden fire leap in his eyes.

‘What do you want?’

‘You,’ he answered smoothly, moving closer. ‘Come, Lowena, why so hostile? I have done nothing to justify it. As lovely as you are, you know how much I like you.’

Words fell from his gilded tongue effortlessly, as if they carried no weight or conviction.

Lowena’s face flushed hotly with indignation. ‘Please—do not speak to me in this manner, sir. It is not proper. I am nothing to you.’

‘You will be. You are a servant in my house—or you were until my brother whisked you away to wait on his mother. However, since I pay your wages it means I have certain rights.’

Lowena’s eyes blazed with anger. How dared he treat her in this manner, as if she were nothing at all? ‘Where I am concerned you have no rights. I do the work I am paid for and nothing more.’

Her remark made him laugh, throwing back his head and letting his laughter ring round the cove and echo through the caves beneath the cliff. ‘You are so lovely, Lowena, and delightful when you are angry. At least you are not indifferent to me.’

Before Lowena could react, his hands shot out and he drew her towards him. Too late she realised that he had succeeded in slipping through her guard and arousing her to an expression of her personal feelings, forcing her to a trembling awareness of him when all she wanted was to avoid him and put him from her mind.

Raising her hands, she tried to fend him off, to escape this nightmare she had fallen into. She began to fight him, blindly thrashing in his iron grip, but his arms became bonds. His mouth ground down onto hers, silencing her cries of outrage. Inwardly she seethed, finding his assault disgusting. His mouth was wet, hot and hard, and she hated it. It revolted her senses. She struggled and fought but he held her easily.

He was behaving like a depraved beast, intent on ravishment, without tenderness or decency. He must be aware of the force he was inflicting on her. He wanted power over her, but she would resist to her dying breath. She struggled fiercely, convinced that this sexually excited man had but one objective.

‘Let me go...’

‘Don’t fight me,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t like it and I am in no mood to play games.’

He fastened his mouth on hers once more and Lenora’s fear turned to cold fury.

Not until she bit down sharply on his lower lip did he relinquish her mouth.

Angry about her lack of submission, and too aroused to let anything get in the way of what his body wanted, Edward lifted his head and looked down into her angry, upturned face. A faint line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, which he casually wiped away with the back of his hand.

‘I’ve thought of this moment many times, and I mean to enjoy every moment of it. Indeed, Lowena, I would heartily like to hear you plead for mercy.’

‘Never!’ she bit out. ‘You will never hear that from me.’

Edward’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Ah, such defiance. Such spirit. Don’t fight me. Don’t resist me. It will be better for you if you don’t.’

‘Let go of me. You may be an important man in these parts, but there are better men than you in Cornwall.’

His eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘I warn you, Lowena, do not mock me. Have a care lest I turn you out without a penny piece.’

‘I do mock you,’ she flung back at him tauntingly, uncaring that he was Lord Carberry of Tregarrick as she found the strength to extricate herself from his hold. ‘And turn me out if you so wish, but do not touch me again. Ever.’

Edward reached out to capture her again, and without giving her next action any thought, other than to save herself from his assault, she raised her hand to fend him off. He caught it and flung it back at her in anger. He was not accustomed to having anyone stand up to him—let alone a female servant—and certainly no one who would dare raise her hand to him in anger.

‘You little hellion! I’ll teach you not to use your hands on me,’ he snarled. ‘How dare you—?’

‘I do dare, your lordship. Don’t you ever touch me again!’ she flared defensively, too incensed to realise the implications of what she might have done had he not stayed her hand.

Unbeknown to her, she came from a long line of proud ancestors who had endurance and courage running through their veins—ancestors who would allow nothing to stand in their way and certainly not a man like Edward Carberry, who was the epitome of all Lowena deplored.

When Edward recovered his equilibrium he almost retaliated in kind, for he was outraged that this girl would not submit to his will, but Lowena was looking beyond him, an expression of shock having replaced the fury on her face.

A flash of scarlet had caught her eye, and then her gaze became riveted as she saw it was a man—a soldier. Marcus Carberry. She stood perfectly still, her face drained of all colour. Feeling cold shock run through her, she realised how what had happened must have looked to him.

He stood unmoving on the edge of the cliff, looking down at the cove, watching them. Suddenly she came alive. The distance between them was too great for her to see his features, but she could imagine his anger.

Edward saw the change in her and turned, following the direction of her gaze. His face froze on seeing the scarlet-clad figure who had interrupted his dalliance. His smug reaction on seeing his half-brother was in his eyes and in his arrogantly curling mouth.

‘It—it’s Mr Marcus,’ Lowena said quietly.

For once Edward’s bland, inscrutable face dropped its guard, and it was as though a mask had been stripped from it. He made no other perceptible movement but, watching him intently, Lowena was aware of an indefinable change in him.

A hardness settled on his face, and then he was striding off across the sand in the direction of the cliff and his brother.

As if recollecting himself, he glanced back at the girl he had assaulted. ‘You will be sorry for this, I promise you,’ he ground out. ‘No woman gets the better of me—especially not a servant—so I advise you to have a care, Lowena Trevanion. Have a care...’

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