The Many Sins of Cris De Feaux (Lords of Disgrace 3)

‘A thing.’ Gabriel rolled his eyes. ‘Are you quite certain that my friend Cris de Feaux has not been kidnapped by smugglers who put you in his place? I am missing the articulate, smooth, cynical man I know.’ Cris lobbed a walnut at him. He caught it one-handed and cracked it between his long card-player’s fingers. ‘Joking aside, if there is something wrong, tell me, I’ll help.’

‘I know. And there’s nothing wrong with me.’

Liar. My brain is scrambled eggs, all the blood in my body is heading straight for my groin and I have no idea what I’ve been thinking for the last few months.

‘But there is plenty amiss here. I’ll be interested to hear what you found out about Chelford tomorrow. Meanwhile, pour me some more of that excellent port and tell me the latest London news.’

*

‘You are here already?’ Cris followed the thread of lamplight across the grass to the dark lantern that was set on the step of the summer house.

‘I am always prompt.’ A hint of laughter, a suspicion of a nervous tremor, a suggestion of excitement. He could not see Tamsyn’s face in the shadows, but he knew, quite certainly, that they would be making love that night.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Follow me.’ She picked up the lantern and handed him another, its shutter closed so that only the heat of it and the smell of burning tallow told him it was alight. She crossed the lawn, heading away from the lane, opened the shutter of her lantern a little to show him the stones sticking out of the wall to make a stile and climbed nimbly over. ‘We can open the lanterns more now,’ she said as the ground began to rise. ‘This sheep track winds around the side of the headland, we’ll be out of sight of the house in a moment.’

She walked steadily up the steep path, moving with the confidence of someone who was both fit and familiar with where she was going. As they climbed the moon came out, full and brilliant, painting the short turf with abrupt black shadows. They gained the top and Tamsyn strode out, not waiting to see if Cris followed her, then turned abruptly, right on the edge.

‘Take care!’ He reached for her as she dropped out of sight, then relaxed as he saw she was on a lower path, cutting down below the lip of the cliff by about the height of a tall man. Once they were down it became flat and smooth, just wide enough for one person. Tamsyn ducked, moved sideways and, with an unexpected creak of hinges, vanished into the cliff face.

Cris opened the shutter of his lantern to show a squat hut, built back into the face of the cliff. From what he could see in the flickering lamplight it had been constructed from sea-weathered wood, perhaps hauled up from the beach below. The roof was turf and in the moonlight he could make out the needle-point leaves and round heads of sea thrift, sharp against the midnight sky.

He bent to get under the low lintel and found a square space, long enough for a tall man to lie down in. Across the back was a platform of crude planks. Tamsyn dragged a metal trunk out from under it and Cris crouched to help her, inhaling the scent of old lavender as she opened the lid and hauled out a thickly padded quilt.

They spread it on the planks, then added the pillows she took from the trunk along with a pile of blankets. Tamsyn patted the bed they had created. ‘Close the half-door and come and sit here.’

It was divided like a stable door and he did as she asked. All that was visible as they sat there was the sea, filling half the view with the sky above and the reflection of the moon trailing silver across the waves. Tamsyn sighed and leaned into his side, so Cris put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in snugly.

‘An old haunt of yours?’

‘It must have been a looker’s hut once.’ He made a questioning sound and she explained. ‘A watcher for the Revenue service. But it was long abandoned when Jory and I found it as children. Later, when things were…difficult, I would sleep here sometimes because it is so peaceful.’

‘Difficult? You mean when your husband died?’

She was silent for a moment as though thinking his simple question through. ‘Yes. It was my special place when I wanted to be alone and being alone helped sometimes.’

‘Tamsyn.’

‘Hmm?’

It had to be said. ‘You know I am not staying, that I will be gone in a week or so.’

‘Of course.’ She wriggled upright and the air struck cool where she had been pressed, warm and soft, against his side. ‘We are about to have the conversation about not getting attached and do I really want to do this and you respect me, but…’

There was a trace of amusement in her voice, so he let himself be frank. ‘Yes, that was exactly it. You may rely on me to be very careful, but if there are consequences, I also rely on you to let me know.’

‘Of course,’ she said abruptly. ‘I am not worried about that.’ The shimmer of amusement had gone now, she sounded almost sad. This businesslike discussion was neither erotic nor romantic, he supposed.

‘Tamsyn, if this does not feel right to you, we will go back now. And don’t think I am going to sulk, or leave immediately or be less anxious to help you and your aunts.’ He turned on the hard bed, reaching to caress her cheek. ‘This matters to me, my mermaid. I’ll not hurt you.’

‘Mermaid?’ She laughed, low and husky, the sound like an intimate caress. ‘I thought you were a merman, coming out of the sea like that. If you wish to make a woman cautious, you should not appear looking quite so desirable.’

‘I was ice-cold, half-drowned and probably covered in goosebumps.’ He began to nuzzle her neck and she tilted her head to give him better access.

‘I did not notice the goosebumps. I noticed the muscles and how blue your eyes were and your…proportions.’ Her hand slid to the fall of his breeches in graphic demonstration. Her breath was coming in little gasps now as his flesh rose to meet her hand.

Cris lifted his head to look at her in the dim lantern light. ‘My proportions? It was freezing, I doubt I had any proportions to speak of.’