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Excerpt:
Belinda tossed restlessly.
It was a hot night -- too hot for sleep. After a brilliant June
day the atmosphere was sultry, the still air was heavy with the
scent of new mown hay. The moon was shining brightly and it was
a shaft of moonlight stealing through a gap in the curtains that
woke her. She got out of bed to adjust the curtains and shut out
the bright light.
As she did so, she
looked down into the stable yard and was arrested by the sight of
a line of sturdy ponies leaving the yard. Their feet were tied up
in sacking to deaden the sound of their tread, and bulky bundles
were slung across their withers.
The smugglers' pack
train!
She shivered, wondering
if Yardley and his men were out there somewhere, lying in wait.
If so, she feared there would be an affray for the men leading the
ponies were armed with cudgels. Her thoughts flew to Clive until
she remembered with relief that he had gone to visit friends.
But had he? Was
not this exactly what had happened at the time of the last run?
Did he "go to visit friends" as a cover for far more sinister activities?
And why was she concerned for Clive's safety? Was it because of
the extraordinary feelings he evoked in her?
A few days ago while
she was still holding aloof from him, shocked at his heartless pronouncements
to the boys, his hand had brushed hers as he politely handed her
a book that had fallen to the schoolroom floor. The sensation caused
by his touch had startled her: tingling seemed to leap from his
hand to hers. Then he had smiled at her and her bones seemed to
liquefy.
It had been strangely
disconcerting. She knew she ought to deny his attraction for her
for two reasons: firstly because no connection was possible owing
to the inequality of their positions and their fortunes, and secondly,
there were times when she disapproved of him strongly and felt sure
he was the Master-smuggler.
Yet she found it
hard to deny her feeling for Clive: it was different from anything
she had known before. It was not the schoolgirl's hero-worship she
had felt for George, it was not the easy, comradely affection she
felt for Mark, it was something dark and disturbing but exhilarating.
Her heart yearned for him but her head told her to keep him at arm's
length.
She sighed and went
back to bed. Even with the curtains drawn to exclude the moonlight,
Belinda, tormented by thoughts of her love for Clive, spent a restless
night.
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