A Regency Captain's Prize: The Captain's Forbidden Miss / His Mask of Retribution. Margaret McPhee

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       Chapter Five

      Josie gave a small shriek and, trying to cover herself with one arm, reached for her towel with the other. In her panic she succeeded only in dropping the soap into the basin and knocking the towel off the back of the table. She clutched her arms around herself, acutely aware of her nakedness and the man that stood not four feet away, staring. She saw his gaze move over her, saw the darkening of his eyes as they met hers, yet she stood there gaping like a fool, staring at him in utter shock.

      ‘Captain Dammartin!’ she managed to gasp at last, those two words conveying all of her indignation.

      He held her gaze for a moment longer, that second seeming to stretch to an eternity. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle,’ and, with a small bow of his head, he was gone as suddenly as he had arrived.

      It was over in less than a minute, yet Josie stood there still, staring at the tent flap, before hurrying round to the other side of the table to snatch up the towel. She barely dried herself before pulling up her shift and petticoats from her waist with hands that were shaking. Humiliation set a scald to her cheeks, and a roughness to her fingers as she pulled down the hair pinned up high and loose upon her head to coil it into a tight little pile stabbed into place at the nape of her neck.

      She was angry beyond belief, angry and embarrassed. ‘How dare he!’ she muttered to herself again and again as she stuffed her belongings back into her portmanteau. ‘The audacity of the man!’

      Her indignation still burned so that when she left the tent, standing outside with her cloak fastened around her, and her hair neat and tidy beneath her best hat and her fresh blue dress, she was intent on snubbing the French Captain, but Dammartin was only a figure at the other end of the camp and it was Lieutenant Molyneux who waited some little distance away.

      The wind dropped from her sails.

      ‘Mademoiselle.’ Molyneux appeared by her side, his grey eyes soft with concern. ‘I am here to escort you this day.’

      Dammartin had assigned his lieutenant to guard her, thought Josie, and her anger at Dammartin swelled even more.

      ‘If you will come this way, it is time we were upon our horses.’

      ‘Thank you, Lieutenant,’ she said, as if she were not furious and outraged and humiliated, and walked, with her head held high, calmly by his side.

      It soon became clear that her supposition regarding Molyneux was correct for, unlike the previous day, the Lieutenant stuck closely by her side. In Molyneux’s company the events of that morning ceased to matter so much to Josie. The young Lieutenant had such an easy and charming manner that she felt her ruffled feathers smooth and her anger dispel.

      It was true that Molyneux had been in the monastery at Telemos just as much as Dammartin, but as the hours passed in his company she saw that he was like so many young men who had served beneath her father. His eyes were clear and honest and he seemed every bit the gentleman that Dammartin was not.

      When the dragoons stopped to rest and eat, Molyneux sent a boy to fetch them bread and cheese, and then sat beside her on a boulder while they ate together.

      ‘You are kind to me, Lieutenant,’ she said, thinking of how much Molyneux contrasted with his captain.

      ‘Why should I not be kind? You are a lady, alone, in a difficult situation.’

      She raised her gaze to his. ‘I am a prisoner.’

      Molyneux’s lips curved in a small half-smile but there was a sadness in his eyes. ‘I believe that prisoners should be well treated.’

      ‘I do, too, as did my father.’

      He gave no reply, but a strange expression stole upon his face.

      ‘It seems that Captain Dammartin does not share our opinion, sir.’

      ‘The Captain, he has his reasons, mademoiselle.’ Molyneux glanced away.

      ‘What reason could he possibly have to act as he has done?’ she demanded, feeling nettled just at the thought of Dammartin. ‘There is nothing that could excuse that man’s behaviour.’

      Molyneux’s eyes returned to hers and she saw something of astonishment and pity in them. ‘You truly do not know.’

      ‘Know?’ She felt the prickling of suspicion. ‘What is it that I should know?’

      Molyneux’s gaze held hers for a moment longer than it should, then he turned away and got to his feet. ‘Come, mademoiselle, we should make ready to ride again.’

      ‘Lieutenant—’

      ‘Come,’ he said again, and did not meet her eyes.

      And when they resumed the journey, Molyneux was quiet, leaving Josie to wonder as to exactly what the Lieutenant had meant.

      Dammartin rode at the head of the 8th Dragoons crossing the bleak terrain before them, but it was not the harshness of the Portuguese countryside СКАЧАТЬ