With immense effort she pushed her hands against his chest, breaking contact, turning her face away.
‘How dare you!’ she was shaking with fury. As he let her go, she lifted her hand and brought it crashing against his cheek. The impact jarred her wrist, but although he flinched the mocking smile did not falter.
* * *
It was all Ben could do to keep his smile in place. He had to call upon his training as an intelligence officer to help him, hiding his emotions, playing a role. Inside he was reeling. Not from the slap, although he was sure the force of it would leave its mark, but it was nothing to the tumult raging through his body and his mind. He had kissed her to punish her and to prove to himself she no longer had any power over him. Instead, as soon as he had captured her lips the old feelings came back, stronger than ever. He was a boy again, in love for the first time. His body had responded immediately and if she had not pushed him off her the physical evidence of his arousal would have given him away. Now she glared at him and he held her eyes, determined to keep the upper hand, to conceal just how she had shaken him.
‘Get out,’ she ordered. ‘Get out before I scream for the landlord and have you thrown out!’
‘Would you do that to me, Sal?’ His eyes narrowed, laughter glinting in their blue depths. ‘I will leave on one condition.’
She bit her lip, determined not to ask the question, but her face betrayed her. He continued, ‘You will meet me tonight. There is a small orchard at the back of the inn. I will be there at midnight, waiting for you.’
He let her go and she made a great play of shaking out her skirts.
‘Then you will wait in vain.’
I think not,’ he said softly. ‘If you do not appear then I shall come knocking at your door. We will see how you explain my presence to...Henry.’
Smiling, he ran one finger along her cheek. His very touch burned her skin and she shrugged him away. She saw the flash of white teeth through the black growth of beard. Piratical.
‘Midnight,’ he murmured. ‘Do not be late.’
He sauntered to the door, his greatcoat swinging jauntily as he walked. The next moment she was alone.
With a small sob Sally flung herself down on a chair. She was trembling and unusually tearful at having her memories ripped up so violently by a man who should have been dead to her. A hasty step sounded outside the door. Was he coming back? She tensed as if in anticipation of a blow, only to experience a searing disappointment when Henry came in.
‘That rascally landlord wanted to charge me extra for having our meal sent up. If he knew who I was he would not dare—my dear you are looking very pale. Has the journey been too much for you?’
‘I am a little tired.’ She forced a smile. ‘I shall be better once we have had something to eat.’
Yet, when at last Henry led her to the table, her appetite had disappeared.
* * *
The razor rasped as it cut a swathe through the black hair covering Ben’s cheek. It had become his habit to leave the beard in place until he reached his home. In his line of work a rough, bearded traveller attracted little attention, but Sally’s look of disdain had touched his pride. He had called for hot water to be sent up, and with the aid of extra candles and a cracked mirror, he set about making himself presentable.
Over a mug of ale in the taproom he had learned that the servants thought little of Mr. and Mrs. Woods. Merchant types, they said, trying to ape their betters with separate bedchambers for husband and wife. Odd, that. Would the Honourable Serena Coale, a Viscount Markham’s daughter, stoop so low as to marry a merchant?
If she loved him.
The thought speared through Ben, making his hand shake, and the razor nicked his skin. Damnation, he had not expected to feel like this. Serena Coale was dead to him, or she should be.
Remember the tears, Ben. Remember the humiliation.
But still the idea of her marrying that foppish merchant rankled. Hell, he might not have a title, but his family was connected to some of the most prestigious in the land and his fortune was not inconsiderable. If she could cast him aside as unworthy, what, then did a mere Mr. Woods have to offer?
* * *
When he made his way to the orchard at midnight, his face was clean-shaven and his hair brushed and caught back at the nape of his neck with a black velvet ribbon. A snow white cravat and fresh linen shirt completed the transformation from journeyman to gentleman traveller. Not, perhaps, as fashionable as that overdressed popinjay she had come in with, and nothing like the young buck he had been when they first met. Then he had been full of dreams for the future. Would she remember that? Ben’s stomach churned. Of course not. Yet she had responded when he kissed her. For one, brief, heady moment she had been yielding and pliant in his arms, bringing all the old memories flooding back to him. And the pain.
‘You are a fool, Ben Hensley,’ he muttered as he buttoned up his silk waistcoat. ‘You should stay away from her. She punished you once. That should be enough.’
But it wasn’t. Seeing her again so unexpectedly had caught him off guard. That was why she had affected him so badly when he kissed her. But he had to be sure. He had to prove she no longer had the power to hurt him.
* * *
The orchard was silent, save for the soft wind sighing through the trees, and a full moon hung overhead, bathing the world in a soft silver-blue light. A cloaked figure was moving back and forth between the trees. At his approach she swung round to face him.
‘I cannot stay long,’ she whispered. ‘Tell me what you want of me.’
He stepped closer. It gave him some satisfaction to know that she was nervous. He was in control now, and he would punish her, just a little.
‘Everything you promised me.’
Her eyes were huge and dark in her heart-shaped face. His heart turned over; by heaven she was as beautiful as ever!
‘Th-that was mere foolishness. A childish romance.’
He reached up and pushed back her hood. In the daylight her hair was brown, deep and rich as polished mahogany, but now it gleamed black in the moonlight. More memories flooded in. Stolen kisses at midnight, the feel of her silky hair between his fingers...
‘We plighted our troth, don’t you remember?’ He picked up one of her curls, murmuring, ‘Sal. Salvation...’
She pushed his hand away.
‘Do not say that!’
‘What would you have me call you, Salacious? Salome...’
‘I am nothing to you.’
She turned from him but he caught her wrist, pulling her back. They were standing very close and he was painfully aware of her rapid breathing. Her cloak had fallen open and as her breast rose and fell the thin silk of her bodice came within a hair’s breadth of his chest. He felt desire stirring again within him. It took all his willpower not to put his arms about her and crush her against his hardened body. He muttered savagely, ‘You were everything to me!’
A look of pain flitted across her face. She put her hand up defensively. ‘If I hurt you I am very sorry for it.’
‘Sorry? How magnanimous—I still bear the scars!’
‘I told you at the time I had mistaken my feelings for you.’
‘Only a desperate flirt would lead a man on in that way.’
He watched the long lashes sweep down.
‘Then that is what I must be.’
The words were no louder than the breeze stirring the leaves.
He pulled her