Page 1 of A Perilous Passion

Chapter One

August 1804, Dorset

Miss Charlotte Allston was just about to wade into the sea to examine a mysterious object when a tremendous force sent her crashing to the ground.

Flat on her back in the shallows, she gaped up at the summer sky, winded, struggling helplessly against the weight that smothered her. From the vise-like grip on her arms it had to be a man, an extremely strong one, pinning her down on the sodden sand. Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed fervently for someone on the beach to rush to her rescue.

But no one did.

A cultured voice commanded, “You’re not to do it, d’ye hear? There’s no problem that can’t be solved—life’s too precious to throw it away.”

Charlotte tried to focus on the face that now hung mere inches from her own, and failed. Fortunately, he shifted his weight, making breathing easier, but she still couldn’t muster enough air to scream. Why did no one come to her aid? Was her attacker carrying some fearsome weapon she had yet to see?

Suddenly, his words cut through her confusion. Life’s too precious… He thought she was about to drown herself. Great heaven, how could any sane person confuse wading on Chelney Beach with suicide? If she’d been going to do that, it would have happened months ago, after her failed elopement with Justin Jessop.

Barely had these thoughts crossed her mind than the man set her back on her feet, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a doll. He swiftly removed his coat and tucked it about her shoulders.

This wasn’t what one might expect from an assailant with evil intent. Shading her eyes against the sun, she stared at the man who’d so mistaken her actions. He was well-built, with a deep chest that taxed the buttons on his plain kerseymere waistcoat. Long legs with powerful thighs and calves swept down to his boots, adding a masculine grace to his muscular physique. Was he an out-of-uniform officer, perhaps? He had the stiff, upright bearing of one. Or a bare-knuckle boxer? This should account for the muscles.

No, a pugilist wouldn’t have retained such dark good looks. There were no dents or lumps in the long, aristocratic nose, no scars to mar the line of the close-shaven square chin. The man was older than her beloved Justin and didn’t look particularly mad, or stupid.

He must know she wasn’t about to put an end to herself. So, what, then, was his real motive for toppling her over?

He gazed intently into her face. “You’re wet and cold. Come with me back to the inn. I’ll have them do a hot brick for you and make up a caudle. Then I’ll return you to your family. Or take you to see the local parson. Whoever you feel might be able to help. I’ll carry you if you don’t feel up to the walk.”

Somewhat lost in the face of such determined decision making, she summoned anger to her defense. “I can walk perfectly well by myself,” she stated, pushing away the proffered arm. “I don’t want your coat. I’d rather throw it in the sea and trample upon it! And I hate caudles. Tell me, do you make a habit of pushing young ladies over?”

His eyes hardened. “Of course not. But I couldn’t let you do such a terrible thing.”

“Is it so awful to walk into the sea?”

“What you were about to do is against the laws of God and Nature. As I’m sure you’re aware.”

He genuinely thought she’d been about to drown herself. “Well, really!” she said on a gasp. “Of all the ridiculous notions!”

His broad shoulders sank. “You looked so melancholy. I thought—”

“You were watching me?” She wasn’t sure she cared for that.

The shoulders stiffened again, and he spread his hands in a gesture of self-defense. She noticed scratches on them, as though made by bramble thorns.

Who was this man? And why was he spying on her?

As she continued to gaze at him, nonplussed, the breeze flapped at her gown, driving the wet muslin against her legs. She resisted the urge to shiver, for fear of being threatened with a caudle again, and tilted her chin defiantly.

His deep voice had an edge to it as he said, “I see that I may have made a mistake. Only, you looked quite…bereft. Then you just turned and walked into the water. Anyone would have thought the same.”

“If I have good reason to look melancholy, that’s my own business.” Wasn’t the fact that Justin was exiled to Scotland a good enough reason? Wasn’t the fact that she’d been confined to the house for the entire spring, more than enough to make her look miserable?

“A lady doesn’t normally stroll along the beach unchaperoned,” the stranger informed her, “or ruin her shoes with sea water.” He coughed and looked self-conscious. “When things happen that are out of the ordinary, I feel the need to investigate.”

She had been chaperoned. But Aunt Flora was so intent on listening to the quack doctor on the green that Charlotte had been able to escape.

“I—” she began, then paused. Why try to justify herself? She should turn around and stalk off, not waste time standing here disputing with the fellow.

“You behaved like a lunatic,” she said. “Shall I send for the constable and have you returned to your asylum?”

He gave her a crushing look. Then, acknowledging the barb, he smiled. And for no reason she could fathom, she blushed.