Smuggler's Glory (12 page)

She
wasn’t sure, but she longed to be able to confide in someone. The
words had positively trembled on her lips, and it had taken every
ounce of self-control she possessed to remain quiet. He was tall,
dark, distinguished and a trained fighter, of that she had no
doubt.

But,
just whose cause was he fighting?

Much
later that same morning, Simon watched Francesca finish the last of
her chocolate. Waiting until Madeline began to clear the table and
return the breakfast things to the kitchen, he leant over the table
toward Francesca, motioning for her to remain quiet.

“
Will you show me where your uncle died?”

She
didn’t understand the need for subterfuge, especially from
Madeline. Taking a deep breath to ask him why he didn’t want anyone
else to know, he made a show of coughing as he stood up to cover
her question.

“
I would love a tour of the house, Francesca, it is very kind
of you to offer,” he glared pointedly at her, making certain his
back was toward Madeline so she didn’t see. He could sense
Francesca’s confusion but was relieved when she decided not to make
an issue of it, and merely agreed.

“
I could do it, Francesca, if you want to get on with the
inventory,” Madeline offered, depositing the tower of plates she
had stacked on the corner of the table.

“
Oh, no, it is alright thank you, Madeline, I could do with the
walk to clear my head,” Francesca replied, feeling the air of
suspicion that practically hovered over them. It left her feeling
more disturbed than ever, and seemed so out of place in the small
room next to the kitchen that served as the dining room, that she
suddenly felt the need to get away from it. She didn’t want to
suspect Madeline and Bertie and, until she knew a bit more about
her confusing guest, couldn’t allow him to drive a wedge between
her and the two people she could really call family these days. But
she could sense Madeline’s hesitation, and had to wonder why she
seemed so eager to take Simon on a tour of a house that wasn’t even
hers. Did Madeline know Simon had spent some considerable time in
her room, alone, last night? If so, how? Why was she up at such a
late hour? Had she been the person in the cloak Simon had found
creeping around the house in the middle of the night?

Unfortunately, Francesca knew she would never be able to ask
Madeline. If the woman had no knowledge of Simon’s presence in her
room, Francesca would achieve nothing by pointing out her own
wayward behaviour. The fewer people that knew what had happened
last night, the better as far as Francesca was
concerned.

“
Really, I think it would be best -” Madeline began,
desperation in her voice.

Aware of
the glint of temper in her companion’s eyes, Francesca waved a
casual hand, eager to get out of the kitchen.

“
No, you carry on with what you are doing Madeline, I am more
than capable.” With that she motioned Simon toward the door. “Let’s
go, shall we?”

They
left the kitchen moments later, and entered the long corridor that
led toward the front of the house and the entrance hall. As they
walked, the air became noticeably cooler until, by the time they
reached the huge, ornately carved oak front door, he began to feel
the coolness creep over his chilled flesh. It made him shiver and
draw his jacket around him more closely. Eyeing Francesca’s thick
woollen shawl, he assured himself that she was warm enough, and
followed her through the morning room to the sitting room beyond
and a small hallway that led to another door.

He took
a moment to close each door they passed through carefully behind
them, aware of Francesca’s watchful gaze.

“
Just in case anyone decides to try to follow us,” he whispered
softly, and watched her brows rise. “It will make it harder for
anyone to find us, or overhear what we say.”

“
Just who are you?” Francesca bit out, feeling more
disconcerted than ever.

“
Nobody you need to be afraid of, Francesca, I promise you,”
Simon murmured, his lips quirking up at the corners in a vague
attempt at a smile.

“
But you still aren’t telling me who you really are, and what
you are doing here,” Francesca protested, reluctant to let the
matter drop. She knew he was going to ask probing questions about
her uncle’s death, and wondered if he was just trying to find out
how much she knew before deciding whether she was worth killing or
not. Giving herself a mental shake, she was about to turn away when
Simon’s hand on her arm stopped her.

“
Why do you feel the need to dye your hair grey in a foolish
attempt to make yourself look older?” He slowly eased the wire
rimmed spectacles off her pert nose and peered through them. He
shot her a rueful look and shook his head as he folded the arms and
tucked the spectacles into his jacket pocket. “That’s better,” he
whispered gently.

“
Foolish?” Francesca gasped at his audacity. She wondered if
she should demand her spectacles back. Although she had never
needed spectacles in her life, it had helped create a barrier
between her and the outside word that had been reassuring somehow
and she felt strangely bare without them.

“
Making your hair turn white doesn’t go any way toward
detracting attention from your inherent beauty,” Simon scoffed,
eyeing the now white strands in dismay. “Your skin is still smooth
as is usual for someone of your age, and your youth and vitality
positively shine through. Nobody is fooled, you should know
that.”

“
Oh?” Francesca’s voice turned prim, warning him that he had
overstepped some imaginary boundary only she was aware of. “You
were fooled yesterday,” she pointed out, giving him a snooty
look.

“
No, I wasn’t,” Simon chided, fighting a smile at her look of
askance. “I was willing to go along with your subterfuge, thinking
you had good reason to feel the need to try to disguise yourself,
but really, nobody is fooled. Not even Charlie and Tom and they are
as thick as two short bricks.”

Francesca wrinkled her nose up, realising that he had a good
point. Although neither thug had pointed out her beauty, she had
not really considered why they had thought it necessary to attack
her on the path, unless they thought she was Madeline. That thought
brought forth a frown of dismay.

“
What is it?” Simon whispered, watching consternation sweep
over her face. “Don’t lie,” he warned, placing a gentle finger
beneath her chin to tip her head up until she was looking at him.
“I know you were going to,” he warned.

“
Ho –” Francesca stopped and glared at him when he began to
shake his head.

Simon
leaned until his lips were inches from her ear. Francesca could
hear her own heart thumping heavily in her ears but refused to
cower away from him. Francesca’s stomach dipped nervously. She
could feel the warmth of his breath sweep over her cool cheek,
causing her to shiver in anticipation.

“
I know you,” he whispered gently. “Almost as well as you know
yourself.”

Francesca shook her head nervously and wrenched her head to
one side, not only to break his gentle hold but to create some
distance between them.

“
You don’t know anything about me at all,
you
should know that,” she snapped.
“Now, do you want me to show you my uncle’s library or not?” She
didn’t stop to check he was following her, merely turned toward the
doors and drew a key out of her pocket.

“
Why do you keep it locked?” Simon asked, watching as she
turned the key and pushed the door open.

“
Habit, I suppose,” Francesca replied, wincing at the loud
squeaking the broke the quiet of the corridor.

The
smell hit him first. Despite several months having passed since the
fire, the strong smell of smoke still hung in the air. It probably
had something to do with the timbers that lay half burned on the
floor.

“
Who put the fire out?”

“
Most of the staff,” Francesca whispered, her voice choked with
emotion as she studied the dark rectangle on the floor where her
uncle’s large oak desk had once stood.

“
It used to be a room filled from floor to ceiling with some
very old books. I understand the fire took hold very quickly. The
staff and men from the village worked for hours to try to get it
under control but not before -” Her voice choked and she turned
away. She was about to walk toward the window when Simon’s arm
around her waist stopped her.

“
Wait!” Simon growled, drawing her against him for a few
moments. It was the best he could do without drawing her into a
hug, which he wasn’t sure she would accept. He didn’t want to
offend her sensibilities, but knew she was deeply upset at being in
the middle of such a macabre scene and he felt the unfamiliar need
to comfort her.

Tugging
her against his solid length, he studied the ground between where
they stood at the window, feeling the first tendrils of
satisfaction sweep through him.

“
What?” Francesca whispered, staring out of the window before
twisting around to stare up at Simon. “What is it?”

“
When was the last time you think someone was in here?” he
asked carefully. He didn’t want to frighten her, but needed any
information she could give him.

“
Nobody has been in here since I arrived a few months ago.
Before then? I am not sure,” Francesca sighed, frowning up at him.
“Why?”

Simon
pointed a finger at the tell-tale footprints in the soot directly
beneath the window. “Because someone has been in here
recently.”

It was
more of a wrench than he dared to admit when he released his hold
on her waist, and slowly moved toward the footprints. Studying the
window-frame, he pointed out the large area where soot had been
dislodged by an unknown intruder. On either side of the window
cill, weeds grew with tangled determination along the stonework. It
was clear from the broken and crumpled foliage, that someone had
been through the window in the past few days.

When
Francesca drew alongside him, he pointed out the broken branches,
and finger prints further along the wall. Together they traced the
footprints to the dark rectangle where her uncle’s desk once stood,
then over to the far wall where the shelving had once displayed the
very old books Francesca had mentioned. It was the amount of
footprints next to the window at the far wall that drew their
attention.

“
Do you think they were waiting here for something?” Francesca
gasped, peering out of the window directly into the stable
yard.

“
Or someone,” Simon murmured, looking over the top of her head
to the stable doors. He sighed deeply at the uninterrupted view at
the rear of the house. Turning toward the side windows, he eyed the
small spinney that sat only a few hundred yards away.

“
Who sleeps on this side of the house?”

“
Nobody,” Francesca replied sadly as she stared up at the
charred beams of the ceiling. “This side of the building is
considered unfit for habitation at the moment. My uncle’s room was
directly above us.”

Simon
spun around to stare at her. “Do you still have his
belongings?”

Francesca nodded cautiously, knowing before he spoke what he
was going to say.

“
Take me there?”

Francesca hesitated. “What do you think about this?” She
nodded toward the smudged soot.

“
I think we may have found the hiding place of the person who
hung the dead bird yesterday,” Simon sighed, shaking his head at
her. “There is a perfect view of the back of the house and this is
a good place for someone to hide, and wait to pick their
moment.”

“
But who?”

“
I don’t know yet and,” he turned to scowl darkly at her, “I
don’t want you going off on your own to find out for yourself, do
you understand?”

Francesca’s brows rose and she immediately baulked at being
issued such a stern command. It was on the tip of her tongue to
tell him exactly what he could do with his orders, when he took the
wind out of her sails.

“
I don’t want this person getting access to you. They are
clearly disturbed, or dangerous, and I don’t want you leaving
yourself open to unnecessary attack. Please, please, please, don’t
take any risks, darling.”

It was
the last word that shook her. He had issued it so naturally,
clearly without thought, that she couldn’t find it within her to
object to such an intimate endearment. Within moments she found
herself swept back through the abandoned wing, only to slam to an
abrupt halt at Simon’s soft curse.

“
What is it?” she gasped when Simon’s long fingers closed
around her wrist in silent warning.

“
The door,” Simon growled, nodding toward the now open door
leading to the entrance hall. “I closed it.”

Francesca gasped and felt a cold shiver snake down her spine.
Instinctively she sidled closer to the masculine strength beside
her, and made no protest when his arm slipped supportively around
her waist.

Glancing
around the room, he motioned toward the door.