Helen Dickson - Highwayman Husband

Earlier they had parted in anger, but now, when Lucas looked down at her in impassive silence, his eyes were as calm as the sea on a fair day. He noticed with the eye of a connoisseur that his young wife was every bit as lovely and enticing as she had looked in the moonlight earlier, and this pleased him. ‘I don’t.’

In the space of a second, the memory of the tobacco smoke permeating the house for the past few days collided with the present when Laura caught sight of a discarded pipe and a half-open leather tobacco pouch in the hearth next to an almost empty glass of brandy. She glared at her husband in tempestuous fury. ‘That was you, wasn’t it—the tobacco smoke I’ve been smelling for days now? You’ve been skulking about the house—hoping I wouldn’t notice.’

‘I never skulk,’ Lucas responded sardonically. ‘And yes, it was me.’

‘Why—of all the despicable, underhand… Oh, how could you?’ she cried, wondering how he could possibly have come and gone from the house without her noticing.

Ignoring her outburst, Lucas returned to his chair and settled himself deep into the upholstery, stretching his legs out in front of him once more. With a smile of absolute contentment he folded his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes, composing himself more comfortably—as if he intended remaining there for the entire night.

Plunking her hands in the small of her waist, Laura followed the extremely diverse and complex man and stood glowering down at his recumbent figure, indignant that he could look so disgustingly relaxed while she was existing on a knife-edge. ‘Lucas! Don’t you dare go to sleep.’

With a sigh of irritation he opened his eyes. ‘Don’t be aggressive, Laura,’ he told her quietly. ‘I want to talk, not argue. I have no desire to quarrel with you.’

‘No? Then you must forgive me. Earlier I—’

‘Be quiet,’ he interrupted in a bored tone, moving his head to a more comfortable position. ‘Did you break off your engagement with Carlyle?’

‘Yes. Considering the circumstances, I was left with no choice.’

‘Good. However, I doubt we’ve seen the last of him. That was an impossible situation. How did he take it?’

‘He was extremely angry, naturally.’

‘Angry because he knew he stood to lose a number of things he prized highly.’

‘Now, why do I have the distinct feeling it is something other than myself that you are referring to?’ she said, her voice threaded with sarcasm.

‘Perhaps because you know it is. Come, now, Laura. You have been the Lady of Roslyn for two years. You must know to what I am referring.’

Laura knew exactly what he meant, and that one of the things he was alluding to was Edward’s smuggling activities. ‘I do comprehend you.’

‘You should.’

‘I have also learned that it doesn’t do to be too curious in these parts.’

‘Very wise, my dear, very wise. I know Edward Carlyle, so let me make it quite clear it is not your charming self he wants. It is because he thought you owned the land he covets.’

‘I know that, too—now,’ she told him bitterly.

‘That’s very astute of you.’

‘Is it? In the beginning I didn’t have so many friends in Cornwall that I could afford to offend a man like Edward.’

‘And I suppose, like every other female he comes into contact with, you were so blinded by his looks and charm that you couldn’t see him for what he is. You see, on my demise, you very quickly became the object of his cynical calculation. He cold-bloodedly set about playing on your loss. It was child’s play to win you, and, like the innocent you were, you welcomed him.’

Laura’s natural honesty recoiled from such a summary of herself. With a mixture of pain and anger she folded her arms across her chest and moved further away from him. ‘You must think I am very stupid.’

He merely looked up at her and raised an eyebrow questioningly. ‘I hope you’re not feeling disappointed because you’ve had to break off your engagement. I didn’t take you for a romantic.’

Ignoring the irony of the remark, Laura mastered her anger sufficiently to say, ‘You have no idea what I am like.’

A wicked smile tempted his lips. ‘Maybe not as well as I should after two years of marriage, but I am looking forward to getting to know you better.’

It was on the tip of Laura’s tongue to retort that the last thing in the world she wanted was for him to do that, but when she looked across at him her heart skipped a beat. He was lounging back against the cushions, his muscled chest partly revealed through his open shirt. With his black, slightly curly and dishevelled hair, ruggedly chiselled features and a slumberous expression in his eyes, she thought he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

When she finally brought herself to speak, instead of the harsh rejoinder she intended, all she said was, ‘Then you’ll have to be patient. My knowledge of marriage is limited, as well you know—three days, to be exact.’

Lucas stirred impatiently, about to utter a cutting remark, but when he gazed at her from beneath his lowered eyelids he could see how tense she was, and that her deep blue eyes glaring defiance at him were shining with pain that he and Edward Carlyle had caused. He was touched despite himself by her youth, and perhaps also by some private scruples. She had an innocence and warm femininity that touched a deep chord inside him.

‘Sit down, Laura, and stop glaring at me.’

Wanting to appear haughty and coldly remote, Laura was taken aback by his unexpected gentleness and completely at a loss as to how to answer. Repressing her irrational annoyance over his conduct towards her earlier, she reluctantly did as he bade and seated herself across from him, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the chair.

Lucas looked across at his lovely young wife in her provocative blue gown, her face both delicate and fine with stormy dark blue eyes and soft lips. The candles’ glow shone on her proud head with its crown of shining curls as black as his own. His conscience reminded him that his conduct towards her earlier had been inexcusable and unfair.

No longer feeling the injured party—which was exactly how he’d felt when he’d discovered Laura had become affianced to Carlyle in his absence—he studied her calmly, impressed by what he saw. When he’d made her his wife and brought her to Roslyn she’d been hoping for a lifetime of happiness, and all he’d given her was three days followed by two years of widowhood.

She had truly believed he was dead and yet, according to John, the courageous girl had stayed at Roslyn and valiantly kept things going. He would be eternally grateful to her for the loyalty she had shown at such a difficult time in her young life. And yet he couldn’t blame her for wanting to move on. Besides, he wouldn’t have wanted her to wear widow’s weeds for the rest of her life. She was far too lovely to hide herself away.

And yet he did wonder how audacious Carlyle had been regarding his courtship of Laura. The mere idea of his wife lying in Carlyle’s bed was enough to splinter his emotions from all rational control. At any other time and with a woman other than his wife he would have shrugged it off. But this wasn’t another time and Laura was his wife. John, sensing his unease on this matter, had tactfully told him that she had resided not one night at Burfield Hall, and that Carlyle’s visits to the manor had been infrequent and of short duration, and always during daylight hours. And yet Lucas was not reassured by this.

‘Tell me something,’ he said softly. ‘How do you like living at Roslyn?’

‘I like it very well. I’ve come to love the house and everyone in it.’

‘And yet you were going to leave it to wed Carlyle. What do you think he would have done with it, Laura?’