"You over-complicate things. You feel uncomfortable around Hope and resent her being here."

With effort Huntley kept his face impa.s.sive, as he wondered exactly what his mother had divined about his obsession with Miss Tyler.

"Her presence undermines my authority."

"So it's not that you have a special liking for her?"

Hollowness filled his chest. The impossibility of it! To admit his partiality would grant the feeling a strength he couldn't afford. To think of her with anything but hate was dangerous.

"Don't be ridiculous." He laughed.

Her head tipped to one side. "George dear, long ago I accepted my boys would make unconventional matches. Perhaps you should talk to your brother."

"Charles?" He snorted. "You would have me to turn into a rake like Charles?"

"No," she said patiently. "I mean Jack. Look how happy he and Eulogy are? Who'd ever had thought?"

In the absence of a reasoned argument, George grew angry. "Mother, I'd be grateful if you'd rein in your imagination. The very idea!" His heart raced alarmingly at the image of sharing the future with Hope. He felt hollow with longing and yet pushed the feeling away. "She's scrawny and tanned and a common fisherman's daughter..."

Lady Ryevale smiled patiently. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong-that child is far from ordinary."

A sentiment with which George could only agree.

Hope had become a fever running through Huntley's blood. She left a room and her presence lingered. She entered a room and his skin heated. She inhabited his dreams and haunted his waking hours. Within the privacy of his bedchamber, his frustration spilled over. He ground his head against the door, trying to dislodge her sea-green eyes from his mind. But despite raising a bruise, she refused to be dislodged. Had he no shred of self-respect left? He had denied the truth for too long-Bennett was right and he was wrong. He was tormented, but the cure was within his grasp.

With a grunt, he had a solution. If Hope wouldn't go, then he must.

Pulling up a chair, he took a piece of vellum from the desk drawer and spread it on the blotter. He tapped the quill against his lip, carefully composing his words to the Admiralty. The result was an immaculately argued letter summarising smuggling activity around Sandehope. He concluded it was not the dishonesty of local officers, but the widespread nature of the trade which made it difficult to stop the practice.

He carefully related his suspicion that those landing goods from the Island, had ports not just at Sandehope, but all along the Southwest coast. The net must be spread wider, and he had an idea where. Now confident of Bennett's integrity, he suggested leaving that officer in post at Sandehope, while he worked with officers in the Southwest, to coordinate the two forces.

The letter written, he folded it in three and sealed it with the Huntley crest. Suddenly, the fight went out of him and he felt empty. He stared at his hands-they were shaking. He closed his eyes. A new and unpalatable truth stuck in his craw. He was running away.

For several minutes he sat very still, unable to move. What kind of spell had Miss Tyler put on him? Never before had a woman affected him thus -he had known plenty, but always with detachment. Never had a woman got stuck in his brain, and made him want to behave in such an irrational and impulsive manner as if he was losing his mind. It was, he decided, a form of insanity.

Chapter Nine.

While waiting for the Admiralty's reply, Captain Huntley threw himself into his work. He scheduled extra patrols, working alongside his men-no weather too harsh, no shift too late that Captain Huntley would not share it. Being outdoors eased his mind, and he was never so much at peace as with a sea-breeze in his hair As the days pa.s.sed, even the constant aching need for Hope's company began to dull.

His skin still aglow from the wind, humming under his breath, Huntley returned home from a patrol, with a mind to find a particular map of the west coast. He could picture it in his head; an old map which pre-dated his father's time, with quaint annotations of the inlets and rivers around Plymouth. He couldn't imagine why he hadn't thought about it earlier, but a.s.suming his reposting went through, the information would be invaluable. He breezed into the library, past the first stand of bookshelves...and froze.

The Grange's library was extensive and books lined the walls from floor to ceiling. To reach those above head height there was a stepladder, and perilously close to the top of that ladder, balanced Miss Tyler. She appeared not to have heard him enter, intent on reaching a particular volume.

He stared. He knew have should have announced himself but he was entranced.

The muslin gown draped her figure, outlining the curve of her bottom in a way which made warmth spread over his skin. He wanted to look away, but the stolen moment was too delicious and his heart twisted in his chest, and his breathing locked.

He watched as if hypnotised, battling to gain control of his emotions, as she stepped higher, the skirt hobbling her legs. With one hand she gripped the ladder, the other reached for a book which was too far away. Hesitant, her slippered foot searched for the last wrung. Huntley cleared his throat.

"Miss Tyler."

Then two things happened at once.

Miss Tyler half-turned and her leg caught in her skirts. It seemed to Huntley that everything happened in slow motion as all havoc broke loose. Her arms flailed on empty air...the ladder swayed dangerously...and she lost her footing. His heart rammed against his chest as he sprang across the room. Above his head, her skirts fluttered as the stepladder rocked. Grabbing the wooden uprights he hauled it against himself, using his muscular bulk to dampen the oscillations. The moment of danger pa.s.sed...and slowly...a wrung at a time...she descended, the ladder visibly shaking with her trembles.

"Don't let go." Her voice small.

"I won't."

He steadied the ladder as she dismounted, trapped within the cage of his arms. Both breathless, his eyes slid along her jaw to those tempting lips.

"Are you alright?"

"Thanks to you." She nodded weakly. "I don't like heights."

"Then what were you doing up there?" He spoke softly, as if murmuring words of love, rather than a question.

She tried to smile but her lips quivered. "Fetching a book for Her Ladyship."

Huntley knew he should release the ladder and step away, but their eyes locked and he couldn't. Ripples of desire echoed to his core at her soft curves so close to his chest.

"You are trembling." He was lost in Hope's huge dark eyes. He saw his own desire mirrored in her face and it unnerved him. All he knew was that with her warm body pressed against his, his resolve not to ravish her...hung by a thread. A pulse throbbed at the base of her throat and it took all his self-control not to taste it with his lips.

"Hope?"

She grew still, flighty as a startled bird, and he held his breath. Then, slowly-with a soft sigh-she settled deeper, resting her head against his chest. It felt so right, as if he had found the missing piece of him. Without thinking, he embraced her shoulders, and she didn't draw away. His lungs seized, every nerve taut as a bowstring. Time slowed to a crawl, his senses focused where her body met his, on her heat against his, and when she tipped her face upwards, he showered kisses on her cheeks. Hope let out a soft moan and his heart sang with joy. He felt her arms around his waist, and his body hardened in response.

He brushed his lips against hers and heat flooded his body, alight with pa.s.sion as she returned his touch. And yet he held himself in check. Both breathing heavily, when he pulled away-she reclaimed his mouth. With a low groan, he licked the sensitised surface of her lips, gently at first then harder and more urgent. She responded tentatively, then as her confidence grew, it thrilled him that she matched his ardor. Her mouth tasted sweet, of honey and herbs, and his dizzied mind wanted to taste every part of her. He was enthralled by everything about her, and it felt dangerously like addiction. A small part of his mind detached itself, shouting in his ear that this was wrong, that he shouldn't have let this happen. Reluctantly, he drew away.

"Hope, what have you done to me?"

Her hands explored the steely muscles of his shoulder and his body responded with a thrill of l.u.s.t. Half-drunk on pa.s.sion, he pulled away.

"Miss Tyler, it was wrong of me to take advantage." Panting heavily, he stepped aside. "I apologise for my ungentlemanly behavior. It was totally unacceptable and will not happen again."

He stared into the distance, a pulse pounding in his temple as Miss Tyler adjusted her gown. He hung his head. As far as his sanity was concerned, the Admiralty's reply couldn't come soon enough.

Nero's heaving flanks were mottled with sweat after their ride, as Huntley pulled up. Beneath a sapphire sky, bright with the promise of summer, it had been an exhilarating ride-a headlong gallop for no reason other than to glory in the cob's great muscles. They had traveled for miles until Huntley's commonsense prevailed, and wary of overheating his mount in the midday sun, they turned for home.

In the stable yard, as Nero submerged his velvet nose in the horse trough and drank deeply, Huntley cupped his hands to douse his own neck with water. Rubbing his wet face on his sleeve, he looked up at the sound of voices. Jim, the stable lad, took the reins of a messenger's horse as the rider jumped down and made for Huntley.

"Captain Huntley?"

"That's me."

"A despatch for you, sir."

Huntley recognised the Admiralty's crest and pushed the letter into his pocket.

Only once he was alone, did Huntley break the seal. His eyes skipped over the words and he slumped with relief. He reread the missive; he was to hand command back to Bennett and leave immediately for the Southwest. He nodded with silent acceptance. While his ship was still in refit, he would continue his secondment to the Excise services-but working out of Plymouth. He'd gotten what he wanted, so why this empty feeling of loss?

Anyhow, there wasn't time for that now. He pushed the letter back into his pocket. First, he must break the news to his mother-that wouldn't be easy-there was every possibility he'd be recalled direct from Plymouth once the Swann was ready. Entirely possible, depending on events, that he might not return to The Grange for years. He stared at the sky, suddenly lacking the heart to distress his mother on such a fine day. He was hot after the ride, let him first visit his favorite childhood haunt, perhaps even cool off in the sea, a memory to treasure in the years to come.

As boys the three Huntley brothers liked to play in the woods; climbing trees, building dens or else go down to the estate's private cove. It was this secluded beach, through the woods on the far side of The Grange, that was George's private place and even now as a grown man, remained his preferred place to think.

A brisk walk later, Huntley ran a finger around his collar to loosen it. In the shade of the leafy canopy, the path was soft underfoot, moist with leaf mulch. There was a smell of damp earth, and as he walked, Huntley smiled to see a blackbird drilling for worms. He emerged into a small clearing where the ground shelved down to the beach. The view was breathtaking; the sea calm, miraculous in its many opalescent shades and suddenly Huntley longed to swim.

"d.a.m.n it, why not?"

This afternoon he would swim, and tonight he would break the news of his posting. This time was his alone and in the name of nostalgia, he would explore the rock pools where as a child he'd searched out c.o.c.kles, crabs and mussels.

With a spring in his step, Huntley headed down the steep path to the sh.o.r.e. In places, the cliff had crumbled and rocks slumped into the sea forming several natural groynes. He reached the beach as the tide was just running off-the rocks slippery with bladderwrack. Seagulls wheeled overhead as Huntley jumped from rock to rock, loosening his jacket as he went. It was as he clambered over the last ridge into the private bay, that his heart catapulted against his ribs. For there, walking away from him along the water's edge, was Hope Tyler.

His carefree mood evaporated. How could she, the author of so much aggravation, have found this-his special place? He watched; she appeared to have removed her shoes and stockings, paddling in the shallows with her skirt hitched above her knees. Her legs were shapely, a well-toned thigh hinting at the delights beyond. An irrational yearning to hold and caress her, to run his hand up the inner side of those thighs, tingled through his body. He reeled, shocked by the strength of the compulsion.

Then a thought slammed against his skull-what if Miss Tyler was here to guide in smugglers? It would be the perfect place-a calm, secluded bay. His training kicked in and he ducked behind a boulder to watch. In one moment of madness, he was tempted to shout, to let Miss Tyler know she had company, and scare off the smugglers. But to warn her betrayed everything he stood for and he would be duty bound to resign. The navy was everything, without honor and action he was nothing...so he waited and watched.

In fact, he watched for so long his legs began to cramp. Miss Tyler's attention remained focused on the sand, picking things up, turning them over in her hand and dropping them in her pocket.

"Well, here's a rum thing. She's collecting sh.e.l.ls." He rubbed his calf. "Ouch."

Something in his movement drew Miss Tyler's attention. She shaded her eyes against the sun and stared in his direction. Huntley swallowed his pride and stood.

"Miss Tyler," he smiled, all innocence, "fancy meeting you here."

He clambered over the rocky groyne while she waited on the sh.o.r.eline, waves lapping around her ankles.

"Captain Huntley, good afternoon."

He felt the tension between them, and made light of it. "Good afternoon."

Her green eyes mirrored the sea and a curl of hair bobbed against her neck, making him want to smooth it between his fingers.

He swallowed and nodded to the sea. "You are a most unconventional woman."

"My ankle was sore after the walk. The water has taken the swelling down." Huntley avoided staring at her shapely legs.

"I expect," Hope added, "you think me immodest...but the temptation was too great."

"Not at all," It took all his effort to string words together. "The water looks most inviting."

"Then why don't you join me for a paddle?" She stared, as if challenging him. It was such a simple suggestion and suddenly he could think of no logical argument against it.

"Well, I am rather warm from the walk."

Without fully knowing what he was doing, Huntley found himself pulling off his boots and casting them aside. He pulled off his stockings and did likewise. The sand felt good between his toes, slippery and cool, as he made for the water's edge. The first wave was like ice against his skin and he gasped. Miss Tyler giggled.

"You didn't think it would be warm?"

"Perhaps not quite as cold." He grinned as another wave a.s.saulted his rapidly numbing feet.

"I like it when you smile." Hope said softly, "You look so serious all the time. You should smile more often."

"Smiling isn't much called for, in my line of work."

Hope merely nodded. "Sometimes you just have to take pleasure where you can. Let's walk."

He nodded. Paddling in the shallows, Miss Tyler with one hand on her bonnet the other raising her hem, Huntley walking stiffly trying to distance his emotions, hands clasped behind his back.

"How did you find this place?" He asked.

Hope c.o.c.ked her head. "I'm well acquainted with the coastline hereabouts."

Huntley raised a brow. "Smuggling?"

She pursed her lips and nodded. "Not so much here. Tis easy enough to land but difficult to transport the goods inland. This spot is more of a safe haven if the weather turns bad."

They walked on in companionable silence. Something about Hope's openness had defused his ire. The gentle shush of the sea, the push-and-pull of the water was soothing and he sighed. Having been responsible for uprooting Hope from her family, he really ought to tell her about his reposting. Then he remembered he couldn't trust Hope not to tell the smugglers and closed his mouth. The disappointment stung and for the umpteenth time he cursed Miss Tyler's effect on his wits-clearly the sooner he left for Plymouth, the better.

By now, the rocky outcrop behind which Huntley had hidden was out of sight around the curve in the bay, and sand gave way to shingle.

"We ought to turn back." Hope said.

"Is your ankle hurting?"

"Not so much now, but it's a long walk back to the house."

"Of course."

They fell in step together, walking in silence except for the shush of waves. Despite the tension between them, Huntley felt strangely at ease. Hope made no attempt to chatter, for which he was grateful. Truly, had circ.u.mstances been different, she would make a charming companion, but they weren't different, and he was in danger of making a fool of himself.

"I love the sea."

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"I can't imagine living anywhere but by the sea."

Huntley risked a glance as she stared dreamily ahead.