My Fair Princess (31 page)

“Charles,” she called softly as she stood up.

His head whipped around, and then he stalked across the clearing, swift and silent. His greatcoat swirled around him like an approaching storm.

“Goddammit, Gillian,” he growled. He hauled her into a fierce embrace. “Are you all right?”

For a moment, she let herself enjoy the feel of his arms around her. “Yes, except for the fact that you're smothering me and may have just cracked one of my ribs. Other than that, I'm quite fit.”

He slid his hands up to her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “I don't know whether to laugh or give you a sound spanking. Probably both.”

“Well, you can try. That might be rather fun, now that I think about it.”

He did choke out a soft laugh at that. “God, woman, you are incorrigible. What the hell am I going to do with you?”

She wriggled out of his arms, but then took his hand and started toward the cottage door. “For one thing, you can help me search for my jewels. For another, you can tell me where the rest of your men are.”

He allowed her to pull him inside. “Christ, it's like a tomb in here. I can't see a blasted thing.”

“Your eyes will adjust in a minute. Now, Charles, please tell me you didn't come alone.”

“Contrary to what you might think, I'm not an idiot. Two of the grooms are right behind me, at least I hope so.”

“Only two?” she asked in some dismay. “What about the footmen?”

“Yes, well, who knew that neither of my footmen could ride?” he said sardonically.

“What about Reid? With him and the two grooms, that would make five of us. That should suffice.”

“Unfortunately, in all the commotion, Reid slipped while saddling my horse. It appears he may have broken his ankle.”

She winced. “Oh, that's not good.”

“No, it's not,” he said. “Gillian, I need to get you back to the manor immediately.”

She scowled at him. Clearly, his vision had adapted because he scowled right back. “I have no intention of leaving before the smugglers come back,” she said.

“My grooms will keep an eye on them until I return here. I promise you I will deal with the smugglers.”

“Charles, I'm not leaving.”

“Gillian—”

“Please, just look at this.” She hurried over to the casks and threw back the tarp.

He crouched down to inspect the goods. “That bastard. I warned him what would happen if he didn't stay off my lands.”

“It's not the leader. It's his brother.”

He frowned up at her. “How do you know that?”

“What did Teddy tell you?”

“Not much. I didn't give him a chance.”

“I do hope you didn't frighten him,” she said in a stern tone. “He was very worried about that.”

“You're the one who should be worried, especially if our unwelcome visitors return.”

When he started to tug her toward the door, she dug in her heels. “They won't be back for at least another hour. They have to fetch their carts.”

“Gillian—”

“Charles, please trust me,” she said quietly.

He muttered a few oaths under his breath, but then nodded. “All right. Tell me what you know, but quickly.”

By the time she finished, he was fuming. “Scunthorpe certainly played me a merry dance. I'm sorry, Gillian. I should have listened to you.”

“Let that be a lesson to you for the future, my dear sir,” she said with a cheeky grin. The narrowing of his eyes told her that he wasn't yet ready to joke about the situation. “But never mind that now,” she added hastily. “We need to find my jewels. I'm afraid that even when we capture Jenkins, he won't give them up. It's not as if he would receive any clemency for doing so.”

She didn't need light from a lamp to see how much he hated that idea. Gently, she laid her hand on his arm. “I need to do this.”

He stared down at her for long, agonizing seconds, his handsome features grim. “All right,” he finally said. “We'll look for a few minutes, but then we're leaving. Agreed?”

She went on tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

Quickly, they moved the casks but found nothing underneath. Then Charles peered under the table to make sure that Jenkins hadn't nailed a packet to the underside of the top. But there was no sign of the jewels.

“I don't understand it,” she said. “Teddy seemed certain they talked about moving baubles and fripperies tonight.”

“They used the word ‘baubles'?”

“Apparently.”

As he stood in the center of the room and did a slow turn, Gillian tamped down a growing sense of despair. They'd all but ripped the room apart and found nothing. “Confound it, it's hopeless.”

“Hmm. Perhaps not.” Charles crossed to the fireplace. He ran his fingers around the edges of the fireboard that sealed off the hearth from rodents or birds coming down the chimney. “You wouldn't happen to be carrying a knife, would you?”

She extracted the blade from her boot and handed it to him.

“Of course you would,” he said in a tone as dry as the dust on the floor. He slipped the tip of the blade into the seam between the board and the brick surround. After a few sharp tugs, it popped off. He returned her knife, then reached into the empty grate and extracted a cloth pouch.

“I'm an idiot for not thinking of that,” Gillian said. “Well done, Charles.”

She was reaching for the pouch when she heard the scrape of a boot. Charles slowly came up from his crouch, his face grim.

Blast.
She'd been so eager to find the jewels that she'd stupidly dropped her guard. She whipped around, already knowing what she would see in the open doorway.

As one might expect from a ruthless, despicable villain, Jenkins had a pistol aimed right at them.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The brute hadn't come alone. Scunthorpe and another man crowded in behind Jenkins, both aiming guns, although the estate manager was obviously quaking in his boots. Charles had every intention of murdering the bastard if he and Gillian weren't murdered first.

“Good God,” Gillian said, sounding disgusted. “You lot weren't supposed to be back for at least another hour.”

“Let me handle this,” Charles gritted out.

“Handle it, will you?” Jenkins said in a mocking tone as he set a lamp down on the table. “Try anything and you'll be takin' a dirt nap sooner than later.”

“I don't take kindly to threats,” Charles said. “Your brother understood that. You, unfortunately, don't appear to be as wise as your brother.”

“Wise enough to aim a pistol, you bloody arrogant prick,” the man snarled.

“Actually, that would be very unwise,” Gillian said. “He's a duke, as you know, and a very powerful one. I imagine the Crown wouldn't be too happy if you murdered him. They might even send troops into Lincolnshire to search for you.”

Charles mentally cursed when Jenkins's gaze darted to Gillian. He prayed to God the smuggler wouldn't recognize her as the woman who'd both shot and humiliated him in front of his gang.

“That's true,” Scunthorpe piped up. “The government would see us hanged. Let's just tie them up and be on our way.”

Jenkins threw him a sneer. “I ain't leavin' without those casks. Nor without them jewels, neither.” He waved his gun. “Throw the pouch onto the table.”

Charles considered throwing the pouch into the man's face, then making a dive for him. But with the other pistols and Gillian in the mix, he couldn't take the chance.

Gillian hissed out a regrettable oath when he tossed the pouch on the table. Not that he truly blamed her, under the circumstances.

“But we don't have the carts,” Scunthorpe said. “How are we to move the casks without them? It was terrible luck to encounter those riding officers on patrol. They've obviously got the wind up.”

“We'll just have to wait until the bastards clear out, now won't we?” Jenkins said. “They can't go on hangin' around that old barn forever.”

Scunthorpe waggled his gun hand, clearly agitated. “But that could take hours. Or they could start searching again and stumble upon this place. Then what would we do?”

“Happens he's right, Jenkins,” the third man said. “Them officers heard us take off into the woods, I reckon, and won't be givin' up so easily. They's between us and Preston's barn for sure.”

“We'll wait as long as we have to,” Jenkins snapped. “And stop spillin' your guts in front of the likes of them.”

“That explains why you returned so early,” Gillian said. “You ran into the law. How very unfortunate.”

When she gave Jenkins a taunting smile, it was all Charles could do not to groan. What the hell was she trying to do—deliberately provoke him?

Then it clicked. It had to be what she was aiming for, in the hope that Jenkins would lose his temper and do something foolish to give them an opening. It was typically reckless—though brave—of her. All Charles could do now was keep on his toes and hope he could react quickly enough to protect her.

The smuggler moved closer to Gillian, looming over her and making her look like a fragile slip of a girl. “Been spying on us, have you?” Jenkins asked. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

She lifted a mocking eyebrow. “Why, I'm your worst nightmare, as you're about to find out.”

Jenkins peered at her, as if trying to puzzle something out. Then he reached out a beefy hand and yanked off her cap. Her long hair, barely contained by a loose braid, tumbled down to her back. Gillian didn't even flinch, but it was all Charles could do not to launch himself at the bastard for touching her, despite the two pistols trained on him.

Jenkins let his gun hand drop to his thigh, and his jaw sagged open. “Bloody hell, I know who you are. You're the little bitch who shot me.”

“That's right,” she said calmly. “Care for a repeat?”

In the uneven light cast by the lamp, Jenkins's expression looked nearly demonic. And he was much too interested in the fact that she was a woman, as evidenced by his avid perusal of Gillian's form in her snug-fitting breeches.

“It might be best at this point to cooperate rather than provoke,” Charles said. Trying to create an opportunity was one thing, but Gillian might as well be poking a dangerous animal.

She flashed him a sweet smile. “Thank you for the advice, sir. But I assure you that I'm quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“She can taunt me as much as she wants,” Jenkins said. “In fact, I hope she don't cooperate. I'd like nothin' better than to get some payback from what she done to me.” He let out an ugly laugh. “And running around and spyin' on gents in the middle of the night, I'm thinkin' you might enjoy some larks. I'm just the man for a wild filly like you.”

“Listen to me, Jenkins,” Charles said in a low voice. “If you dare to touch her, I'll kill you with my bare hands.” His fingers started to curl, as if already wrapped around the bastard's throat.

“I'll be doin' more than touchin' her,” Jenkins said. He used the barrel of his pistol to flick open Gillian's coat. “Fancy running around dressed like a boy, do you? You're obviously a little doxy who won't mind a good shaggin' from a real man.”

Charles heard a guttural sound and realized it was coming from him.

“Is she your woman?” Jenkins asked. “Maybe I'll let you watch.”

“For God's sake, man,” Scunthorpe burst out. “We need to get out of here right now. If the riding officers don't discover us, then surely the duke's men will come looking for him. You'll get us all killed.”

Charles turned his coldest smile on his former employee. “In your case, I'll see to it that you're deported—after you spend a year or two on a prison hulk.”

Scunthorpe flinched. “This is insane. I'm leaving.”

“Suit yourself,” Jenkins said, never taking his hungry gaze off Gillian.

She, however, simply regarded the thug with a slight upcurve of her lips. With her arms hung loosely by her sides, Gillian looked as relaxed as if she were at a garden party. Actually, she seemed more at ease now than she had at the
ton
events he'd dragged her to.

“I'll go,” Scunthorpe said, “but not until I get what's coming to me.” He waved his pistol toward the pouch on the table. “Either give me one of the jewels or pay me what I'm owed from tonight's shipment.”

Jenkins turned to scowl at his erstwhile partner in crime. “Piss off, Scunthorpe. Them baubles are mine. I earned them when the bitch shot me. My brother gave them to me by right.”

“Your brother is a thief and a smuggler,” Gillian said in a crisp voice. “And you're an idiot if you think I'm going to let you keep what belongs to me.”

Jenkins spun, turning his attention back on her. His henchman also seemed caught up in the little drama, his gaze drifting away from Charles to settle on Gillian and Jenkins, who were engaging in a ridiculous argument over who rightly owned the jewels. Scunthorpe, the fool, had shoved his pistol into the pocket of his greatcoat and was edging toward the pouch.

While Gillian kept the smugglers occupied, Charles slipped his hand into his pocket. Turning slightly away, he drew out his pistol. Quietly, he cocked it, the click concealed by the raised voices—which included Scunthorpe's increasingly strident demands for payment. If it weren't for the weapons involved, it would have been more farce than drama.

“You need to get it through your incredibly thick skull that you will not be taking my jewels,” Gillian said. She gave a haughty little sniff. “I don't think I've ever met anyone as stupid as you. One wonders about your parents, although I suppose your mother took to an early grave over the grief of raising a son like you.”

Jenkins's complexion turned purple. “You leave my mother out of it, you silly cow. You don't know nothin' about her. And
you
shot me. You owes me for that, by God.”

Gillian scoffed. “No wonder your brother is the leader of the gang. It must be quite a trial for him, having deadweight like you to worry about. He'd probably be happy to give you up to the riding officers.”

“Enough,” roared Jenkins. When he lunged at her, Gillian dodged and ducked under his arm. Her hand whipped down to her boot, and Charles saw a flash of steel. The smuggler let out an anguished scream. He crashed to the floor, Gillian's knife stuck in his thigh.

The sight of Jenkins crashing to his knees finally jarred his stunned henchman into action. When he made a move toward Gillian, Charles brought up his pistol and fired. The henchman yelped and stumbled, clutching his shoulder.

When Jenkins fumbled to bring up his weapon, Gillian lashed out a foot and kicked him smartly under the chin. He fell back, his head connecting solidly with the stone surround of the fireplace. From what Charles could tell, he was out cold.

Scunthorpe, with a terrified yelp, bolted for the door and disappeared into the night.

The henchman was down but not out, and he struggled to aim his pistol at Gillian. But just before Charles reached him, she planted her boot on the man's wounded shoulder and shoved him back down. He bleached white as old bones and fainted.

For several long seconds, Charles and Gillian stood frozen in a bizarre tableau, as if waiting for some other villain to burst through the door. Finally, she blew out a long breath and tugged her cuffs back into place. “Well,” she said, glancing around. “It looks like that is that, wouldn't you say?”

Charles let out a disbelieving snort. At some point, he would be very angry with her, but right now all he felt was relief—and a degree of awe. Gillian Dryden was the most extraordinary person he'd ever met.

They heard pounding footsteps from outside, and then Teddy calling out. The lad burst through the door, followed by one of the grooms holding a pistol.

Charles eyed his out-of-breath groom. “Thank you, Tom, but as you can see, everything is under control.”

“Coo,” Teddy said, staring wide-eyed at Gillian. “You were right, miss. You can handle anything.”

She waved a self-deprecating hand. “That's nice of you to say, Teddy, but I couldn't have done it without help from His Grace.”

Charles shook his head, then set about restoring order to Gillian's mayhem.