He had been kindness itself, generously overlooking her lowly status as he had questioned her age, background and shared funny titbits about his day. He had such an air of calm reassurance about him that was so intrinsically reassuring that Jemima quickly grew to love the few brief snatches of time she had with him and looked forward to the next time he spoke to her with girlish joy she held secretively to her heart.
It all went horribly wrong the day she saw Scraggan’s son Rogan in the village. She had been sent to collect some items for Cook, when she had caught sight of him walking toward her. Instinctively she had ducked into a shop to wait for him to pass, and had still been there when Peter had trotted past with his friends. He looked so arrogantly debonair, and at ease with his place in life, in such stark contrast to the grubby unkempt Scraggan who visited her own world, that she realised just how unfair she was being even talking to the man.
Rogan Scraggan Senior, was a loathsome creature, with a son who was just as mean. Together they ran several ruthless smuggling gangs along the Cornish coastline. As Magistrate for Padstow, Jemima and Eliza’s father had taken papers detailing Scraggan’s illegal activities to the War Office, only to be brutally murdered on his way home. Suddenly finding themselves alone, and without a guardian or protector, had forced Jemima and Eliza to run for their lives. To see Scraggan so close to someone as handsome, and – well, civil – as Peter Davenport, was enough of a warning to Jemima not to involve anyone him.
Peter Davenport was just being nice, that was all, whereas she was halfway in love with him. Although she had decided to keep her distance from him, fate had other ideas and the following morning she was once again sent to light the bedroom fires.
Images of Rogan and Scraggan had haunted her dreams, and she was tired and frightened when she entered his room. She was just about to leave when she heard his voice. She couldn’t be rude and ignore him, but it hurt to remain. He had immediately picked up on her distress and left the bed, pressuring her into telling him everything. Like a fool Jemima had poured her heart out to him, burying her head in his solid shoulder and sobbing as though her heart had broken. In reality, it had. She knew there and then that she loved him. He was everything she ever wanted for a husband, and it hurt to know he could never be hers.
He had offered to help her, pressing her for more and more information until she had told him everything. She hadn’t thought to question his request for time to digest the facts, but had agreed to meet him somewhere where they wouldn’t be disturbed.
Their meeting later that night was the first of many over the following few weeks, as Peter teased as much information from her as he could. Jemima was not only glad to have someone to turn to, to confide in, but she was also grateful for the precious moments alone with him. He seemed confident that he could help her, assuring her that he had contacts who would help. His calm reassurances went a long way to soothing her fears. Each time they met, she fell in love with him just a little bit more until he became as essential to her as the very air she breathed.
She hadn’t protested when he had first kissed her, simply revelling in his tender warmth. It had been inevitable that their attraction would grow until neither was able to deny the passion that burned. Their lovemaking was tender, generous and oh so very sweet in a world of turmoil and confusion. It was the oasis in a desert of desperation and fear. She hadn’t the strength, or heart, to deny him anything. He had seemed just content to spend time with her.
Until the day when her rose-tinted glasses had been so cruelly ripped away, leaving her to stare at the horrifying reality of the danger she had put him in. At first she hadn’t believed the servants discussing the strange accident that had befallen one of the guests. It appeared the saddle girth worn by one of the guests’ horses had been severed, although the stable hand had insisted he had checked it when he had saddled the horse. The guest had almost been killed, having been trodden on by his friend’s horse moments after hitting the ground.
Knowing she risked losing her job, Jemima had quickly crept upstairs to see for herself. Her heart had broken at the sight of him lying, battered and bruised, on the bed. She had cried as she stood beside him, despite his reassurances that he was all right. She hadn’t linked his accident to Scraggan at first, until she returned home later that night to find a knife and a piece of saddle girth on the
footstep of her aunt’s house.
She had known there and then that in order to keep Peter alive, she had to leave and sever all contact with him.
Knowing Scraggan was in the area, she had taken a great risk to pay Peter one last visit. At first she had simply wanted to comfort him, and spend a few final moments savouring simply being with him, but he had sensed her disquiet and demanded to know its cause. She hadn’t told him, because she had been determined that he should learn nothing else that would put him at risk. Instead, she spent their final hours together saying her own private goodbye.
Their loving was turbulent that last night, the passion flaring brighter than ever before. Bathed in the warm glow of carnal sensation, she had tearfully declared her love for him, aware of his searching gaze. He seemed to sense that something had changed and had repeatedly demanded to know what and why. It had taken every ounce of self-control she possessed to deny everything but concern for him after his accident.
Leaving him before dawn the next morning had been the hardest thing she had ever done. The tears she had shed as they had quickly left town under the cover of darkness had continued ever since.
Jemima sighed deeply and carefully closed the door on the past. The young women who had left Devon that night had long gone. Her flight across the country with Eliza had taken her further and further away from Peter, breaking her heart just a little bit more with each passing mile.
At the time she had thought she was leaving him behind. She hadn’t stopped to consider that he would follow her with the same dogged determination as Scraggan.
The first time she had seen him, she had merely put it down to them both travelling in the same direction. From her position among the crowds of the busy market town, she had watched him trot past, his face stern and forbidding. She had given him enough time to leave before heading in the opposite direction. She had thought that had been the last of it, until she had seen Scraggan’s right-hand man in the same village they passed through. Again they had moved on, desperate to escape the threat that they didn’t seem to be able to leave behind.
Then, a couple of months later, she had seen him again. She had been working in a coaching inn, collecting pots and washing dishes, when he had sauntered in, looking as debonair and handsome as he had the first time she had seen him. The job had been a wrench to leave, but she had been given little choice. Their exit had been swift, the post chaise they used to get out of town speedy but uncomfortable.
The months that followed had been a confusing time of new jobs, Scraggan, Peter, moving on at speed until neither she nor Eliza knew where they would be sleeping from one day to the next.
Until the day they had found themselves in Derby. The bustling market town had been just what they needed. People coming and going, a vast array of shops, taverns and coaching inns provided ample opportunity for both Eliza and Jemima to find work. They had quickly settled, but had stayed too long.
Scraggan and Peter had both caught up with them with far too much ease.
The thought made her pause, and she frowned deeply, carefully considering their way of life in Devon. If Scraggan had wanted to kill her and Eliza, why had he not taken one of the many opportunities they had given him? After all, Eliza spent most of her days, and evenings sitting by herself in their aunt’s house. With no protection, and no neighbours to hear her scream, why hadn’t Scraggan or his men taken the opportunity to break in and kill her? More importantly, although she had been carrying a very sharp knife, Jemima herself had walked at night, alone, in the dark through the gardens of the huge estate to the rear of her aunt’s house. She had been alone, in the middle of nowhere. A prime target to have her throat cut.
So why hadn’t Scraggan taken the opportunity to get rid of both of them when he had a chance? Why chase her halfway across the country, and go to the time and trouble of setting her up?
She went cold inside, and recalled their journey to Derby, fraught with tension and worry. They had no sooner settled, found jobs and somewhere to live when Scraggan or his men would appear, forcing them to move on. It was almost as if they were being shepherded toward Derby.
Jemima frowned and shook her head. She was being ridiculous – wasn’t she?
The more she considered the events of the past several months, the more she felt that something about the entire situation wasn’t right.
Her stomach rumbled loudly in protest at being deprived, prompting her to see to her more pressing needs. At the moment, they were questions that had to remain unanswered, but she made a mental note to discuss them with Peter later.
One thing was for certain: the threat of Scraggan was still very real. While he roamed free and was able to run his smuggling gangs, and go where he chose, she was just as much at risk from him as she had been back in Devon, and she couldn’t afford to allow Peter’s presence to lull her into a false sense of security.
Her own brush with death had been far too close. She still didn’t understand what it had all been about, but knew that if she achieved one thing today, it had to be to find some answers.