Mistress Below Deck. Helen Dickson

Mr Whelan, halting abruptly when he stepped into the hall. Her gaze travelled up from expensive brown leather boots, over a dark green redingote, to the face beneath the brim of a tricorn hat. Her breath froze in her throat. His face was by far the most handsome face she had seen. How tall he was, she thought, lean and superbly fit. There was an uncompromising authority, an arrogance, to the chiselled line of his jaw, and his aquiline profile and tanned flesh would have been well at home at sea.

      Yet humour came quickly, softening the features, and crinkles of mirth appeared at the corners of his eyes. His eyes, compelling, bold, mocking and piercingly blue, were totally alive, as if searching out all life had to offer and determined to miss nothing. They openly and unabashedly displayed his approval as his gaze took in the length of her. The slow, lazy grin that followed and the wicked gleam in his eyes combined to sap the strength from her body.

      Rowena knew at once that here was a man unlike any other she had known, a man of power, diverse and complex, who set himself above others. She felt slightly irritated by the intensity of his inspection, yet at the same time stirred by it.

      This was no doddering, whiskery old man, she realised, but a man handsome and virile in every fibre of his being. That he exceeded everything she had imagined him to be was an understatement.

      The man swept off his hat to reveal a short thick crop of black hair. His rich deep voice was as pleasing as the rest of him, but, when Rowena heard it, it rendered her momentarily speechless.

      ‘Well, well, Miss Golding. What a pleasure it is to meet you again.’

      She stared at him in amazement, recognising something in his stance and in the deep timbre of his voice. Realisation that this was the man she had met at Lord Tennant’s ball hit her like a thunderbolt. He was watching her steadily now and she was glad she had tied her hair back with a bright red ribbon. If only her father had told her what he looked like, then perhaps she would not have been so reluctant to meet him. She felt her spirits lift and was unable to shake off the thrill of seeing him again.

      Dear God, he was so handsome! Perfect. A supremely eligible suitor. Never in her wildest imaginings had she visualised a man quite like this. It just went to show that her wilful, rebellious heart was as susceptible to a handsome face and a pair of laughing blue eyes as the next. Any woman would be flattered, honoured, to be courted and wed to such a man.

      ‘You! So it was you lurking behind a mask at the ball! Oh—I had no idea.’

      ‘Clearly. Do you mind?’

      Rowena, who had been paralysed into inaction by the knowledge of his identity, laughed outright, feeling as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Mind, she thought, her common sense raging and her heart racing, surely there had to be some mistake? As she studied him intently, her face was alight with curiosity and caution.

      ‘Why should I mind? My father said you were coming. You are expected.’

      ‘Indeed?’ His eyebrows crawled upwards with a certain amount of amazement, and for a moment he looked somewhat bemused, but then he smiled, a slow, secretive, knowing smile. ‘Forgive me if I seem surprised, Miss Golding, but I expected to be received with resentment, not kindness.’

      To her annoyance, Rowena found herself flushing scarlet. ‘I apologise if I appeared rude on our previous encounter, and if my father told you of my unwillingness to meet you. You see, I’m an obstinate, selfish creature—at least that is what he’s always telling me—and for the sake of relieving my own feelings, I care little for offending and wounding others. I am relieved to see you are not in the least as he described you to be, and that you greatly exceed my expectations. Has he told you much—about me, I mean?’

      ‘I know a good deal about you, Miss Golding. I’ve made it my business,’ he murmured, catching a tantalising scent of her flesh as she moved closer, his eye drawn to the scooped neck of her gown and her creamy, perfect skin. For a long moment his gaze lingered on the elegant perfection of her glowing face, then settled on her entrancing soft blue-green eyes. He felt himself stir in sudden discomfiture as his blood began to throb in his veins. ‘And I’m looking forward to getting to know a good deal more about you.’

      ‘Oh—yes, of course you are. This is my sister, Jane.’

      Jane looked at the stranger before resting her gaze on her sister curiously, and then a knowing smile curved her soft lips. Rowena had shown an interest in no man beyond a willingness to engage in flirtation of the very lightest kind with local boys, and here she was, gazing at this stranger with the air of someone who has been transported to another world, fidgeting like a restless colt and with stars in her eyes, her cheeks a delicate shade of pink to match the roses on the hall table.

      ‘I’ll go and get some refreshment, Rowena.’ Jane quickly disappeared back to the kitchen where she was helping Annie prepare the evening meal.

      The visitor was looking at Rowena in a way that warmed her body and brought a quickly rising sense of excitement. ‘I hope you won’t be disappointed, and that, along with everything else, you will be satisfied with the arrangement you made with my father.’

      The humour vanished from his smile, replaced by a quizzical puzzlement. ‘Everything else?’ His look became thoughtful, and then into his eyes came a look of understanding, like a sudden flame, and he smiled slowly, as if in secret amusement. ‘Yes, Miss Golding. Be assured that I shall be more than satisfied.’

      ‘Never having been properly introduced, you know very little about me.’

      He tilted his head to one side as he studied her face, that glimmer of secret amusement in his eyes. ‘I know that your name is Rowena, that you are the elder of Matthew Golding’s two daughters. You have lived in Falmouth all your life and your mother died several years ago. I know you were a child of unpredictable disposition, that you and your sister were well educated by a string of governesses.

      ‘I also know that your father has a penchant for self-destruction. He’s got himself into an appalling financial situation, and once his creditors discover his dire circumstances he will have to run for the Continent or risk facing an unpleasant, prolonged stay in a debtors’ prison. As a result he is now striving to procure for you a wealthy husband, regardless of age, status or your feelings on the matter. In short, you are loyal to a fault, left to perform the biddings of your father’s avarice. Is this correct? Tell me if I’m wrong.’

      Rowena swallowed, her spirit, like her pride, shattered. She acknowledged the truth of his words with a slight, regal inclination of her head, thankful that none of this mattered to him. ‘I’d say your information is entirely accurate. I’m the only thing standing between my father and absolute ruin.’ Her lips curled bitterly. ‘What a pathetic creature you must find me.’

      He stood for a moment, his imperturbable penetrating gaze studying the hurt his words had brought to her eyes. The sun filling the hall had brought a bloom of rosy colour to her delicately boned cheeks, setting off a sparkle in her jewel-bright eyes, the blue-green orbs slanting slightly upwards, thickly fringed with black lashes. There was a naïvety about her and an indescribable magnetism that totally intrigued him, as well as something special and fine.

      ‘I’m sure you are many things, Miss Golding, but being pathetic is not one of them. Now, isn’t it time you took me to your father?’

      ‘Yes, of course. Please come this way.’

      ‘A moment of your time, Rowena, before we go in.’

      She paused and gazed up at him, noting how his expression had hardened. He had used her Christian name for the first time; though she noticed it, she liked the sound of it, the familiarity, and could not protest.

      ‘You may be amazed by what you hear. I apologise beforehand for misleading you.’ Without waiting for a response, he opened the door and strode into the room.

      At the sudden interruption Matthew looked up from some papers he was scrutinising. With stupefied slowness his eyes focused on the man who had burst in.

      ‘What the devil…?’ He stared blankly, giving no