Chapter Ten

I t was so sudden that she had no time to fear it. She was so elated that it seemed perfectly natural. There was exuberance in the first hard pressure of his mouth, which she gladly returned, and then the kiss quickly gentled to something else altogether. Sweet, exciting, melting… His lips moved, parting hers and caressing. His fingers in her hair released the mask, which fluttered to the floor as he cupped her cheek.

Heat and pleasure surged through her, making her gasp, and suddenly the kiss was not gentle anymore. It was wild and passionate, like the most wonderful music.

She gasped into his mouth, grasping the soft hair at his nape. When had her arms gone around his neck? In that first, delighted moment, she had run to him. But this was like no other embrace she had ever known. Not like Glover's fumbling slobber or Atherstone's crushing assault… This was Cornelius , and he was…

He was music. She had no other words.

And then, abruptly, the door opened behind her. She all but fell into the dressing room, and he was gone, vanishing toward the stage door.

Stunned, she almost fell onto the nearest stool, touching her lips in wonder, hugging herself to re-create the wonder of his arms about her. It didn't work.

Then she laughed, because it had been such a wonderful evening, and she was happier than she had ever been in her life.

She was even glad to lose herself in hard work, changing her clothes and then, as the theatre gradually emptied, helping pack Helen's unsold pictures to load into the waiting carriage, keeping aside the bought ones with their tickets to be delivered by Captain Skelton or his men tomorrow.

Helen was thrilled for her. They were thrilled for each other.

"You were splendid!" Helen declared. "You have never played so well! Everyone adored you. I heard them as they left. In fact, you sold me another two pictures by making people so happy."

Alice laughed. "It was well worth the effort, was it not? I think we've done very well, and Captain Skelton says there has been no trouble to speak of."

Captain Skelton, however, spoke too soon. As Alice climbed into the carriage with all their things, there was shouting not so very far away, as if the town was uneasy.

"Time to go," Skelton said a little grimly, squeezing himself onto the bench opposite between the open door and two large picture frames. "There's a large group of men approaching with torches, and there are too many of them. Don't like the look of them. I think we have a riot forming. Where the devil is North?"

North was one of his men, coachman for the night and comfortingly large.

Skelton drummed his fingers on his thigh. "We should go."

"I'll go and hurry Helen," Alice said, reaching for the door.

Skelton blocked her. "Oh, no. Harper and Black will escort her. She's just coming." He peered out of the door up the street. "North!" he yelled, slamming the carriage door, for suddenly the riot was upon them. Yelling men surrounded the carriage, some bearing torches, others, their faces twisted with anger and malice, shaking the carriage as though to overturn it. Only the fact that others were shoving from the other side seemed to prevent its fall.

The horses were screaming, surely ready to bolt, even with the break on the carriage wheels.

Suddenly, like a thunderbolt, the enormous figure of North exploded through the crowd and leapt onto the carriage box. Alice, angry and frightened, was almost glad to see his whip lashing over the worst offenders.

Finally, Helen walked out of the theatre with her escort, and straight into the melee. Instantly, she was surrounded. Harper and Black fought furiously, but to her mounting horror, Alice saw that her little sister was being separated from her guards. Rough men had taken hold of her arms.

Screaming, Alice lunged at the door again, and was almost thrown back into her seat by Skelton, who had a pistol in his hand, leveled at the rioter trying to wrench open the carriage door.

And then, from nowhere, a horseman rode down the attackers nearest to the coach. He looked very like Cornelius's brother, Major Vale.

"Drive!" he yelled, presumably at North. "Now!"

The rioter at the door vanished, buffeted by the major's horse, and the carriage lurched into motion, immediately hurtling along the street.

Alice cried, "Stop, damn you! Let me out!" For Helen was still in terrible danger.

"She'll be fine," Skelton said, looking sick with relief. "The major has her now."

Through the back window, Alice, sobbing with helpless fear, saw the major laying about him, and then Helen seemed to be leaping through the air, and landed behind the major's saddle.

Alice wailed because she was getting further and further away from her little sister, whom she had always protected— whom she was supposed to protect. No obstacles blocked the carriage's advance now.

"Stop!" Alice shouted. "We must go back for Helen!"

"There's no need. The major will catch up with us. She'll be frightened but unharmed. Like you."

Shaking worse than at the concert, she fell back against the cramped seat and prayed he was right.

The major did not catch up with them.

When they finally reached the castle, Alice grabbed the first armful of their things and raced through the side door as silently as she could. Since it was after midnight and the guests were saving their energies for the ball, the castle was quiet and in darkness. Alice lit a couple of lamps to make her journey easier. Abandoning her burden in the sitting room she shared with Helen, she found no sign of her sister. Nor was she in her bedchamber, or Alice's.

"She will be safe with the major," Captain Skelton whispered yet again as he and North helped move the carriage load of things to the side door. "Shall we take these inside for you?"

"Better not," Alice said, nervous of strangers being discovered in the castle with armfuls of art. "Thank you for bringing them this far."

In fact, as they crept away to the carriage, Alice was glad to have something to do. Making several trips to return everything to the sitting room kept her busy for a while longer. Then, reluctantly, she doused the lights on the stairs and in the passage and went to her own room.

The flowers that kind people had thrown onto the stage lay on her dressing table, looking a little tired and limp—not surprisingly, since they had been crushed in Cornelius's astonishing embrace and then scattered on the floor when she forgot all about them. She busied herself filling a vase with water from the jug on the washstand and arranging the flowers. Hopefully, they would revive.

She undressed slowly and climbed into bed, alert for every faintest sound, but there were none except the odd creak of timber and a distant snore that was certainly not Helen's. She turned down her bedside lamp and lay down. If she could just fall asleep, she would wake again to find Helen chattering away about her adventures.

She was far too anxious to sleep. She tried to bring back the elation of the concert, her sense of triumph and delight. She recalled the wonder of Cornelius's kiss and her own delicious reaction. None of it was enough to banish her anxiety over Helen.

*

It was already dawn before she slipped into exhausted slumber.

She woke with a start to the sound of her bedchamber door opening. Helen! But before she could move, her brother whispered, "Alice." And a light shone on her face.

Fear paralyzed her all over again. Still not home . She had no idea what to say to Gervaise. She hung on desperately to Captain Skelton's certainty that Major Vale would bring her home safely. And if that was true, then blabbing to Gervaise would cause unnecessary trouble. So she lay still, pretending to be asleep, and Gervaise left again.

Slowly, Alice sat up and buried her head in her hands. How could she have abandoned Helen when she was in danger? Was she wrong to keep this from her family now?

*

It was the maid she shared with Helen who brought the news with morning tea.

"His lordship's in a great taking, and poor Lady Helen's in big trouble."

Alice's heart lurched with hope at last. "How? Why?"

"Found her walking with one of the handsome Vale brothers…"

Oh, thank God .

Almost sick with relief, she finished dressing hurriedly, while her sister's distinctive footsteps sounded in the passage. Almost running into Helen's chamber, she seized her, almost as tightly as she had held on to her before last night's performance, scanning her for signs of hurt.

For a moment, they clung together before they exchanged news. Which was when Alice realized they were not out of the woods yet.

*

Cornelius worked particularly hard the day after his visit to Whalen. It began with the return of Rob Smith, in reality Will Farmer, who wanted to marry Betsy the parlor maid and take over the tenancy of a farm at Black Hill. Cornelius, who liked his rough dignity and knew only too well the plight of returned soldiers, gave him work and promised to discuss the tenancy with Julius if he proved himself.

Cornelius raced over the land at top speed, for he planned to walk over to Braithwaite, even to call at the castle, in the hope of speaking to Alice.

In truth, in spite of the wild excitement of holding her in his arms—or because of it—he was thoroughly ashamed of himself. She did not care for that kind of intimacy, and he had forced it upon her, which made him no better than Daubin or Atherstone or any of the others who had frightened her. For that at least, he owed her an apology, an explanation, even, that might just allow them to remain friends.

In his memory, though, she had not objected. But then, he had taken her—and himself—by surprise, and she might have been too frightened or frozen by disgust…

She had not felt disgusted. Her soft lips had trembled as they opened for him. He had felt their pressure, their instinctive, passionate response… Or was he fooling himself? Was he remembering what he wanted to have happened rather than what actually had? Why had he not stayed another few moments to find out?

Because he had heard people coming and he was trying to preserve her reputation. But he had to see her, had to know, if only to ease any harm he had caused her.

Returning home to change, he found everyone in a state of great excitement because Lucy had engaged herself—in truth this time—to Lord Eddleston. She appeared to be deliriously happy, carrying everyone with her, including Cornelius, who found he could not miss her celebratory dinner.

The next day, he decided to take time off in the middle of the day instead, in order to visit the castle. Having begun the clearing of some good land that had gone wild, and given orders for the necessary work to continue, he left the men to it and rode a little way off to the small headland, from where he could see both the sea and a large part of the Black Hill estate, much of it hills and valleys.

Here, he dismounted, sat on a rock rising from the ground, and delved into his battered satchel for the hunk of bread and cheese he'd wrapped in a napkin. If he meant to go to the castle, he should really go home and change first. Either way, he did not want his stomach rumbling.

However, he had not even taken a bite before he saw a rider galloping over the rise, exactly the way he had come. From the shape formed with the horse, she was female. One of his sisters? Was there trouble? He lowered the bread back to the napkin.

His heart thudded with hope even before he recognized Lady Alice. After re-wrapping his luncheon, he dropped it back in his bag and rose to his feet. She reined in her mount beside Cornelius's horse and dismounted unaided before he could reach her.

"Good day, Lady Alice," he said formally. "May I be of service?"

Her color was high from exertion, or perhaps embarrassment because of the way they had last met. "Actually, yes. I need to ask you something. Am I spoiling your luncheon?"

He blinked. "You rode over here to ask me that?"

Her lips twitched. The tension in her shoulders seemed to ease slightly. "No. It just struck me. Miss Vale told me you where you were likely to be, and your men sent me over here. You probably want peace."

"No," he said honestly, conducting her to his favorite rock and offering her the spot he had just vacated. "Actually, I was about to ride over to Braithwaite to call on you."

Her color deepened. She avoided looking at him, which made him ashamed. He wanted to kick himself. Then, with what seemed to be a gathering of courage, she raised her gaze to his.

She had beautiful eyes, clear and direct. It was not easy to discern the dreaminess behind the wry humor and the no-nonsense air, but it was definitely there. Even if he had never heard her play, he would have recognized that.

"It's as well I came, then," she said. "We couldn't talk in private there very easily. The castle is full of people, and Helen and I are in disgrace. Do you have loom over me like that?"

"No." He just hadn't wanted to sit too close without permission. Assuming he now had it, he lowered himself to the rock beside her. A pulse beat in her throat, just above the collar of her smart habit. When he breathed in, he could smell her fresh, light scent, with a hint of horse. He didn't touch her, instead gazed out over the land to give her time. And to compose an answer. "And your question?"

She took a deep breath. "Is your brother Roderick a good man?"

He jerked around to face her, staring. "Roderick?" Of course she must know Rod—his men had guarded them in Whalen—but he was quite unprepared for the surge of helpless jealousy. Rod was a dashing hero. Though Cornelius had begun to suspect his brother to be taken with Lady Helen. Not Helen, Alice . Or was Alice doomed to the same heartache as Cornelius? That would be funny if it did not hurt quite so much.

Pulling himself together, he said, "He is the best of brothers. Why do you ask?"

"I'm afraid Helen is going to marry him."

Cornelius almost laughed with relief. "Well, it is certainly a step down for her. I doubt his lordship would agree to such a match."

"It is his wretched lordship who is insisting on it. Our Whalen adventure is discovered. Worse, it all went horribly wrong at the end, and we got caught up in a riot that separated Major Vale and Helen from the rest of us. The major was injured, and he and Helen had to rest at an inn in Whalen. Gervaise caught them returning to the castle in the morning."

"Rod is injured?" How could he not know that? Because Roderick was barely at home, and kept such matters to himself, including the deeper wounds that troubled his sleep.

"It's minor, I believe," Alice assured him. "But the upshot is, rather than allow Helen to be ruined by scandal, Gervaise is insisting she marry either your Roderick or Mr. Glover."

"Who is Mr. Glover?"

"An old suitor of mine who took a shine to Helen instead. He was with Gervaise when Helen came home. I don't trust him, not least because he was at Whalen with Mrs. Maven."

"I'm lost," Cornelius said.

"Mrs. Maven seems to be someone from the major's unrespectable past."

"Ah. That Mrs. Maven."

"I don't trust either of them. But I'm afraid Helen is leaning toward Glover—somewhat bizarrely, because it is your brother she truly wants. To help, I need to know if your brother is worthy of her."

"He is worthy of anyone," Cornelius said at once. "He is brave and loyal to a fault. He is a good musician—you would like him—and he used to be great fun."

"Used to be?" Alice pounced.

Cornelius shook his head. Loyalty kept him silent. "The war has sobered him. He is debating his future, beginning new ventures like the guard service you made use of. I hope it will keep him home, but he still talks of returning to the army."

"Will he be faithful?" Alice asked.

Considering Mrs. Maven and others, it was a reasonable question. Cornelius didn't know the answer.

"If he loves her, I believe he would be. Under normal circumstances, I don't believe he would marry without it, but given your brother is holding a gun to his head…"

"I know," Alice said ruefully. "Gervaise has managed this very badly. Especially insisting that the marriage occurs immediately. He means to announce the engagement at the ball on Friday, which gives no one any time. If we had longer, I would advise her to choose Glover, who is a shocking fortune hunter, and then dangle a richer heiress under his nose so that he will be happy for Helen to jilt him. I thought of asking your twins to find one."

Cornelius's lips twitched. "I'm sure they would be honored. And successful. A good contingency plan, perhaps, but I'm not sure it would be good for Roderick's nerves."

"Does Roderick love her?"

Cornelius hesitated, shifting uncomfortably on the rock, which made him brush against her skirts. She did not withdraw them. "I would say he has a penchant. But he would never take advantage of her. If he stayed in Whalen with her, it was innocently."

"That is what Helen says. She seems to think she would please him by choosing Glover."

"She wouldn't."

"That's what I said." She sighed. "It's all a bit of a mess."

Cornelius reached for his satchel and took out the bread and cheese once more. Breaking it in half, he offered one piece to Alice.

"Thank you." She took it, gazing out across the sea and then inland over the fields and hills.

They ate in silence for a bit. It was curiously companionable and yet… uplifting. The combination of Alice and the land felt right .

"You are taming it," she said at last. "I can see the difference already."

"In places," he agreed, and somehow, without meaning to, he was talking about how nature had been allowed to take back previously cultivated fields, and his plans to expand into it and improve the yield of all the land.

He would have forced himself to stop sooner, only Alice asked questions and appeared to listen and understand. Lucy would have told him off for boring a lady with talk of crop rotations and sheep. Alice nodded, looking thoughtful, and did not change the subject.

Eventually, she said, "You love the land, don't you?"

He smiled into the distance. "How can you tell?"

"From your poems," she said unexpectedly. "And from the way you speak of it now. As though Black Hill is your child—or lots of children with their own unique characteristics."

He laughed. "I suppose it is. Like children, it thrives with care and will reward you unceasingly." He felt her gaze on his averted face and turned to meet it.

"Have you always felt like that? About land?"

He shrugged. "A little, I think. I love the beauty, and the rhythm of nature, the fact that the land nourishes us all, human and animal. And… I didn't know it at the time, but I think being dragged around Europe from pillar to post in the wake of my father gave me a yearning for stability. Ever since my first position as a steward's assistant, I've loved making a difference to the land and to the people who work it. Every estate became my home very quickly."

"But Black Hill is different," she said.

"It is. It's in my blood."

"Do you wish it were yours instead of Sir Julius's?"

He smiled again, shaking his head. "It is mine, in a way. The better the land, the better my salary, so I am living off it, too."

"Then you plan to remain with Sir Julius?"

"I would like to." Only as he said the words did he realize how true they were. "Not necessarily in the house," he added. "It's the land that is home for me, and Julius is getting married. Antonia is wonderful, but I can't imagine she will really want us all under her feet forever. I have a notion to build my own house somewhere in Black Hill, or perhaps extend one of the cottages. Sometime."

Again they fell into silence.

"That must seem dull to you," he said, "who wants to travel the world and dazzle music lovers in all the world's capitals. You could do it, too. Such talent deserves to be shared."

Color seeped into her face. "Thank you. I'm not sure my nerves would stand the strain. Without Helen, I would never have got onto the stage. Without you, I would never have played a note."

He was so moved that a lump formed in his throat. "That will get easier with time."

"You are encouraging me to break my family chains and go."

"I am encouraging you to follow your heart."

"My heart holds too much. Our secret little jaunt has been a disaster for everyone. Helen is being forced to marry. I am in disgrace and untrusted. I have to positively sneak out of the castle now. Gervaise is distraught. It has made me realize the way scandal would affect the people I love. Especially Maria, who is dependent on the votes that put her husband in Parliament."

"A conundrum," he agreed. "But there is always some middle course."

"What?"

"I don't know yet, but there's bound to be one."

She smiled, and, for a while longer, they sat in silence, appreciating the beauty. She tugged at some moss growing on the rock at her side. "I should go," she said, so reluctantly that his heart beat faster.

"There is one thing we haven't talked about."

"Many, I should think."

He held her humorous gaze. "I kissed you."

"I remember," she said lightly.

"I'm sorry."

She jumped to her feet, obliging him to rise too. "You needn't be," she snapped. "I shan't hold you to marriage. In fact, it is already forgotten."

"You really are mistress of the set-down, aren't you?"

"What do you want?" she demanded. "A medal?"

"No, I want to know that I didn't hurt you, frighten you, or offend you."

A stricken look came into her eyes. Her lips parted as though in shock. She said hoarsely, "You must think me a very poor creature."

"I think you a splendid creature whose trust has been abused along with her person."

She swung away from him as though he was unbearable. "I simply do not like to be mauled. I am not so sheltered that I don't know it could be worse."

"And that is why you don't want to marry?"

"That and my music."

He gazed at her averted face, feeling helpless. "I was so pleased for you, so proud of you, and your elation was catching. It might not have felt like friendship, but it began that way. I'm sorry I mauled you."

"You didn't." She turned back in clear astonishment. Then she flushed to the roots of her hair. "It did not feel like mauling."

A weight fell from his shoulders. He wanted to seize her in his arms and repeat his offense. Instead, very delicately, he took her hand.

"Then perhaps I may do it again some time."

Her gaze flickered to his. "When?"

His breath caught.

Hers rushed out on a laugh as she pulled free and strode toward her horse. He boosted her into the saddle and, when she had donned her gloves, handed her the reins. As she took them, his hand twisted and grasped hers, willing her to look at him.

She said, "You will come to the ball?"

"I will come to the ball."

She smiled so sweetly that all he wanted to say stuck in his throat. Instead, he gently peeled back her glove and kissed the inside of her wrist. She shivered, but not with cold, and certainly not with revulsion. Her eyes were warm, if confused.

"Mr. Vale," she said breathlessly, and kicked the horse into motion.

"Lady Alice," he replied gravely.

Like a lovesick schoolboy— or poet , he taunted himself—he watched her until she breasted the hill and vanished from view. Then he started walking back to where he had left the men laboring and had to go back for his forgotten horse.