My Fair Princess (20 page)

Now that the smugglers had their ponies loaded and ready, should she send Teddy back to Fenfield and follow them alone? Even if she could track them, would she be able to find her way back to the manor house? Without the boy, she would likely be stumbling about, as good as blind. Still, it was a golden opportunity, and a chance she had to take.

“Teddy, I want you to take the horse and go back to Fenfield,” she murmured. It was only three miles or so to the house, so he should be back well before any of the servants were up. Whether
she
would be was another matter, but she couldn't worry about that now.

“I ain't leaving you,” Teddy hissed. “You'd never find your way back.”

They spent the next minute or so in heated albeit whispered argumentation, while Gillian kept a wary eye on the smugglers. Perhaps their debate explained why she didn't hear the man creeping up behind her until it was too late. Biting back a curse, she rolled over, pulling her pistol from the back of her breeches. Before she could bring the weapon up, a hard masculine body came down on top of her, crushing her into the sand. A big hand curled around her wrist in a brutal clasp.

“Stop struggling,” whispered the Duke of Leverton. “And don't say a word.”

Chapter Eighteen

Gillian blinked up into Leverton's face. He wore an odd, soft hat that threw heavy shadows over his features. Still, she could see his eyes blazing with anger. If she were prone to flights of fancy, she could imagine they were fiery beacons lighting up the beach.

Since she was not prone to such fancies, she directed an irate scowl right back at him, furious that she'd allowed him to sneak up on her. She wriggled, trying to ease the pressure of his weight on her ribs and stomach.

He bit back a curse. “Stay still, blast you, or you might get more than you bargained for.”

She had no intention of obeying his orders, not with the smugglers still nearby. With every passing second, her chances of following them slipped away. She started squirming once more to make it clear that she wanted him off. Then she froze when she detected something quite unexpected pressing into her belly.

Leverton was decidedly aroused. Since her open greatcoat had belled out around her, she had only her breeches to act as a barrier between his body and hers. And from what she could feel, his breeches weren't up to the job of preserving her modesty either.

“Good God,” she breathed.

He leaned down, as if to whisper in her ear. Instead, he seemed to draw in her scent, and his chest expanded against hers. Gillian's body sparked to life with the most bloody inconvenient timing.

“Now you understand,” he murmured in her ear. His bristled cheek brushed her face, sending shivers rippling through her body.

“Get off me,” she choked out.

“Be still,” he murmured. “They're coming up from the beach.”

Gillian brought her free hand up to push him off, but froze when she again heard the jingle of pony bridles and the murmur of voices. She held herself motionless, even though every instinct urged her to get out from under Leverton.

Well, that was a lie. Right now her instincts were urging her to wriggle closer to him and his lovely erection. How appalling.

Leverton pressed down on her harder as the smugglers went by, apparently only a few dozen yards away. Gillian had to bite her lip against a whimper—not because he was hurting her, but because it felt so good. Clearly, she was losing what little sanity she had left.

She turned her head, looking for Teddy. The boy hadn't uttered a word since the duke had appeared. He lay still and flat on the sand, a few feet away. Teddy had excellent nerves, but his eyes had gone wide as he stared at them. Clearly, he was as shocked by his employer's appearance as she was, albeit for different reasons.

Thank God it was too dark for the lad to notice the silent, physical drama that was playing out between her body and Leverton's.

The three of them stayed immobile for what seemed an eternity. As the seconds ticked by, Gillian's discomfort grew. Now Leverton didn't feel quite so nice. Rather, his body's hard, muscular planes jabbed into her most sensitive parts, and she was certain a piece of driftwood was digging into the small of her back. Even worse, her nose was starting to itch. Any amorous feelings she had been experiencing were rapidly fading under the discomfort of being trapped between a body that felt like granite and cold, lumpy sand.

Leverton didn't seem to share her discomfort, since his arousal apparently hadn't decreased at all. She had some knowledge of the male physique, from personal experience and observation of ancient statuary. If Leverton was not an anomaly, she was going to have to revise her understanding of the general dimensions of the male appendage.

Finally, he pushed up a bit, which nudged his erection against a certain delicate spot. Gillian couldn't hold back a tiny squeak.

“Sorry,” he whispered with a grimace. Then he craned over the dune and breathed a relieved sigh. “I think we're in the clear.”

“Then get off me at once,” Gillian ordered in a low voice.

“Right.” He sounded rather sheepish, as he should. But when he quickly rolled off her, Gillian had to stifle an instinctive sigh of regret.

There was little doubt she was suffering a bizarre form of insanity. Leverton had snuck up on her, squashed her, and generally treated her like a totty-headed female. And yet all she wanted to do was pull him back down, wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, and kiss him senseless.

“Yep, they be gone, Yer Grace,” Teddy whispered, going up on his knees. He glanced down the beach. “I don't see the decoy none, either.”

The boy's words blasted the remaining sensual lethargy from Gillian's brain. She rolled, moving into a crouch beside Teddy, slipping her pistol into the holstered belt at her back.

“Did you see what path they took?” she murmured. With any luck, she could pick up the trail and follow the smugglers back to their hiding place.

A hand clamped on to the shoulder of her coat and hauled her up with almost shocking ease. “I fail to see the relevance in that detail, Miss Dryden,” Leverton said as he set her on her feet.

She staggered on the uneven sand and had to clutch at his arm. “It's relevant because I'm going to follow them.”

His hands slid down to her elbows, steadying her. “I think not. We're going back to Fenfield Manor, where we will have a discussion about tonight's foolish adventure.”

She slapped his hands away. “I think not,” she retorted, mimicking him. “And every minute we spend arguing means those bloody smugglers are getting farther away.”

Gillian tried to brush by him, but he grabbed on to her and hauled her against his body. Cursing under her breath, she drove her heel into his shin.

Leverton barely flinched. “And what do you intend to do once you find them?” he growled. “Face them down with your pathetically inadequate pistol?”

“I'll have you know it's a very good pistol.” Then she winced at how inane that sounded.

“It had better be if you intend to take out six smugglers, which I assume is your plan.”

“You assume wrong.” She was so enraged and embarrassed that she practically choked on it. Unfortunately, Leverton was correct. She didn't really have a plan, although she certainly wasn't stupid enough to confront a group of armed men by herself.

“I simply wanted to track them,” she said, “and see where they were holing up.”

“And then what?”

She fumed silently, trying to think of something that didn't sound completely ridiculous. Her end game was to recover the jewels, but she'd yet to devise exactly how. Every successful plan was based on knowledge gleaned about one's adversaries. But now, with every passing second, the smugglers were moving out of her reach. Even the chance to acquire the slightest bit of useful information was slipping away.

Sighing, Gillian slumped between his hands. Ever since coming to England, nothing had gone right. She felt out of sorts with everything and everyone, including herself. In Sicily, she'd always known what to do and how to do it. But in England she was full of doubt, no longer even sure what she should care about.

Teddy let out a sigh. “Don't matter much anymore,” he said morosely. “They's long gone, but I could try picking up their trail, if you wants me to.”

“I do not,” Leverton said in a crisp voice as he finally let Gillian go. “Teddy, Mr. Reid is waiting for you where you left the mare tied up. Run along now and join him. I'll speak with you later.”

“Yes, Yer Grace,” Teddy said, looking stricken.

Gillian reached over and straightened his cap, letting her hand briefly cup the back of his head. “I'll speak to you later too. Get some sleep, my dear, and don't worry about anything. I promise all will be fine.”

Teddy eyed Leverton, his pinched-up mouth expressing his doubt. He gave her a nod and then set off through the dune grass.

Gillian scowled at the duke. “You are not to even think of blaming that boy or letting him go. His mother desperately needs the pitiful income he makes in your stables.”

Leverton shook his head, clearly disgusted. “Teddy's income is far from pitiful. Reid pays him an ample stipend, with my blessing. I might also add that Mrs. Peck is very generous with kitchen leftovers, which I'm sure you noticed. Finally, he lives in a cottage that
I
own. Since the death of his father, I have not charged Mrs. Bell a shilling of rent. Do I sound like an ogre to you, ready to throw Teddy into the deepest dungeon?”

Gillian felt her shoulders creep up around her ears. “Well . . . no.”

Leverton fisted his hands on his hips. It was too dark to make out the expression on his shadowed face. Still, only an idiot could fail to tell that he was as angry as he'd been when he arrived.

“Thank you for that ringing endorsement,” he said sarcastically. “By the way, I do not blame Teddy. I blame you. What were you thinking to drag that boy into such danger? I swear, Gillian, I ought to turn you over my knee and give you a sound whacking for acting in so demented a fashion.”

Gillian already felt horribly guilty about Teddy, and Leverton's threat to treat her like a naughty child fired up her temper. “Teddy was quite safe with me.”

Leverton slapped a hand to his forehead, accidentally knocking his hat off. “Good God, you are completely insane. Someone should have locked you up in a madhouse long ago.”

She'd automatically stooped down to pick up his hat. But instead of handing it to him, she threw it at his chest. “And
you
are nothing but a coward, if you don't mind my saying so, Your Grace. A. Coward,” she repeated for emphasis. He wasn't, of course, but at the moment it was the worst thing she could think of to call him.

He stared at her in disbelief. “Because I refused to let a slip of a girl and a small boy hare off after a band of desperate smugglers? You have a very odd notion of what constitutes appropriate behavior, although I shouldn't be surprised since you were allowed to run wild around the Sicilian countryside. Your family has much to answer for, I'm sorry to say.”

Gillian leaned forward and jabbed him in the chest. “You leave my family out of it. They did the best they could.”

“Nothing can excuse their failure to teach you how a woman of your standing should behave.”

“My
standing
? I'm the by-blow of a thoroughly disreputable man who wants nothing to do with me. Which I suppose must be counted as a blessing,” she finished with heavy sarcasm.

“That is entirely beside the point,” he said in a tight voice.

“It's the entire point, you stupid man. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to the manor. There is obviously nothing to be gained from continuing this ridiculous conversation.”

She tried to stalk past him, but he grabbed her by the arm and reeled her back in.

“I'm warning you, Your Grace,” she said.

“Hush. We've got company.”

The next thing she knew, he was shoving her down onto the sand. He came down on top of her, mashing her flat.

It took her a moment to catch her breath, since there wasn't a particle of air between them. She was certainly becoming intimately acquainted with various parts of Leverton's impressive anatomy.

“Who is it?” She felt a spurt of hope. Perhaps some of the smugglers had returned. Now that Teddy was safely out of the way, Leverton might even help her track them. They might not see eye to eye on everything, but he would be furious that smugglers were trespassing on his lands.

“Wait,” he breathed out.

He cautiously lifted his head to peer over the rise of sand between them and the beach. The sound of a cantering horse, hooves thudding into the hard-packed flats, quickly grew and then faded away down the beach. Leverton still didn't move, his attention focused in the direction of the mysterious rider.

“Could you please get off me,” she finally said. “You are completely squashing me.”

He looked down at her and frowned, as if surprised to see her there. Gillian raised a sardonic brow.

“I beg your pardon,” he murmured, as if they were on the dance floor and he'd simply trod on her foot.

He rolled off, but kept an arm slung across her waist. Gillian tried to push it away, but it felt like a tree trunk was pinning her down. She let out an aggrieved sigh and dropped her head back onto the sand.

“Whoever it was, he's long gone,” she said. “Why are we still lying here?”

“I just wanted to make sure,” Leverton answered. “I think it's now safe to get up.”

“I should hope so. I feel like I've spent half the night lying on this blasted beach.” With nothing to show for it but sand in her breeches and an irate duke.

Leverton rolled into a crouch and then smoothly rose. He reached down a hand to pull her up. “And whose fault is that?”

Gillian pulled the tails of her coat back in place and started brushing herself off. “Not mine. If you hadn't shown up, I could have tracked the smugglers back to their lair. That, as you must admit, would have been very helpful.”

“Their lair? Good God, you've been reading too many lurid novels. Wait, I forgot,” he said, holding up a hand. “You actually believe you're living in one. You fancy yourself some sort of heroine, dashing about, trying to right all the wrongs of the world.”

“No, I fancy myself as the hero.” She wiggled a leg, hoping to at least shake some of the sand from her backside down to her boot. “The heroines are always moaning and falling down in a faint, waiting for the men to rescue them. I don't have time for that sort of nonsense.”

“That is quite obvious to anyone who knows you. Well, I think we've both had enough larking about for one night. Are you ready to go, Miss Dryden, or shall we wait to see the sunrise?”