Mistress Below Deck (2 page)

He stared at her quite openly, behind his mask his eyes narrowing. ‘Miss Rowena Golding?' He should have known, of course, for who else could it be? This was the girl whom the whole of Falmouth gossiped about, the whispers rustling like wind through the bracken on the land, whispers of how Matthew Golding's daughter rode her fleet-heeled mare with all the wildness that was in her, and by God, he could see why. She was undeniably magnificent.

The gentle curves of her body all rippled beneath the fine material of her gown. Any female dressed in such revealing garments was bound to attract attention, but it was not just her lack of clothing that drew every male eye at the ball to her—it was her defiant, direct stare, the way she tossed her imperious head, the challenging set to her shoulders, and the way she moved with a sensual arrogance. But the most interesting—and more than a little surprising—thing of all was that she was Matthew Golding's daughter.

Becoming thoughtful, he considered her apace, then, recollecting himself, took a step back and said abruptly, ‘Don't you think you should return to your chaperon, Miss Golding, before she comes looking for you?'

They were the exact words needed to release her from the strange spell his voice and presence had cast upon her. ‘I need no one to tell me what to do, sir,' she uttered sharply. ‘But it is time I returned to my sister, since it is almost time for us to leave.'

Rowena turned in the entrance to the arbour and looked back. The impact of his gaze was no less potent for the distance now placed between them. As if moved by forces beyond her control, she inclined her head in recognition of the strange contract conjured up between them.

Her companion of a moment before merely smiled intimately and watched her go, with a promise in his eyes that said he would see her again.

Mellin House was set in a sheltered fold surrounded by well-tended, spacious gardens and with a fine view of Falmouth and Flushing across the Haven. It had been built by Matthew Golding's grandfather, the man who had purchased a modest sailing vessel, trading between Bristol and the Channel ports, buying warehouses to store his goods, and expanding to make his business a thriving concern.

He would have been proud of his grandson's exploits. Matthew had become the owner of two trading vessels—the
Rowena Jane
and the
Dolphin
, trading between Cornwall, Gibraltar and the Mediterranean ports, where, taking on cargoes such as wine, lace and polished marble, they would sail on to the West Indies, the ships returning to Cornwall heavily laden with highly profitable cargoes of sugar, tobacco and possibly rum.

Today, however, Matthew Golding was facing bankruptcy. He was also crippled, having been shot in dubious circumstances four years ago on Antigua. Rowena had not been made privy to the details, but she remembered well the time he had been brought home on the
Rowena Jane
. The
Dolphin
, in command of its captain, Jack Mason, had sailed away from Antigua and nothing had been heard of the ship, its cargo or its captain since.

Matthew had expelled a great deal of hot air and vows of revenge against Tobias Searle, the man who had shot him, and Jack Mason, the scoundrel who had stolen his ship.

And now, seated at the table in his downstairs room where he conducted his beleaguered business affairs, he was awaiting the arrival of yet another suitor for his eldest daughter. Rowena had never met Phineas Whelan. He was more than twice her age, but many a lass would be honoured to have attracted the attention of such a man.

Having no need for another's wealth, owning land and property in Cornwall and beyond, he was willing to overlook Rowena's lack of dowry. Matthew hoped she would look on him with more favour than the others she had rejected outright, but she was proving stubborn.

Though Rowena was tempted to ride out of Falmouth to avoid meeting Mr Whelan, she resisted the temptation and instructed Annie, the housekeeper of many years, to have a fire lit and refreshments served in the drawing room. Her lovely face was composed as her
mind became locked in bitter conflict with her conscience. Their situation was dire indeed. She felt compassion for her father, a person who by her action to defy him in this marriage to Mr Whelan would be wounded. She must put his wishes and the needs of her family before her own, to curb the wilful need to escape the restrictions marriage to any man would bring.

In the next halting moment, doom descended when a loud knock sounded on the door.

Her mind flew ahead with her nerves. Annie must not have heard because the knocking came again. In frantic haste she went into the hall, meeting Jane as she emerged from the kitchen to answer the door herself.

‘It must be Mr Whelan,' Jane said, whipping the apron from round her waist as she crossed to the door.

With calm deliberation Rowena smoothed her troublesome hair from her brow and tried to soothe her anxieties as she watched Jane raise the latch and open the door. The space seemed entirely filled with a tall dark figure.

‘Please come in,' Jane said to their father's visitor, flushing prettily when her eyes beheld the handsome visage.

Rowena stepped forward to receive Mr Whelan, halting abruptly when he stepped into the hall. Her gaze travelled up from expensive brown leather boots, over a dark green redingote, to the face beneath the brim of a tricorn hat. Her breath froze in her throat. His face was by far the most handsome face she had seen. How tall he was, she thought, lean and superbly fit. There was an uncompromising authority, an arrogance, to the
chiselled line of his jaw, and his aquiline profile and tanned flesh would have been well at home at sea.

Yet humour came quickly, softening the features, and crinkles of mirth appeared at the corners of his eyes. His eyes, compelling, bold, mocking and piercingly blue, were totally alive, as if searching out all life had to offer and determined to miss nothing. They openly and unabashedly displayed his approval as his gaze took in the length of her. The slow, lazy grin that followed and the wicked gleam in his eyes combined to sap the strength from her body.

Rowena knew at once that here was a man unlike any other she had known, a man of power, diverse and complex, who set himself above others. She felt slightly irritated by the intensity of his inspection, yet at the same time stirred by it.

This was no doddering, whiskery old man, she realised, but a man handsome and virile in every fibre of his being. That he exceeded everything she had imagined him to be was an understatement.

The man swept off his hat to reveal a short thick crop of black hair. His rich deep voice was as pleasing as the rest of him, but, when Rowena heard it, it rendered her momentarily speechless.

‘Well, well, Miss Golding. What a pleasure it is to meet you again.'

She stared at him in amazement, recognising something in his stance and in the deep timbre of his voice. Realisation that this was the man she had met at Lord Tennant's ball hit her like a thunderbolt. He was watching
her steadily now and she was glad she had tied her hair back with a bright red ribbon. If only her father had told her what he looked like, then perhaps she would not have been so reluctant to meet him. She felt her spirits lift and was unable to shake off the thrill of seeing him again.

Dear God, he was so handsome! Perfect. A supremely eligible suitor. Never in her wildest imaginings had she visualised a man quite like this. It just went to show that her wilful, rebellious heart was as susceptible to a handsome face and a pair of laughing blue eyes as the next. Any woman would be flattered, honoured, to be courted and wed to such a man.

‘You! So it was you lurking behind a mask at the ball! Oh—I had no idea.'

‘Clearly. Do you mind?'

Rowena, who had been paralysed into inaction by the knowledge of his identity, laughed outright, feeling as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders.
Mind
, she thought, her common sense raging and her heart racing,
surely there had to be some mistake?
As she studied him intently, her face was alight with curiosity and caution.

‘Why should I mind? My father said you were coming. You are expected.'

‘Indeed?' His eyebrows crawled upwards with a certain amount of amazement, and for a moment he looked somewhat bemused, but then he smiled, a slow, secretive, knowing smile. ‘Forgive me if I seem surprised, Miss Golding, but I expected to be received with resentment, not kindness.'

To her annoyance, Rowena found herself flushing scarlet. ‘I apologise if I appeared rude on our previous encounter, and if my father told you of my unwillingness to meet you. You see, I'm an obstinate, selfish creature—at least that is what he's always telling me—and for the sake of relieving my own feelings, I care little for offending and wounding others. I am relieved to see you are not in the least as he described you to be, and that you greatly exceed my expectations. Has he told you much—about me, I mean?'

‘I know a good deal about you, Miss Golding. I've made it my business,' he murmured, catching a tantalising scent of her flesh as she moved closer, his eye drawn to the scooped neck of her gown and her creamy, perfect skin. For a long moment his gaze lingered on the elegant perfection of her glowing face, then settled on her entrancing soft blue-green eyes. He felt himself stir in sudden discomfiture as his blood began to throb in his veins. ‘And I'm looking forward to getting to know a good deal more about you.'

‘Oh—yes, of course you are. This is my sister, Jane.'

Jane looked at the stranger before resting her gaze on her sister curiously, and then a knowing smile curved her soft lips. Rowena had shown an interest in no man beyond a willingness to engage in flirtation of the very lightest kind with local boys, and here she was, gazing at this stranger with the air of someone who has been transported to another world, fidgeting like a restless colt and with stars in her eyes, her cheeks a delicate shade of pink to match the roses on the hall table.

‘I'll go and get some refreshment, Rowena.' Jane quickly disappeared back to the kitchen where she was helping Annie prepare the evening meal.

The visitor was looking at Rowena in a way that warmed her body and brought a quickly rising sense of excitement. ‘I hope you won't be disappointed, and that, along with everything else, you will be satisfied with the arrangement you made with my father.'

The humour vanished from his smile, replaced by a quizzical puzzlement. ‘Everything else?' His look became thoughtful, and then into his eyes came a look of understanding, like a sudden flame, and he smiled slowly, as if in secret amusement. ‘Yes, Miss Golding. Be assured that I shall be more than satisfied.'

‘Never having been properly introduced, you know very little about me.'

He tilted his head to one side as he studied her face, that glimmer of secret amusement in his eyes. ‘I know that your name is Rowena, that you are the elder of Matthew Golding's two daughters. You have lived in Falmouth all your life and your mother died several years ago. I know you were a child of unpredictable disposition, that you and your sister were well educated by a string of governesses.

‘I also know that your father has a penchant for self-destruction. He's got himself into an appalling financial situation, and once his creditors discover his dire circumstances he will have to run for the Continent or risk facing an unpleasant, prolonged stay in a debtors' prison. As a result he is now striving to procure for you
a wealthy husband, regardless of age, status or your feelings on the matter. In short, you are loyal to a fault, left to perform the biddings of your father's avarice. Is this correct? Tell me if I'm wrong.'

Rowena swallowed, her spirit, like her pride, shattered. She acknowledged the truth of his words with a slight, regal inclination of her head, thankful that none of this mattered to him. ‘I'd say your information is entirely accurate. I'm the only thing standing between my father and absolute ruin.' Her lips curled bitterly. ‘What a pathetic creature you must find me.'

He stood for a moment, his imperturbable penetrating gaze studying the hurt his words had brought to her eyes. The sun filling the hall had brought a bloom of rosy colour to her delicately boned cheeks, setting off a sparkle in her jewel-bright eyes, the blue-green orbs slanting slightly upwards, thickly fringed with black lashes. There was a naïvety about her and an indescribable magnetism that totally intrigued him, as well as something special and fine.

‘I'm sure you are many things, Miss Golding, but being pathetic is not one of them. Now, isn't it time you took me to your father?'

‘Yes, of course. Please come this way.'

‘A moment of your time, Rowena, before we go in.'

She paused and gazed up at him, noting how his expression had hardened. He had used her Christian name for the first time; though she noticed it, she liked the sound of it, the familiarity, and could not protest.

‘You may be amazed by what you hear. I apologise
beforehand for misleading you.' Without waiting for a response, he opened the door and strode into the room.

At the sudden interruption Matthew looked up from some papers he was scrutinising. With stupefied slowness his eyes focused on the man who had burst in.

‘What the devil…?' He stared blankly, giving no hint of recognition at first, but then he froze, an expression of stunned horror on his face, and when he spoke the first word came out in a sibilant hiss. ‘
You
. How dare you enter my house uninvited? What do you want—and what the devil are you doing with my daughter?'

Rowena felt a strange slithering unease as she hovered in the doorway. Fear began to congeal in her breast and run its tendrils through her veins as she watched the two men.

The visitor walked to within a yard of where Matthew Golding sat beside the fire in his cumbersome wheelchair and stopped. His eyes flicked over the older man's portly frame with contempt. As Matthew made a feeble attempt to straighten his neck linen, the corners of the taller man's mouth twisted in derision.