Hope's Betrayal (8 page)

Feeling suddenly
foolish Huntley crossed his arms. Clearly, his help was redundant so he settled
back to watch. But if her physical appearance stirred Huntley's interest, her
command of the sea sent heat surging through his blood. Here was a woman
undaunted by the elements and so completely unafraid that Huntley felt an
unaccustomed thrill of attraction. As a remedy, he decided to alienate Hope.

“I’m curious
what sort of irresponsible father permits his daughter to run with smugglers.”

The triumph of
his cutting remark melted away as she smiled sadly.

"A good
man, whose heart was broken," she whispered. "I am not proud of what
I do, but it puts bread on the table. Not everyone can afford your lofty
morals."

Scowling,
Huntley peered into the fog trying to gauge the wind direction. It crossed his
mind to question the sanity of being alone with a known felon; she could hit
him with an oar and push him overboard and no one would be the wiser.

"Damned fog
is so thick, we could be sailing off the edge of the world."

"I shall
get us safely in."

Indeed, as if by
an unearthly power, she read the ripples on the tide, adjusting their course
for no reason that Huntley could divine.

"Where are you
heading?"

"The
harbor."

Huntley
hesitated. "Would it not be safer to ditch on a beach?"

"Trust
me."

He snorted.
"Clever."

"I beg your
pardon?"

"By landing
openly in the harbor, the locals will see my uniform."

"So?"

"And so
word will get out and contraband will be hidden faster than you can say
knife."

"What
contraband?"

Huntley chuckled
at Miss Tyler's sharpness.

The fog grew
thicker still, licking his skin and weighting his eyelashes. Even the sound of
the waves was distorted, muffled echoes which made no sense. Then he saw it—a
crest of white foam running parallel to the starboard bow.

"We're
entering the channel now."

He glanced at
his Hope with renewed respect. Then it hit him like a punch to the
stomach—since when had she become 'his Hope'?

Close to land
the wind eased. It took skill to find the twisting channel and avoid the
sandstone ledges. Seemingly unconcerned, Hope trailed her hand in the water.
She had nerve, Huntley gave her that—an unsettling mix of boldness and honor.
Perhaps she was right, they weren’t so different, she and him—just on their
different sides of the law.

*****

The boat drifted
into a narrow channel with land rearing up on either side. Hope sat upright
now, letting the incoming tide sweep the skiff along as they emerged into a
secluded body of water. Ahead, some half-dozen fishing boats sat at anchor in a
natural harbor surrounded by hills.

Huntley
memorised the landmarks—the water-powered mill and pretty stuccoed cottage, a
floating goose house and low arched bridge—as Hope guided their craft to the
quay. With barely a bump, the skiff drew alongside and Huntley jumped ashore to
secure the boat. This time, when Huntley reached out for Hope, he was ready for
the shock of her slender body pressed against his. With a dry mouth he set her
down on the path and stepped away.

"Which way
now?"

"Over
there." She gestured to the woods.

"Lead
on."

Leaning heavily
on her crutch, Hope set off down a narrow track. Huntley followed, taking
careful note of their route. The trouble was, at this slow pace there was
little to distract him from her slender figure and swaying hips. With a jolt of
lust, he ached to pull her against him and taste her skin, to remove that
ridiculous dress and press her body against his.  He swallowed hard, fighting
to regain his composure. These were not the thoughts of an officer in a
position of trust. He conjured up an image of Bennett saying 'I told you so',
and the heat cooled in his belly. He forced himself to breathe more steadily.

"How far is
it?"

"Not very.
A five, maybe ten, minute walk."

They continued
in silence, Huntley trying hard to ignore Miss Tyler's pert derriere and the
growing warmth in his groin, as they followed the path which peeled off into
the woods. Barely a quarter-mile inland and the thick stands of ash, hazel and
oak veiled the sea from view. Under other circumstances it would have been a
pleasant walk with primroses peeking through leaf mulch and the scent of wild
garlic. As they trekked uphill the gradient grew steeper.

"Do you need
a rest?"

Hope shook her
head. "No. Do you?"

"I was
thinking of your ankle, this is not an easy walk."

"I'm fine,
thank you."

Huntley scowled
at her stubbornness. Another ten minutes slow walk and the ground levelled out.
Higher now and through the thinning trees, Huntley caught glimpses of the misty
sea far below. Emerging from the wood, brambles and hawthorn formed a hedgerow
which lead along a country lane. A little way further and cottages sprang up,
simple stone buildings with deep-set windows and low doors. Then the track
widened and then without warning, opened onto a village green.

Two-up, two-down
cottages lined two sides of the green, while along the top road was a modest
coaching inn and two taverns. As they walked, Huntley fancied curtains twitched
and he felt the weight of watching eyes. Hope limped past a terrace of red
brick cottages. She stopped beside a low stone wall and pointed to the door
beyond.

"This is
where I live." Hope stirred the grass with her foot. "I don’t suppose
you would go now?"

"We have an
agreement, and—unlike you—I won’t be able to sail in this weather."

"Of
course." Her mouth tightened. "Come. You are welcome in my
home."

The skeleton of
a wisteria framed a low wooden door, which with trembling hand, Hope pushed open.
Over her shoulder Huntley glanced a dark hallway.

"Hello?"
She called, "Father?"

She stood on the
flagstone step, listening.

"Father,
are you there?"

Huntley found
his patience wearing thin with this man who let his daughter risk her life.
"Perhaps he's out."

Hope cast him a
withering look. "I doubt it."

Huntley had to
stoop under the lintel to enter. In the dim hall there was no carpet, just a
flagstone floor. Wooden beams and a soot-stained ceiling added to the
impression of cramp and neglect. Using the wall for support, Hope shuffled to
the front room.

"Father?"

The parlor was
in darkness, the curtains drawn. It took Huntley a few moments to adjust as
Hope drew back the drapes to let in such daylight as there was. What he saw
surprised him. Yes, the room was small, but there were touches of homeliness;
sea shells on the mantle, framed watercolors and dried flowers in a vase. The
place smelt of beeswax and the sea, a family home. 

Hope bent over
the armchair and it was then Huntley saw the man, slumped back against the
wing-back. She looked up with eyes full of sorrow and pressed a finger to her
lips, warning Huntley not to alarm him. Against his better judgement, Huntley
nodded.

"It's
me—Hope." Gently, she rocked the man's shoulder. "Wake up, Father, we
have company."

The man stirred;
even in the dim light, his skin appeared yellow. His face gaunt, he squinted at
Hope and smiled in recognition.

"Hope! Well
there's a sight for sore eyes."

She placed a
tender kiss on his forehead.

"How are
you, Father?"

He gripped the
chair arm, but the effort of sitting upright seemed to exhaust him. "All
the better for seeing you."

"You look
tired. Have you not been sleeping?"

"Tusk, tis
nothing. You know how it goes, up and down. Happen tomorrow will be
better."

"I've been
so worried about you."

"And I you,
but I see you have been well cared for."

Hope recalled
their visitor.

"How
remiss, I forgot the introductions. Father, this is Captain Huntley. Captain,
this is my stepfather, Mr. William Tyler."

The withered man
made to stand. Huntley felt wrong-footed—he had envisaged anger and threats
from Miss Tyler's father, not this quiet courtesy.

"No,
please, don’t get up." Words of castigation melted away. On the mainland,
he had heard Hope's explanation for her actions and yet not understood. Faced
with reality, he felt humbled.

Hope's fingers
tightened on her father's shoulder, the older man laid his hand over hers. Gone
was the brash Hope, her green eyes huge and transparent. Instead Huntley saw a
vulnerable young woman who had done what she had to survive. A moment of
understanding passed between them which sent Huntley's cosy world reeling.

"My
stepbrother does what he can, but the fishing was poor this winter."

He wanted to
touch her, to give simple human comfort, but years of military training kept
him in check. "But to do what you did...to risk your life?"

"And the
other choices? The workhouse or starve." Her face pale as wax, all the
fight went out of her. Huntley opened his mouth and shut it. She was right—compared
to that, smuggling was good odds.

"Next time
when you're caught, I won’t be able to protect you." He spoke sincerely.

There was no
triumph in her voice, just calm acceptance. "I know."

Huntley's blood
chilled. Seeing how sick her father was, he knew she would not stop her illegal
activities. By bringing Hope home, he might as well have walked her to the
gallows.  His mind raced. Hope was proud, she would not accept charity—but if
there was something he could do perhaps for her father—an offer of work. But
one glance at the slumped man in the chair and his heart sank.

Hope turned back
to her father, tucking a rug around his knees. Huntley thought furiously; it
was as though there was an obvious answer, but he couldn’t remember what is
was. A recent conversation—an offer declined. He nearly groaned aloud. How
could he have been so stupid? His mother!

Huntley's heart
pounded afresh, this would take careful handling.

"Mr. Tyler,
you worry about your daughter. Surely, you can’t want to see her in danger?
What if there was another way?"

William Tyler's
sunken eyes were full of guilt. "I begged her not to go out, but will she
listen?"

Huntley smiled,
her stubbornness he understood. "But if there was a way to keep Miss Tyler
safe and still provide for the family?"

"I hope as
you're not proposing anything indecent?"

Huntley felt
colour rising in his cheek. "Sir, I resent the insinuation."

To her credit
Hope looked equally aghast. "Father!"

"Well, it
had to be asked, doll."

"No it
didn’t, because I'm not leaving you."

Huntley groaned
inwardly. Even half an hour ago, if anyone had told him what he was about to
suggest, he would have laughed in their face and called them a fool. On his
honor, once the offer was made, it could not be taken back. And the cost? That
was obvious —his command would be untenable, at best he'd be reposted, at worst
he'd be court-martialed. He pushed the thought away to be dealt with later; his
mother was right to remind him he hadn’t joined the navy to persecute the
defenceless.

Words came out
of his mouth as if someone else was speaking. "Lady Ryevale, my mother,
would like to offer your daughter a position at The Grange. I came to ask your
consent."

Hope seemed
shocked. "You mentioned nothing of this to me."

Huntley bowed
stiffly. "It must have slipped my mind."

"I'm not
leaving. I can’t, not with Father like this."

He began to feel
irritated. Damn it but he was the one putting his career in jeopardy, the least
the chit could do was be grateful. "And when you end up in jail, then who
will help your family then?"

Hope stood very
still. "I'm needed here, this minute."

 Filling the
small parlor with his bulk, Huntley started to pace. "With the position
goes a salary, bed and board; so you  can send your wages home to Mr
Tyler." Damn it, he wasn’t going to beg.

Hope weakened,
glancing from her father to Huntley. Will Tyler gripped her arm. "You know
I love you as my own, and I'll not stand in your way. You decide."

Slowly she shook
her head. "I will not leave you, Father. Not now."

A pulse ticked
in Huntley's temple; think of this as a military campaign like any other, so
what tactic would best achieve his ends? Slowly, it came to him that it was
necessary to fool the enemy into thinking you were retreating.

With the
appearance of regret, he bowed.