Helen Dickson - The Foundling Bride

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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