Ladies of Intrigue Read online

  He strained a little more and …

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  He veered right, commanding both animals into a circle. Wild spree thus interrupted, Red Jenny eventually submitted, though not without a few fierce jerks of her head. After several circles, both horses trotted, until he could halt them and jump down.

  He dashed around to Helen’s side, where she yet clung to the mare’s neck, breathing hard.

  “Helen!” He reached for her, pulling her down into his arms. “Are you all right?” He leaned back for a better view. “Are you hurt?”

  A wide-eyed stare met his. Face mostly pale, except for the unnatural redness of her cheeks. Dark hair, loosened and long, curled past her shoulders. She was a savage picture, untamed and fierce. Yet a pampered London lady could not have looked more ravishing.

  “I am shaken.” Her voice caught on a little hiccup. “I might have … I could have—”

  She broke then, trembling so violently, tears cut loose.

  He drew her close, wrapping his arms around her. “Shh. All’s well now.” He spoke as much to himself as to her. Indeed. He very well could have lost this precious woman. They shuddered in unison. With effort, he forced his thoughts from what could have been and instead focused on meeting her need for the here and now.

  How long they stood there, he couldn’t say. An eternity wouldn’t have been long enough, so right, almost holy, did the moment feel.

  But eventually she pulled away, her big, brown eyes gazing up into his. Her lips parted.

  And he immediately put his finger against them. “Do not thank me again.”

  Beneath his touch, her mouth curved into a smile. If only he weren’t wearing gloves and could feel the softness of those lips. If only it wasn’t his finger pressed against such temptation, but his mouth. Desire stoked a long-banked fire in his gut.

  He retreated, unwilling to look at those lips a minute more. Any longer and he’d act on the impulse. Duchess stood nearest, so he strode to collect Jenny first. Once both horses were gathered, he handed the reins of the Irish hunter to Helen.

  She accepted them, but a fine flare of her nostrils revealed remnants of terror.

  “How about we lead them a bit before riding?” he asked.

  The admiration shining in her gaze was a pleasure so intense, he nearly moaned with the pain of it. He strode ahead.

  She caught up to his side. “You are very thoughtful.”

  “So now I am a thoughtful gentleman smuggler, eh?” He smiled at her.

  She swatted his arm.

  What kind of a woman went from terror to brokenness to playful, all in a manner of minutes? He blew out a long breath. One that he wanted, that’s what.

  “Why did you never marry?” The question flew out before he thought. Would she even answer? Not that he’d blame her if she didn’t. He’d taken a slap for questions less delicate.

  She merely shrugged, never missing a step. “A governess doesn’t have much opportunity. And you?”

  Her response hit him broadside. The woman parried with more speed than an expert swordsman. He hadn’t spoken of Catherine in over a year. Should he now? Was that hurt not long buried?

  But unbidden, words tumbled out of his mouth. “I almost did, once.”

  “What happened?”

  Memories crashed against him like the dull roar of the sea just past the cliffs. A bitter taste filled his mouth. He’d sworn off women, yet here he stood, walking side by side with one. “Perhaps you can tell me.” He gazed down at her as they plowed through the grass. “How is it a woman can pledge undying love for a man—until his business fails and wealth is no longer part of the equation?”

  With one hand, she pulled hair from her eyes and gathered the thickness of the loosened bulk at the back of her neck. “Shortsightedness, I suppose.”

  His brows shot up. “In what respect?”

  “Clearly the woman in question did not take into consideration the determination and probability of said man to eventually conquer the world.”

  Unbelievable. Helen Fletcher was a jewel with so many facets, he longed to see which side of her would shine next. A slow smile stretched his mouth. “I own that reason never once came to mind … but I like it.”

  And her.

  A blush deepened on her cheeks, a healthy colour, not the fearful scarlet of before. They walked in silence for a ways, the breeze cooling their mounts so that riding again would not be a concern.

  “Might we get a view of the sea before we head back?” Helen pointed to a worn path leading downward.

  He frowned. Tremawgan’s trail. One he knew well. Too well. And had vowed to never know again.

  “No.” The refusal sounded abrupt even to his own ears.

  She peered at him. The sting of his harshness weighted her brow, like a young girl showing her father a treasure and having it slapped from her hand.

  He softened his tone and his frown. “It’s a risk not worth taking. That trail is treacherous even for the best of riders. Stay away. Your horse is too skittish.”

  She tipped her chin to a saucy angle. “And I might run into smugglers?”

  “Would you not say, lady,” he stepped closer, “that you already have?”

  Chapter Seven

  The following day, Helen stood inside Seaton Hall’s receiving room, waiting upon Esther. Drawn toward the only ornament gracing the chamber, she crossed to the mantel and traced her finger over a carved box. Somewhat rough-hewn, this was as common a cheroot case as she’d ever seen. Nothing hinted at pomp or pretense, so like the master of the house. Her pulse quickened. Had Isaac’s hands also touched the wood this very morning?

  For a moment she gave in and closed her eyes, reliving the way he’d held her. The feel of his strong arms sheltering her against his chest. The heat of him. His scent. If she breathed deeply now, would she catch a leftover remnant of clary sage?

  “Helen! What a surprise, yet lovely to see you.”

  Helen jumped at Esther’s voice. Good thing the woman could not see into her mind. She sucked in a breath, shoving down the shameless thoughts of the woman’s brother. “Good day, Esther. I was hoping to catch you at home.”

  “Oh dear.” The curls framing Esther’s face trembled as she crossed the room and reached for Helen’s hands. “I hope you’re not here because of your father.”

  “No, thankfully, though I am sad to say there has been no improvement.” She squeezed Esther’s fingers then let go. “I came because I’ve finished that load of mending you dropped off and wondered if you might send someone by to pick it up.”

  “So soon? You are more proficient with a needle than I, for I’ve barely made it halfway through my pile.”

  “Would you like me to take on more?”

  “Don’t even think of it, but it is sweet of you to offer.” Esther swept over to the settee and patted the cushion beside her. “I daresay Isaac thinks you sweet as well.”

  Pretend her words are true. Pretend he cares for you.

  Shirking off the notion, she settled her skirts next to Esther. Of course he wouldn’t think of her in that way. He was kind to everyone. Romance was for storybooks and naive girls, not a governess tending to a sick father.

  She lifted her face to Esther. “His opinion of me may have lowered since yesterday after the way I lost control of my horse.”

  Esther shook her head, light catching copper strands in her hair, so like Isaac’s. “Any time my brother gets to play the champion is a boost for his confidence, which believe it or not, is sorely needed. The past few years have been hard on him.” She went silent. Though Esther still sat on the settee, clearly memories crowded behind her eyes, so faraway her gaze.

  Helen patted her arm. “I am sorry to hear it.”

  “Hmm?” Esther jolted at the touch, but a smile soon curved her lips. “All that’s changed since you arrived. My brother is happier now. Lighter of spirit. You are good for him.”

  “Don’t be silly. It can’t be because of me.”r />
  “No, you’re wrong. I really think he—”

  “Pardon me, miss.” A black skirt entered the room, ushering in a red-faced housekeeper and the waft of linseed oil. She dipped a bow to Esther. “There’s a Mr. Farris here to see Master Seaton. I told him the master weren’t home, so he insists on speaking with you instead.”

  Esther shot a gaze to Helen. A trapped fox couldn’t have looked more desperate.

  Helen leaned near and whispered, “I will stay until he leaves.”

  A flicker of gratitude lit Esther’s eyes, then she flattened her lips and faced the housekeeper. “Very well, send him in.”

  They stood as the revenue man entered.

  He wilted into a sloppy bow, hat in hand. “What’s this? Two beautiful women when I anticipated only one? It is my lucky day, is it not?”

  To her credit, Esther dipped a polite nod. “Perhaps not, Mr. Farris, for my brother is gone to town, and it’s my understanding you were calling on him.”

  “Pish!” He fluttered his fingers. “Only a slight inconvenience, and besides …” In three strides, he closed in on them. Taking each of their hands, he pressed a kiss to their skin simultaneously. “I’d much rather call on pretty ladies.”

  Helen yanked her hand away. Did the man think of nothing else? No wonder he failed at the task for which he’d been sent. Taking Esther’s arm, she guided her friend back to the settee and made sure to spread out her gown so that the fellow couldn’t barge in between them.

  Planting his feet wide, he frowned at her maneuver.

  She smiled up at him. “Mr. Farris, have you any news of the smugglers you were after?”

  “None about the scoundrels who raided the Nancarrow.” A squall raged on his creased brow, the jaunty curls of his hair unwinding a bit. Then he snapped his fingers and perked up. “But not to worry. I have a plan afoot to entrap those thieves. Actually, that’s what I was hoping Mr. Seaton might help me with.”

  “Oh?” Alarm lifted gooseflesh on her arms. “I hope it’s not dangerous.”

  The man’s chest filled out, straining the buttons on his waistcoat. “I thrive on danger, Miss Fletcher, but don’t fret. I shall keep Mr. Seaton perfectly safe. I merely need an extra pair of eyes.”

  Next to her, Esther stiffened. “Are you expecting trouble, sir?”

  “What I am expecting, ladies, is a ship to arrive in three days. The perfect bait for those who cannot keep themselves from pilfering others’ goods.”

  Helen leaned forward. “And if none do?”

  “Hadn’t thought of that.” He rubbed his jaw, the rasp of poorly shaven whiskers overly loud in the room.

  A slow smile slashed across his face, entirely too suggestive. “You have a quick mind, Miss Fletcher, one I should like to know better.”

  She stood. Enough was far more than enough. “Allow me to be plain, Mr. Farris. Your attentions toward me are not only a waste of your time but are unwelcome. I am not now, nor ever will be, inclined to foster your acquaintance.”

  Deep red spread up his neck like a wound.

  Good. She stepped closer. “Furthermore, sir, since Mr. Seaton is clearly not at home, I suggest you go and find him, for there can be no more for you to say to us.”

  Behind her, Esther gasped.

  Mr. Farris jammed his hat back atop his head. “Well,” he blustered. “Good day, then, ladies.”

  He stalked from the room, steps stilted and neck stiff. The picture of a reprimanded schoolboy.

  Laughter begged to run free past her lips, but she slapped her hand to her mouth. Oh, what must Esther think of her to so rudely upbraid a guest in her home? She spun, horrified, and held her breath.

  Esther stood, wide-eyed. “Did you see his face?”

  “I did.”

  Slowly, Esther’s lips curved, higher and higher, until she burst into laughter so merry that Helen couldn’t help but join in. They giggled like girls, and finally Esther had to dab at the moisture in her eyes.

  “Oh Esther, please forgive my breach of manners, but the man was simply not to be borne.”

  “No apology required.” Esther flew to the window and parted the curtain, then winked back at Helen. “There he goes. I wouldn’t have known how to shoo him off so efficiently, but I am a quick study. I shall endeavor to be as forthright as you in the future.”

  She gained her friend’s side and stared out at the retreating backside of Mr. Farris’s horse. “In the case of Mr. Farris, pride is his Achilles’ heel. Strike that, and he’ll leave you be.”

  Her smile faded as the man galloped off. She’d steered him away from herself and Esther for now, but hopefully she’d not shoved him more forcefully into seeking out and arresting the area smugglers.

  Namely Isaac.

  Patting the signed document in his pocket, Isaac stepped out of Mr. Green’s office. The man was a miracle worker. Only one more investor—one—and the mine wouldn’t be merely an idea, but a money-making reality for him and his tenants.

  He strolled down High Street with a lift to his step. Out of debt. A lovely woman living in the parsonage. A new business venture to pursue. He tugged his hat with a smile and a hearty “Good day” as he passed old Marnie Winkler, selling last year’s apples. Then on second thought, he doubled back and flipped her a coin, just for the joy of it.

  She dipped her head. “God bless ye, Master Seaton.”

  “Indeed, He has, Mistress Winkler.”

  He continued on, but as he crossed over to Fore Street, his step hitched. He paused, listening hard.

  Cack. Cack.

  There it was again. The raspy cry of a corn crake—a bird more inclined to a hayfield than a village.

  And one that sang only at night.

  Slowly, he slid his gaze across the street, to a thin gap between two buildings. The black outline of a bony man emerged, but even as daylight engulfed the fellow, he was little more than a dirt-coloured smudge. Stained breeches. Soiled dress coat. Even the man’s shirt had yellowed into the dull drab of hopelessness. His dark gaze met Isaac’s, then he slipped back into the shadows.

  Billy Hawker. A growl rumbled in Isaac’s throat. Glancing up and down the street, he waited for a dray to lumber past, then took off at a run. The gap between buildings was barely wide enough for Billy, let alone Isaac’s shoulders. Sideways, he scraped on as best he could, until the passage opened into a narrow alley, hidden from the street on one side by a stack of crates. The other end curved slightly, blocking pedestrian views.

  Isaac grabbed the man by the collar and shoved him up against a brick wall. “Blast it! I told you we were finished.”

  Hawker’s eyes bulged. “But there’s something you should know.”

  “Not in public! Never in public.” Isaac ground his teeth. If anyone saw him with a known free trader, the gossip could not only tarnish his reputation but raise Farris’s suspicions. Isaac’s fingers clenched tighter, cutting off Hawker’s air supply. The man wriggled beneath his grasp.

  “Bah!” He let go.

  Any damage was already done.

  Hawker slumped over, gasping. “I din’t … din’t know how else … to reach ye.”

  Isaac sighed, flexing out the leftover rage still tingling in his hands. “What is it?”

  After a few more gulps of air, the man straightened. “I were slinging back a pint at the Pickled Parrot last eve when in walks Grimlox.”

  Folding his arms, Isaac leaned against the opposite building. “Jack Grimlox?”

  “Aye.”

  The leader of a rival gang of smugglers? He frowned. “What’s he doing showing his face around here?”

  “That’s what me and the boys thought.” Hawker’s thin shoulders raised like tent posts holding up a worn canvas. “Din’t much care, though, after he bought a few rounds o’ drinks.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Isaac shook his head. “What’s he after?”

  “Silence.”

  “What?” He stepped away from the wall, studying Hawker�
��s face. Was this some kind of ruse?

  Hawker retreated, until his backbone smacked against the bricks. “I can explain. Seems there’s a shipment on the move, three days hence. Grimlox and his gang aim to relieve her and want us to lay low.”

  “So, he bribed you.”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, well.” Isaac chewed on that morsel of information, the fat of which satisfied. “I’d say that round of drinks was Grimlox’s loss, for we aren’t in the smuggling business anymore. But”—he narrowed his eyes—“why was it so important to tell me this?”

  Hawker dragged his sleeve beneath his nose, leaving a darkened smear on the cuff. “I never saw Grimlox looking better. He were all cleaned up, he were. Dandy clothes. A jingle in his pocket, e’en after he paid for our night o’ ale.”

  The man advanced a step, glanced both ways, then leaned in close to Isaac.

  “And he were wearin’ a seal ring.”

  Isaac’s muscles clenched. If Hawker took the risk to single him out on a public street, then the ring must be of deadly importance. “Whose?” he asked.

  “Brannigan’s.”

  “Blast!” He reeled about and smashed his fist into the wall, wishing to heavens it was Richard’s face. “I knew the two were connected. I knew it!”

  “I say if you really want to take a jab at ol’ Brannigan, then we lift the goods before Grimlox and his gang can get to it. Brandy, tea, rum, tobacco … it’s a mite fair load. Bring a fancy price.”

  Breathing hard, he lowered his hand, ignoring the pain and the warmth of blood dripping down his fingers. Hawker’s words were a temptation, a strong, flaming temptation. The chance to lash out at Richard Brannigan pounded louder with each beat of his heart.

  Until the quiet voice of a small woman murmured in his mind.

  “Thievery is wrong.”

  His shoulders slumped. This wasn’t a shipment to recoup blasting powder that’d been taken from him. This time it truly would be thievery.

  He turned back to Hawker, the weight of the document swinging his coat hem against his thigh. Had he not just minutes ago promised Mr. Green to leave his vengeance against Richard to God?

  “Well?” asked Hawker. “What say you?”