Smuggler's Glory (19 page)

A surge
of humiliation swept through her at her wanton behaviour in the
attic. She had practically thrown herself at him, so couldn’t
really be surprised when he had taken his leave of her in the most
kindly way possible. He had been letting her down gently and for
that, she could only thank him. Now, she owed it to them both to
make sure she never made the same mistake again. He had made his
lack of attraction to her more than evident. Even more importantly,
he had made no bones about not wanting to commit to
anyone.

She fell
asleep with tears on her cheeks, oblivious to the cold that began
to creep into the room and, hours later, the rattling of the
doorknob as someone tried to gain entrance.

Simon
studied the figure outside Francesca’s door and knew it was
Madeline. This time, he was determined to get answers from her,
even if he had to beat it out of her.

Tucking
his gun into the waistband of his breeches, he crept quietly down
the corridor, his gaze locked firmly on the cloaked figure before
him.

“
You’re up late, Madeline,” he remarked casually, leaning a
shoulder nonchalantly against the wall. “It’s awfully late to be
visiting someone in their bedchamber.”

He
watched the figure pause, clearly deciding what to do. He was
poised, ready to strike if her hands disappeared inside her cloak,
which they did. Lunging forward, he slammed both arms down over
her, pinning her arms to her sides and sweeping her off the floor.
He shoved her roughly forward until she was pressed firmly against
the wall, and used his weight to press her against the hard surface
almost painfully.

“
Let me go, you idiot,” Madeline gasped in a pain-filled voice.
“I was just checking on her.”

“
At two o’clock in the morning?” Simon queried
scornfully.

“
Let me go!”

Simon
decided to acquiesce, and released his hold so swiftly that she
stumbled and fell into a heap at his feet. He stared
dispassionately down at her while she struggled to regain her
breath.

“
Why, Madeline?” Simon growled, reading the hard glint in her
eye as belonging to anyone other than an innocent nursemaid cum
companion. People only achieved that almost feral look through
experiencing the worst depravities life could offer. “What are you
afraid of, Madeline?” he taunted, knowing he had struck a nerve at
the almost panicked look she threw him. “Or rather, who are you
afraid of?” When she made no attempt to answer him, he leaned his
back against the wall and crossed his arms, making it perfectly
clear that neither of them were going anywhere just yet. “Francesca
is safely tucked up in bed, in her room with the door safely
locked. What possible harm could come to her?”

“
I’m didn’t say she would come to any harm,” Madeline retorted,
getting to her feet. “I was just checking she was
alright.”

Simon
snorted disparagingly, eyeing her long black cloak in distaste.
“Slightly strange attire for a nightly check on your friend, isn’t
it? Just going out? Or just returning?” One dark sweep of brow
lifted contemptuously as he studied the defiant glare she gave him.
Unsurprisingly she ignored his question.

“
I am checking on her,
Mr
Marlbrook
,” her chin lifted in contempt at
the same time her voice hardened, “because I am not lost to the
fact that she is an unmarried lady alone in a house with a
travelling, and hitherto unknown gentleman. Someone has to protect
her virtue from invading marauders. Tell me something,” her tone
was almost conversational, and he could hear the hint of
satisfaction in her voice as she took enjoyment in turning the
tables on him. “What are
you
doing loitering outside her bedroom at such an
ungodly hour of the morning?”

“
I was checking for strange activity,” Simon murmured. “You
should know all about that,” he whispered, feeling his patience
wearing thin. She was far cleverer than he had given her credit
for, and he knew she was going to be a worthy opponent. One he had
every intention of bringing down. Something deep inside of him
hoped that she was involved in the spy activities going on in the
tin mine and the village. He would take great delight in slapping
irons on her and sending her off to Bodmin for further
questioning.

“
I think Francesca is best left alone Madeline,” he growled,
his eyes turning to stone. He watched as she swallowed harshly and
went pale beneath his unrelenting gaze. “She has me to protect her
now. Goodnight,” he said several moments later when she made no
attempt to leave. He continued to watch her carefully as she rose
slowly to her feet, and sensed the argument that hovered on her
lips.

He
sighed at the rattling of the doorknob to Francesca’s room and
cursed his luck when the door opened and a sleepy Francesca
appeared in the doorway. When he looked back at Madeline, she had
simply vanished.

He
almost groaned at the delectable sight of Francesca standing in
such slumberous confusion and had to fight the urge to sweep her
back into the bedroom, not only to protect her from the lingering
threat of Madeline and her associates, but to answer the demands of
his body.

“
What’s going on?” she mumbled around a yawn. “I heard someone
talking.”

Simon
felt his heart flip at the sleepy way in which she rubbed her eyes.
With a low growl he moved across the corridor and swept her into
his arms.

“
Shut up,” he muttered when she gasped in protest. Her mouth
opened just in time to accept the swift descent of his. He
swallowed her small squeak of alarm, with a firm hand locked in her
silken hair, one long arm clamping her firmly to his thundering
heart.

The kiss
was swift, harsh and held all of the burning frustration that was
building deep within him. It contained all of his broken dreams,
forgotten promises and poignant heartbreak. He knew that his life –
he – would never be the same again, and wondered what that meant
for his future. Dedicating his life to serving king and country was
a very noble and honourable thing to do, but it didn’t make for a
very welcoming bedmate. What happened, when he was no longer able
to fight? Would it mean death? He wasn’t sure, but he did know that
if he had to die on his next mission, he would rather die knowing
Francesca was at Thistledown, in a home she loved, safe from threat
of danger. He threw every ounce of feeling he couldn’t put a voice
to into that single kiss, laying siege to her senses in a way that
left them both gasping for more. When he did finally lift his head,
he rested his forehead against hers and fought to regain control.
His chest heaved with the effort it took to stop himself from
backing her toward the bed, laying her down and possessing her
fully.

“
Francesca,” he growled, placing one final kiss on her stunned
lips before releasing her so abruptly that she wobbled on shaky
legs. At the door he paused and turned back to glare at her, as
though silently blaming her for what had just happened. “Don’t open
your door again in the middle of the night, whatever you may think
you hear out in the corridor,” he ordered, stomping out and
slamming the door behind him.

Once in
the corridor he waited long enough to hear the quiet click of the
lock turning before returning to his own room. As was his habit, he
checked the wardrobe and under the bed before climbing between the
sheets, his body hard and aching with being denied the one thing he
really wanted. Tucking his hands behind his head he stared blankly
up at the ceiling and wondered what the future held for either of
them.

He knew
what he would like to happen to Francesca. She should be happily
married to a man who would appreciate the beautiful gift life had
awarded him, and spend his days adoring her, providing for her and
spending as much time as humanly possible making her happy. The
knowledge that that incredibly lucky man wouldn’t be him created an
ache deep within his chest that made him want to roar out his fury
at the unfairness of it. He tried to find peace with the thought
that at least one of them would be happy, but couldn’t find it
within him to be that generous. Not where Francesca was
concerned.

He
turned over and stared blankly out over the empty moor outside his
bedroom window. One thing he did know was that he had to leave Much
Hampton soon. The kiss they had shared minutes ago had held a fiery
passion that shook him and he had been far too close to losing
complete control for the first time in his life. The last thing he
wanted, or needed, was to leave her ruined.

It made
the need to find out who owned the house in the village and why the
villagers were scared of them even more urgent, and not just
because the lives of the men from the Star Elite were at
risk.

The
following morning, life changed considerably for everyone living at
Thistledown Manor. Francesca arrived in the kitchen to learn from
an unusually uncooperative Madeline that Bertie and Simon had
already left for Launceston and wouldn’t be back until tea-time.
After several futile attempts at conversation, Francesca gave up
and retreated to the morning room to resume her inventory of the
furniture and ornaments.

Over the
past several days she and Madeline had worked their way through
almost the entire lower floor of the vast mansion, the morning room
and the sitting room being the last two rooms needing to be done.
Collecting her rolls of parchment from the bureau, Francesca dipped
her quill, aware that the task would take twice as long if she had
to do it herself. But even so, she didn’t feel that she wanted
Madeline’s company, especially if she was still put out with
Francesca for her behaviour toward Mr Lindsay and his threats. It
almost felt to Francesca that Madeline was on Mr Lindsay’s side,
and that left her to wonder if her companion had any previous
association with the stranger. She couldn’t ignore the fact that
with each day that passed, she was beginning to realise just how
little she really knew her friend. Could she really consider
Madeline her confidant now? She wasn’t sure, but did know that if
Madeline was innocent of anything to do with the strange goings on
in Much Hampton, and realised that Francesca had suspected her of
being duplicitous, it would irrevocably damage what was left of
their relationship. If Madeline left Thistledown, Francesca
wouldn’t be able to stay either, and that bothered her more than
she cared to admit.

Thistledown had become her home. Despite its desolate
location and pathetic state of abandonment, it held many happy
memories. The time she had spent here with her uncle was precious
to her. Although she had lost her uncle, by staying at the house
she felt as though she kept a part of him alive and with her. He
had been the only person she had ever felt was true family. He had
never sought to denigrate her, and always seemed to embrace her
foibles and eccentricities. They had shared many interests and had
spent hours talking about them, often arguing affectionately over
issues they couldn’t agree on, arguing affectionately with a lot of
teasing and laughter. The thought of leaving the precious memories
behind tore her apart.

Tears
stung her eyes. She wanted desperately to lay her head down on the
table and cry her eyes out. In addition to her fears over her
uncertain future, she now had to face the added confusion of
Simon’s kiss last night.

She had
no idea why he had sought to return to her room and kiss her so
desperately, but the passion that had flared between them had
shaken her. She couldn’t quite make her mind up if she was angry
with him or not for leaving her just as abruptly.

Steadily
ignoring the persistent thump of pans accompanied by the clatter of
plates and tinkle of cutlery emanating from the kitchen, Francesca
turned her attention to the papers on her desk. She felt a growing
urgency to get the inventory completed and sent off to her
solicitors at the earliest opportunity.

Sometime
during the morning the loud slamming of the kitchen door made her
jump. Throwing her quill down on the parchment in disgust,
Francesca pushed away from the desk. While she could accept that
she had been rude to Mr Lindsay last night, it really wasn’t
Madeline’s place to be so angry about her rudeness. After all, it
wasn’t as though Madeline owned Thistledown Manor. Determined to
have it out with her companion once and for all, she marched into
the kitchen only to find it empty.

“
Madeline?” she called, checking the sitting room before
peering out of the window. She caught the flurry of movement over
near the well and watched as Madeline began to raise the bucket.
Shaking her head, she poured herself a drink and headed back to her
work. Silence settled around her, only broken by the rhythmic
ticking of the clock on the mantel.

At some
point during the afternoon she must have fallen asleep because she
awoke hours later with her head resting on the parchment she had
been writing on. The first thing that drew her attention was the
absolute silence within the house. Frowning, she yawned and
listened for the familiar banging of pots and pans as Madeline
moved around the kitchen. Pushing out of her chair, she glanced out
of the window and gasped at the darkness outside. A jagged slash of
lightening shot through the air, making her jump. Although she
expected the loud rumble of thunder that followed, the ominous
sound made her shudder.