Smuggler's Glory (15 page)

Moments
later, she had one hand firmly wrapped around the rough edge of the
wood, watching as Simon moved around, disappearing from sight for a
moment.

“
Simon?”

“
I’m here,” he grunted, bracing his feet against the beams
nestled beneath the fragile wood and straddling the hole so he
could lean down toward her. Within seconds, firm hands grasped her
wrist, and she was effortlessly lifted back through the hole and
into Simon’s arms. It all happened so swiftly that she barely had
the time to draw a breath before she found herself braced against
the broad chest as he carried her toward the door.

Once in
the hallway, he knelt on the floor, cradling her against his chest.
He knew he should release her and allow her to stand on her own two
feet but was shaken far more than he cared to admit, and couldn’t
bring himself to sever contact with her just yet.

Francesca was more than happy to simply absorb his strength.
If he tried to release her, she wasn’t sure she would have the
strength in her legs to support her and was grateful that he seemed
equally content to just hold her. If she was honest, the reassuring
warmth of his strong arms around her made her feel more protected
than she had ever felt in her entire life. Protected, and cared
for. Having come from a family that wasn’t particularly emotionally
demonstrative, it was difficult to remember when anybody had last
given her a hug. She had no choice but to lay her head on his
shoulder and simply absorb his reassuring comfort.

“
Are you alright?” Simon whispered, several long moments later
when he was sure he could talk without his voice trembling with
contained emotion. He slid one large palm down her arm, to the red
marks encircling her wrists. “I’m sorry to hurt your arms, do they
feel very sore?”

“
A little bruised maybe, but nothing that I cannot live with,”
Francesca replied, easing back in his arms slowly and staring up
into his stern face. Their eyes met and held for several long
moments. She watched his head lower toward hers, so slowly.
Everything within her hesitated, unable to believe he was about to
kiss her. She should protest, only found herself unable to find the
words. Her eyes had closed by the time his head blocked out the
light as she sat in his arms and waited expectantly. She didn’t
have long to wait. Seconds later she felt the gentle brush of his
lips against hers, so light, so petal-soft that for one moment, she
wondered if she had imagined it. She lifted her lambent gaze toward
his and felt one large palm cup the back of her head, holding her
steady as his head lowered once more.

This
time the pressure of his lips was slightly firmer, hesitating just
a fraction longer than before. Softly teasing, they brushed over
hers, backward and forward; searching, teasing, and drawing out her
response.

Francesca’s breath shimmered over his lips. A gentle sigh
escaped her and she settled against him.

How long
they sat there, in the upper hallway of the abandoned wing of
Thistledown, neither could be sure. It felt so intrinsically right
to be together in such a way, that neither could bring themselves
to be the one to break the intimate contact.

He knew
from the hesitancy behind the way she responded that she was
untried. Everything within him ached to stand up, escort her back
to her room and spend the afternoon assuring himself that she
really was alright. But it was only the realisation that it was
Francesca in his arms that held him back.

Francesca.

She was
beautiful, intriguing, mysterious and gentle. She deserved to be
initiated into the world of intimacy by her husband. A man who
could claim her as his and spend the rest of his life helping her
run her home and raise the children he would give her.

A dull ache settled deep within his chest. It felt like a kind
of grief; a loss of something he couldn’t define and it brought
forth such bitter regret he could positively taste it. A tiny part
of him wanted
him
to be the one who would turn Thistledown into a home and
renovate the damaged parts of the house.
H
e wanted to be the one who would be
able to claim her as his wife. In another, kinder world, he would
be. But not now, not in this life.

Good
things in life happened to other people, not to the likes of
him.

“
I’m sorry,” he whispered moments later, when he had found the
strength to break the kiss and loosen his hold on her. Even his
arms seemed to ache with the regret of having to let her go, but
she felt altogether too right lying half across his lap the way she
did. “Please forgive me,” he murmured gently, helping her to her
feet.

Francesca shook out her skirts, taking a few moments to
herself to gather her scattered wits about her. She wasn’t sure
what to make of the last few minutes; whether to be angry or not
with him. Although she hadn’t actively sought his embrace or
affections, she hadn’t discouraged them either. What had happened
had just seemed natural; something that had had to happen between
them to satisfy both of their curiosity.

Now that
it had happened, she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Nobody had
ever kissed her before. It had felt intriguing and strangely
intimate all at once, yet she didn’t feel embarrassed or awkward
about it. Curious, yes, but strangely intrigued at the same
time.

“
Let’s get out of here.” Simon moved toward the connecting door
leading to the undamaged part of the house, holding it open for her
to precede him.

Francesca couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she walked
through, and didn’t wait for him to close the door and follow her
as they descended the stairs. On the upper landing, she paused at
the top of the second flight of steps.

“
About what happened,” she said, wafting a hand vaguely in the
direction of the stairs they had just descended.

“
It’s my fault. I am so very sorry for behaving so rashly,”
Simon interrupted her hastily, his words as harsh as his face. “I
can promise you that it won’t happen again.”

Something within Francesca broke and for one brief moment she
could have wept for the loss. She wanted to protest that she wanted
him to do it again – often, but instead a small voice of caution
kept her silent.

Simon
was tall, devastatingly handsome and clearly a man of the world. He
would undoubtedly have the option to choose any woman he wanted,
either for a wife or a brief liaison. Of course he wouldn’t be
interested in a dalliance with her, even if she was going to offer
one – which she wasn’t. Men like Simon didn’t usually look at women
like her. She wasn’t skilled in the art of banal conversation, and
besides rudimentary teachings in the art of taking tea and sewing,
had very few skills to offer any gentleman of good fortune and
standing like Simon.

With
that thought still running around her head, she turned toward him,
her face a mask of polite indifference. Or as best she could manage
anyway. All thought of her near death experience diminished by the
enormity of what had just happened between her and
Simon.

“
I think it would be best if we both forgot about what happened
just now. I am sure it will lead to a more – harmonious association
until you leave.” She knew her voice was stilted and awfully polite
but she was busy struggling with her roiling emotions to be able to
adopt a friendlier tone. She didn’t wait for him to reply, simply
spun on her heel and disappeared down the corridor and into her
bedroom without a backward glance.

Simon
watched her go and had to struggle with the urge to charge after
her and beg for her forgiveness. To assure her that he hadn’t meant
what he had said, and offer her the world in exchange for the
opportunity to spend his life with her. But the words had to remain
unspoken. He knew for certain that there was definitely something
going on in Much Hampton, and that something involved Thistledown
Manor in some way. Who in Thistledown Manor was responsible for
bringing trouble to Francesca’s door, and if they had any
association with the French spies he had been sent there to
uncover, he wasn’t sure but he fully intended to find out. It was
his mission to bring them to justice. He could only hope that it
wasn’t Francesca herself. The idea of restraining her long enough
to send for reinforcements to slap her in irons and take her to
jail didn’t sit well with him.

The
mental image of her sitting cold and alone in a dank, dark cell
somewhere made him desperately angry. Could he do it if he had to?
Could he send her to jail? He wasn’t sure. He had only been in the
house a couple of days; far too short a time to have any real idea
of how honest and trustworthy she really was. The burgeoning
attraction between them was very real, and very tempting, but had
no real chance of survival. Not in his world. Not with so much at
stake if she turned out to be duplicitous and involved in betraying
king and country.

“
She is very pretty, isn’t she?” Bertie asked gently from
beside him.

Simon
met the old man’s rheumy eyes and sighed. “She is, both inside and
out, I suspect.”

“
Aye, always was the sweetest one of them all,” Bertie replied
kindly. “It would be a shame to see her get hurt.”

“
I have no intention of hurting her,” Simon said. “I want her
to be happy, but more importantly I want her to be
safe.”

“
We all do,” Bertie replied, staring at Simon so intently that
it drew his attention.

“
What?”

“
Come with me,” the old man said mysteriously, nodding to the
door behind him. “I have something to show you.”

Curious,
Simon followed the old man through the door and into a narrow
corridor. A long flight of steps turned a corner and went up into a
corridor lined with doors. The attics had clearly once been used by
the servants of the house but now stood cold and abandoned.
Undisturbed dust motes hung in the air, giving it a stale odour
that made him want to sneeze.

Simon
followed the old man into the room behind the third door on the
right, watching as Bertie closed it behind them and moved toward
the small window. Bertie silently nodded toward the tin mine, or so
Simon thought until his gaze wandered over to Much Hampton. Even
from the distance he could see the small village was busy. Carts
were moving here and there, although very few actually left the
village. So many questions began to tumble through him that he
practically bristled with impatience to know everything.

“
Watch,” Bertie whispered.

Simon
did as he was told and waited. Several long moments later, everyone
within the village simply vanished. Children at the rear of the
long row of houses were ushered inside, the carts vanished and
people disappeared.

“
Keep watching.” Simon heard the hint of warning in Bertie’s
voice. Flicking him a glance, he was surprised at the dark look on
the old man’s face. He turned back toward the window just in time
to see a large black carriage move swiftly down the main street. It
vanished so quickly that he wasn’t sure he had actually seen it.
Despite waiting for several more minutes, it didn’t
reappear.

“
Who is it?”

“
The new people,” Bertie sighed, shuffling away to sit on an
old trunk in the corner of the room. “The entire village changed
when they arrived. It’s a shame too, because it was such a nice
place to be. Most of the villagers worked here you know, either
inside or out in the gardens. Others worked at the tin mine across
the way there. Much Hampton is an isolated community, but it was
always busy and always happy. Now, it is a mere ghost of its former
self. It makes an old man very sad to see it thus.”

“
I’m sure it does, Bertie,” Simon replied softly, turning away
from the window. He had no idea why the old man had chosen to
confide in him now, but was glad for the opportunity to get some
questions answered at last.

“
I know you are no artist,” Bertie growled, his voice almost
stern. “Whatever you are here for, don’t drag Francesca into it.
She doesn’t deserve it.”

“
I have no intention of involving her in anything,” Simon
assured him, watching the scepticism in the old man’s
face.

“
By simply being here, you are bringing trouble to her door.
You are a fighter, someone who has seen cruelty.”

Simon
felt the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His eyes
met and held those of the old man in silent query.

“
I may be old, but I am not blind. I have served my time in the
army and seen the soulless look of men who have killed and maimed
and lived to talk about it. Whatever you are involved in, you
aren’t being honest with us. You have your reasons for lying I
suppose, but Francesca has her own problems to contend with,
without you bringing more.”

“
I know the house needs considerable work, and there is the
issue with her grasping parents, but what other problems does she
have?” Simon asked, his piercing gaze studied the old man
closely.

“
That’s her business. If she wants you to know, I don’t doubt
she will tell you.”

“
I can’t help her if I don’t know what I am fighting. I need to
know if our battles are one and the same. It will help me to decide
how best to protect her,” Simon argued, hoping the old man wouldn’t
choose to close up on him. He could sense Bertie was on the brink
of becoming an ally and right now, he certainly needed someone on
his side. Preferably someone who knew the area and the people in
it.