The Wolf's Promise. Claire Thornton

tried to convince herself that she had misinterpreted what had happened earlier; but the fiery spark of intimacy she had sensed between them in the dining room was even stronger now—and this time there was no maid to interrupt them.

      Despite her attempt to remain cool and detached, Angelica’s heart beat out an uncontrollable rhythm of excitement. Men had flirted with her before, but never like this—if Benoît was flirting. He had not uttered a single elegant compliment. But she could feel the virile power of his personality, even across the few feet of empty space which separated them. It half-frightened her, but it also made her blood sing.

      She had spent the whole of her life comparing other men to her father—and none of them had ever measured up to him. She didn’t know whether Benoît was a smuggler, though he was certainly involved in some shady business; he might even be a French spy—but dealing with him could never be boring.

      She turned slightly away from him, resting her fingers gently on a large globe. She’d finally recovered her self-possession, and it was time he learnt that she couldn’t be overawed by a quick tongue and a bold look. She was the Earl of Ellewood’s daughter—not a giggling chambermaid.

      ‘I don’t know, sir,’ she said lightly. ‘I believe, in an affair of honour, it is the gentleman who receives the challenge who has the choice of weapons, is it not?’

      ‘Are you suggesting you have already challenged me, my lady?’ Benoît raised one quizzical black eyebrow. ‘I thought it was the other way around.’

      ‘Is it?’ She paused, her hand poised delicately just above the globe, a faint smile on her lips. ‘In that case, I will choose no weapons and thus you will have no opportunity to show me your mettle.’

      ‘A very feminine solution to the problem,’ he retorted. ‘It ensures that you can accuse me of any dark deed you wish, secure in the knowledge that if I dispute your interpretation, you will refuse to pick up my gage.’

      ‘If you were a gentleman…’

      ‘But we have already established that I am not.’

      ‘…you would not contradict a lady’s opinion,’ Angelica concluded serenely.

      ‘But think how insulted you would feel if I were foolish enough to imply that you are incapable of understanding complex ideas,’ he retaliated. ‘I’ve made that mistake once already, my lady.’

      ‘So you have.’

      With a quick flick of her wrist, Angelica set the globe spinning. Oceans and continents flashed beneath her hand, merging into each other as the world revolved.

      She had a giddy feeling that she had set much more in motion this morning than she fully realised. She didn’t know how to stop it and she didn’t know if she wanted to do so. She hadn’t realised just how frustrated she had become with the enclosed life she’d led for the past eighteen months.

      Benoît reached past her and stilled the globe with a deft touch.

      ‘I’ve always had an ambition to circumnavigate the world, but perhaps not at quite such a breakneck speed,’ he observed dryly.

      ‘You mean you haven’t already done so!’ Angelica exclaimed in mock amazement, seizing gratefully on the change of topic.

      ‘Not yet. As I believe I’ve mentioned several times, I’ve been earning a living. But one day I fully intend to sail in the wake of Vasco de Gama.’ Benoît turned the globe slowly beneath his hands, lightly tracing his planned course over the surface of the polished wood.

      Angelica glanced at his face. For a few moments his features were in repose, neither challenging nor concealing anything. His eyes rested on the world as if he thought it was a wondrous place—and life an endless adventure.

      She looked at the picture on the chimney breast and wondered, a little wistfully, if she would ever have the opportunity to see the colours of that glowing world with her own eyes. Harry had, and she knew her father had, but it had never occurred to the Earl to tell her about them—and now he was blind.

      Benoît reached over and picked up a letter from the desk. He offered it to her.

      ‘This is for your father,’ he prompted her, when she didn’t immediately take it.

      ‘What does it say?’ she asked, receiving it rather reluctantly and noticing that it was already sealed.

      ‘My lady!’ Benoît exclaimed. ‘Do you make a habit of enquiring into other people’s private correspondence?’

      ‘Papa will ask me to read it to him, I might as well know what it says now,’ Angelica replied, a dull note in her voice.

      Some of the brightness seemed to have gone out of the day. Ahead of her lay only a weary journey back to London, an unpleasant interview with her father explaining what she’d done—and then a long wait to find out if Harry really would be be rescued.

      ‘That’s his privilege,’ Benoît agreed, unperturbed. ‘He sent me a letter and I have replied directly to him. That’s my privilege. It might also make him feel less humiliated by the situation if he has the opportunity to break my seal himself.’

      ‘Yes, perhaps,’ Angelica replied almost inaudibly. She doubted if her father would appreciate Benoît’s tact. He loathed his dependence too much to be consoled by such courteous gestures.

      She weighed the letter in her hand, remembering her earlier doubts about Benoît. She found it almost inconceivable that he might be intending to betray Harry to the French—what good would it do him? The information that Harry wanted to escape was hardly going to be news to his captors. But she did wish he had given her firmer assurance about what he meant to do.

      She looked up and found that he was watching her, a half-smile, and perhaps a question, in his eyes.

      ‘You were right, sir,’ she said slowly, ‘it was a very tiring journey yesterday. It’s lucky the storm didn’t break earlier in the day. We had enough trouble jolting over the ruts and boggy places in the road as it was.’

      She went over to the front window, looking out at the driveway and the bobbing, yellow daffodils. There were one or two shallow puddles on the ground, reflecting the blue sky above.

      ‘I confess, I am a little daunted at the prospect of setting out again so soon,’ she said hesitantly, as if reluctant to admit a weakness.

      ‘Come now, Lady Angelica,’ Benoît said bracingly. ‘This doesn’t sound like you. What happened to being “equal to your responsibilities”? I’m sure you won’t let a little discomfort stand in the way of your duty. Besides, the Earl’s carriage is very well upholstered.’

      Angelica bit her lip. She disliked intensely the role she had created for herself, but she couldn’t think of any better excuse to stay at Holly House another day.

      ‘I’m sure the journey to London must seem infinitesimal to a man who has sailed halfway round the world,’ she said grittily, ‘but to me it is not so. I do not enjoy having to admit such foolish sensibility to a stranger, but the prospect of climbing into the coach again this morning fills me with horror.’

      ‘Now that I can believe,’ Benoît said appreciatively. ‘It’s always best, when telling lies, to stick as close to the truth as possible.’

      Angelica swung round indignantly, sparks in her blue eyes.

      ‘Were you planning to challenge me?’ he asked softly, before she could speak. ‘I warn you, my lady, I will pick up the gage.’

      He was standing beside the desk with the still vigour which characterised him, simultaneously relaxed yet alert. There was an intelligent, amused understanding in his brown eyes which was very disconcerting.

      Angelica hesitated, thinking better of what she’d been going to say. She knew she was on shaky ground. Her own nature would not allow her to play the part of a nervous, vapourish female, even if she wanted to do so; sooner or later she would betray herself.