When Two Hearts Meet (Brightmore #2)

Chapter One

Chapter One

Falmouth, 1825

Cole hadn’t expected to meet another person on his extended walk through Falmouth. It was a relatively isolated and unused path he’d taken anyway; deciding at the last minute that a bit of exertion along the more rugged areas of the coastline was just what he needed. The old resentment he harboured for London and its stench still clung to his skin and clothes, and the fresh country air served only to calm his disquiet. However, despite the seclusion provided by the scenery that teetered steeply towards the cusp of the ocean, he was not alone.

His first presentation of the girl was that of the back of her head. It was not unpleasant to behold- indeed, no. Her golden locks tumbled over her shoulders like a curtain of sun-warmed wheat. She appeared rather skinny, her figure encased in a pale frock of cream muslin. The only strip of colour in her attire lay in the pink ribbon that laced the bodice at the back. It was from her attire that he deduced that this girl was a high-born lady.

Just what, Cole thought, she was doing out here near the ocean was quite perplexing. Now, Cole wasn’t typically the observant type when it came to the womenfolk of his acquaintance so it didn’t strike him as particularly odd that this lady was not wearing a bonnet, nor did she cover her delicate wrists with lace gloves. He was aware of at least that type of protocol among her kind but he didn’t expound of the absence of these items as he simply didn’t care. If a woman wanted him to notice her, all she would have to do is disrobe.

Perhaps it was her hair that caught his attention, that compelled him to draw closer even though he had resolved to remain isolated for a while longer than he intended. Its thickness, its cut, its simplicity adorned with an untameable wildness, held him entranced as sunlight licked the lengths of every individual strand. Set against a backdrop of a spectacular blue ocean, flecked with white foam as waves broke the surface, he imagined her as a mythical siren beckoning floundering seamen to their very own peril.

The dampness of the earth and the din of the restless sea muffled his approach, or merely she was so mired in her private contemplations that she didn’t acknowledge another presence. Whatever the case, Cole managed to stop a short metre away from her person and even then she hadn’t moved or revealed any signs of awareness. It was only when he cleared his throat quite gruffly and uttered, “Hello” that she started suddenly and turned to him.

He noticed her eyes, of course. They were rather pretty and splendidly green, framed with long lashes a shade darker than her hair. Set in a heart-shaped face and contrasted against her pale hair, her eyes glimmered resplendently. The fresh air had painted her cheeks pink otherwise she was quite pale with smooth alabaster skin. Her mouth, frozen with a half-smile of tentativeness, was a marvellous shade of coral, her bottom lip substantially plumper than her top. Right above the corner there was a most becoming freckle.

“H-hello,” she stuttered uncertainly. She hitched the cured-leather satchel that clung to one shoulder so that she could clutch it closer to her waist. He hadn’t noticed she carried it in the first place.

“Enjoying the fresh air?” he remarked inanely. There was an uneasiness about her that wobbled her lips and caused her eyes to dart nervously from side to side, obviously in search of some manner of escape. He couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t exactly the sort a delicate lady like her would usually associate with and his attire would attest to just that. Usually he would make an effort to conform to the sect he associated with in London when he made port, but this was Falmouth. He’d foregone the damn uncomfortable and starched waistcoats and cravats for something more practical, something more casual for a man like him.

“Um… yes.” Her voice held a faint edge about it, distinctly feminine yet embellished with sultriness. It was a decided contradiction- he’d imagine a courtesan well-rehearsed in the art of seduction to wield a voice like that, not this simpering country miss with not an ounce of meat on her bones. Christ, she was skinny. He dipped his gaze. Where the hell were her breasts? “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but I’m afraid I must excuse myself.”