Chapter 7 #2
white trim and little bows. She’d endeavored to converse with him so earnestly, with such openness and innocent curiosity,
he’d been compelled to prattle on. And now she knew details of his family, a circumstance he’d shared with almost no one.
His mother’s letters? Discussing Linus by name and referring to him as a surrogate parent? Conversing with her, he reasoned,
formed a kinship. The discussion had also been a way to not answer questions about the betrothal, but my God. Why reveal so much?
Because she’d bloody asked. Unless he was mistaken, she’d asked because she wanted to learn about him. In all honesty, Linus had done the same all those
years ago. He’d been the only person he’d ever encountered who asked how Luke’s day had gone, or why he collected fossils,
or whether he preferred cream, or sugar, or both.
And now, just like then, Luke looked into the eyes of Danielle Allard and wanted. Not the same things he’d wanted from Linus, obviously, but he could feel some part of himself turning toward her, like her
curiosity gently called his name.
There was a solution for want. The rescue mission demanded his attention, there was no time for wanting.
Also, the mission would position her as a pawn, a role she would resent.
As well she should. And it wouldn’t matter if he wanted her or not, her curiosity would cease—along with any notion of warm regard—and she would not have him.
And order in the universe would fall back into line.
No smuggler should have a beautiful, young princess for his wife.
Nor a palatial manor house. Nor a full, happy life when his friends were dead.
In the meantime, until his distraction and her resentment set in, he mustn’t be drawn into personal conversations. He mustn’t
look at her. He must not touch her. He must walk the fine line of luring her into marriage, of using her as bait for Surcouf,
but not enjoying her. He must do nothing with her that did not serve recovering Linus and avenging his friends.
“Captain?” she pressed. “Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”
“I think it is not small,” he said, squinting at the skylight. His voice echoed in the empty corridor. This space wanted rugs
and drapes and tapestries for the stone walls. The fireplaces needed fuel. No wonder the house was unoccupied; who could afford
it?
Luke thought of the money he’d spent years accumulating: banknotes under floorboards, gold coins in caves, bonds in banks,
investments in ledgers. Could he give it all away? When Linus was safely home and healthy, could he pile his small fortune
on the doorstep of this drafty house and leave her to it?
Yes, he thought. Of course he could. Small price to pay, if that’s what it took to recover Linus.
There had never been an end goal for the money he’d squirreled away, even before the attack.
He treated both smuggling and investments like a problem to be solved, and the money he earned had no specific application.
To Luke, the money was proof that he’d risen above.
Born into illiteracy, saved by Linus Welty.
In the end, more than his destiny. The money represented this; if it also provided for Danielle Allard, then fantastic.
He glanced at her. She’d walked to the door and ran a gloved hand along the intricate carved oak. The sail inside his chest
snapped and puffed out. He looked away.
“Which way?” he asked, frowning at the unnecessary lantern in his hand. The windows were foggy, but sunlight filtered through
the glass.
“You decide,” she said. “It’s your house, Captain Bannock.”
It is your house, he thought, but he nodded toward closed doors at the end of the corridor. Every sealed-off corner of this pile would be
opened, exposed, and inventoried. His failure of research ended today.
“Why not?” she said, her smile bright. She crossed to him and took up his arm with no invitation. They set out with her tucked
against his side. He told himself it was unavoidable that they roam the property clasped together. He told himself that he’d
demonstrated the pleasure of touching to her, and now she touched him. He told himself, justice aside, this was preferable
to not touching.
There was a ballroom behind the double doors. Large, sunken, a sprawl of marble at the base of a cascade of stairs. There
were shadowy alcoves along one side and a wall of windowed doors along the other. Beyond the doors stretched a terrace that
overlooked an expansive garden, wildly overgrown. He saw the empty fountain she’d promised and a ramshackle outbuilding that
could only be the dower house and carriage shed in which Mr. Abbott roosted.
To say that each new discovery delighted Miss Danielle Allard was like saying swans were partial to lakes.
She gushed and gasped and exclaimed. There could be celebrations in the ballroom, and botanists in the garden, and, although she did not specifically ask this, her parents could move into the dower house. “Because of the cats.”
Luke surprised himself by speculating about the ballroom inside Fern Vale, the estate of his maternal grandfather, the house
where his mother lived. He’d never been inside, but he knew it to be old and grand and considered a Cornish landmark. Was
it possible that his mother’s ballroom was as large and grand as this? Could guests overlook a fountain from a terrace? Were
there fluted columns and chandeliers with cups for fifty candles? It didn’t matter, of course—he’d never wanted the life of
his mother or grandfather—but the question did cross his mind.
When Miss Allard asked him what he thought of the ballroom, he replied, “Difficult to heat.”
Doors at the opposite corner of the ballroom led to a parallel corridor, narrower and lined with more draped furniture. The
corridor opened to a music room with piano and harp; a salon; a small gallery with landscapes and sculptures. Abbott’s lantern
was an asset here; the light from the corridor windows only stretched so far. Miss Allard wanted to see everything, and Luke
swung the light in dark corners and behind doors while she peeked beneath sheets and tested chair springs and opened desk
drawers.
When she wasn’t exploring, she clung to his arm.
She kept a running dialogue about dust mites, and plaster cracks, and the evidence of mice.
Luke listened, but he also thought about the shape of her small breast pressed against his elbow; her delicate wrists when she tugged off her gloves to touch velvet upholstery; the sound of her laughter when he somehow managed to say some droll, clever thing.
In the fourth room, a long, narrow space with no clear purpose, they found a hodgepodge of sporting equipment and bottles
of wine.
“Surplus from the billiard room and wine cellar,” he’d guessed.
Miss Allard looked about in a dazed sort of revery and said, “Surplus. Did you know both bedrooms at our cottage in New Bridge Road are half the size of this room, which the baron devoted to
nothing more than surplus?”
Luke considered this, an admission devoid of resentment or avarice. In no way was Danielle Allard the princess he’d expected.
She’d taken to this small castle without the least bit of intimidation, despite being raised like any other girl in any other
village. She was wholly unaffected, but also bold and confident. She was unintimidated by possibility. He’d never met anyone
with this singular quality. Except himself.
“Finding everything to your liking?” a voice said suddenly from behind them. It was Abbott, materializing from the ether.
No footfalls, no rustle of coat. Clearly, Luke’s instincts had gone to shite because he hadn’t heard the man. Miss Allard
jumped and spun, colliding with Luke. He barely managed to catch her up and not drop the lantern. They stood face-to-face,
forearms clasped, the lantern swinging between them.
“Careful,” he whispered, ducking to speak into her ear.
“He startled me.”
“Me, too. Don’t tell the papers. Shameful oversight for a war hero.” To the caretaker, he said, “Mr. Abbott. You’ve caught
us unawares. Again.”
“Silence was a priority to my last employer.”
“How expert you are,” Luke said. “Rest assured, it’s less important to me. Thank you for looking in on us. We are quite well.”
“Very good, sir,” intoned Mr. Abbott. “I should like to point out that the most delicate furnishings have been sealed in this
salon for safekeeping. Also, any piece that might be faded in sunlight or damaged in an unheated room.”
“How resourceful,” said Luke. “Thank you. We shall take inventory in the days to come, I’m sure.”
“So you shall,” said Abbott. “Will there be anything else at the moment?”
“No. Thank you, Abbott.”
The caretaker affected a painful-looking bow and shuffled noiselessly away.
Miss Allard exhaled, and it came out like a laugh. “Has he gone?” She made no move to pull away.
“He has done.” Luke stepped closer. Her temple was inches from his lips. He need only bend his head to press a small kiss—just
the tiniest little gesture, chaste, brotherly—on her temple. But it was one thing to catch her up and quite another to kiss
her.
He set the lantern on the floor and slid his hands up her back, tracing her spine with his fingers. Not particularly chaste.
Or brotherly. A one-time indulgence, he told himself.
She raised her head and he thought, Step away. But he didn’t. And she didn’t. And so they remained, clasped together.
Don’t look at her mouth, he told himself, but he looked anyway, half-lidded and hungry.