Smuggler's Lair (6 page)

“I don't understand why you do it. The excitement must have palled long ago.” She thought of the noble names listed in the back of the journal. “Why put yourself in danger to save your wealthy friends from paying import taxes?”

Falcon laughed. “I don't do it for them. The villagers of Hawkhurst would starve eking out a living by fishing alone.”

“Ah, the names listed in the front of your journal.” Tory rubbed a taut muscle in her back. “What was the name of the ‘phantom ship' that dropped the contraband in Romney Marsh?”

“The
Seacock,
” he said quietly.

Tory's eyes widened.
You took the
Seacock
out to raid the cargo of a French merchant vessel.
“Falcon Hawkhurst, you are not just a smuggler, you are a pirate!”

He smiled into her eyes, slipped the robe from her shoulders, and bade her lie prone before the fire. Then, with long, slow, sensuous strokes, he began to massage her back and buttocks. The thrilling thought of a pirate's hands caressing her naked flesh made her want to scream with excitement. Before he was done, Tory thought her very bones would melt with pleasure.

He turned her onto her back and proceeded to work his magic on the rest of her body. Her lush breasts spilled into his possessive hands and he brought his lips down to hers in a demanding kiss that was primal and savage.

His mouth tasted of brandy and it sent her senses reeling. She wrapped her legs tightly around his back and heat leaped between them as he impaled her with a hot, driving thrust. She was wildly intoxicated by the brandy and the potent maleness of the reckless devil who was making love to her.

It was too intense to last long and all too soon they were both crying out their pleasure. He gathered her close and held her against his heart until her body softened. Falcon watched her eyes close and felt her body grow limp in his arms as she drifted into sleep. A need to protect her now mingled with his desire to possess her. “Don't leave me, Victoria.”

* * *

When Tory awoke, she was in Falcon's bed, but she was alone. The last thing she remembered was being held in his arms before the fire.
When I fell asleep he carried me to bed.

She knew she was losing her heart to this man, yet in the cool light of day, what she had learned about him last night brought her conscience into conflict. Hawkhurst was noble and altruistic regarding the welfare of the less privileged families of the area, and Tory had no problem with them smuggling contraband. Piracy was another matter. Fiction portrayed it as adventure, but the reality was often bloody and brutal. The words he had uttered came winging back to her:
Danger excites me.

She now realized with dismay it was the sheer, reckless danger of life-or-death risks that held Falcon in thrall.
He is a buccaneer who boards vessels and plunders cargo.
The crates of tea from the East Indiaman where he'd found Pandora came to mind.
The
Seacock
is fitted with a row of cannon and its master carries a brace of pistols.

Tory dressed and sat down before the mirror to brush her hair. Her mind went back over what the history books had recorded of Lord Hawkhurst of Bodiam Castle. His ship was named, but no mention had been made of piracy or even smuggling.
I'm letting my imagination run amok. Most likely Falcon never sank a ship or killed anyone.
Tory decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

She smiled into the mirror and admitted she was head over heels with the bold devil. She had been ruled by rigid morals all her life and refused to allow a straitlaced upbringing to deprive her of the pleasure Falcon brought her. It felt so much more romantic to let her heart rule her head.

The sun was high and Tory decided to take her book down to the grassy quadrangle. A serving woman brought out her lunch and Tory realized Mr. Burke had been instructed to take care of her needs. In the early afternoon she saw Falcon ride beneath the portcullis.
He's returning from God only knows what nefarious business.

He dismounted and dropped down on the grass beside her. “It occurs to me that you haven't received your share of spoils. Come to my ship and choose your reward,” he invited.

Tory hesitated. The
Seacock
was the wicked instrument of his iniquity. She swept her conscience aside and smiled into his eyes. His ship was too sinfully tempting to resist.
Admit the truth and shame the Devil, Victoria. It is Falcon Hawkhurst who is too sinfully tempting.

He lifted Tory into the saddle and mounted Bess behind her. They left Bodiam and rode along the bank of the River Rother until they reached the
Seacock.
He held her hand tightly as they traversed the narrow gangplank, then he lifted her over the rail.

Tory's face lit with eager curiosity as her gaze swept from the brigantine's rigging to its well-scrubbed deck. Her eyes purposely avoided the rows of cannon. Below, she took in the cabin's rich mahogany and polished brass. Falcon lit a lantern and took her into the hold. It smelled of tar and tea and piquant spices she could not name. He removed a false panel and led her into a space that held a cabinet and some trunks.

Falcon unlocked the cabinet doors and pulled out a drawer. Gold and silver necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earbobs, many set with precious jewels, glittered in the lamplight. As Tory gazed with appreciation, he lifted a trunk lid and revealed its contents. She drew in her breath and reached out to touch the bolts of exquisite silk, shot through with shining threads.

“The choice is yours, Victoria.”

Without hesitation her fingers sought the pale green silk with silver threads. “I've never seen anything as lovely in my life.”

He handed her the bolt of silk. “Its loveliness pales beside yours.” He closed the lid and moved to the cabinet. He took out a pair of carved jade earrings. “You must have these, too. They match perfectly. Both your beauty and your taste are exotic.”

“Thank you, Falcon, for the gifts and the compliment.” She looked down at the exquisite objects and a bubble of joyous laughter escaped. “And they say the wages of sin are death!”

He led the way back up on deck. “You promised to swim for me. The warm afternoons of August will soon give way to the cool autumn days of September.”

“Will you swim with me, milord?”

“I will, milady.” He immediately began to throw off his clothes.

Tory set down her presents, removed her dress and petticoat, and draped them to protect the delicate gifts of silk and jade. By this time, Falcon was naked and, not to be outdone, Tory stripped off her drawers and stays. She followed him as he strode to the bridge. He raised his arms and launched himself into the air, diving down to the water like a sea hawk. He surfaced laughing and flung the wet hair from his eyes. “Your turn!”

Tory, rooted to the spot, was overwhelmed by the height. “I can't. I don't know how to dive.... I'm afraid!”

“Darling . . . don't be afraid. If you can't dive, then jump.... I'm here to catch you.”

She stared down, striving to banish her apprehension. She wasn't afraid of the water, only the height. She gathered her courage, focused her attention on Falcon, and made her decision to place her trust in him. She shut her eyes and jumped.

The water closed over her head as her body plunged deep. As she started to come up, she felt a moment's panic as the river's current threatened to carry her away. She surfaced like a cork, bobbing on the water. To her great relief, Falcon's powerful arms were there, keeping her safe as he had promised. Together they swam in a wide arc around the
Seacock. He has taught me to take risks. It makes life so much sweeter.

C
HAPTER
6

“When are you hosting your next entertainment? I need time to finish my new gown.” Pandora lay at Victoria's feet, demonstrating that the pair of females had grown quite used to each other.

“You can actually sew? Is there no end to your accomplishments, my beauty?” Falcon asked with amusement as he sat at his desk, marking symbols against the names in his journal.

“Your guests will be agog when they see me in the green silk. I shall set the fashion with my risqué Grecian design.”

“The jade earrings you're wearing and the silk are from China.”

She shook her head to make the jade earbobs swing. “Since I haven't the faintest notion how females dress in China, I shall sew a Grecian robe that bares one shoulder. When is the party?”

Falcon consulted a chart that showed the lunar tides. “I need a couple of moonless nights or at least nights when moonrise occurs in the late hours.” A visit to the Mermaid Tavern in Rye had supplied him with a list of vessels that would be bringing cargo to the Cinque Ports for the next month.

He pored over the chart, knowing a merchant ship was due to dock in the Port of Winchelsey in five days. “How about a week from today? I'll send out the usual invitations.”

Tory drew in a swift breath as she felt cold fingers touch her heart. She had been thinking of enjoyment only; she had forgotten that Falcon mixed business with pleasure. Fear of risks he would take and dread of deeds he might commit made her temper flare. “Why do you have to be so calculating? Why does everything in your life have to be illicit?”

His dark eyes studied her for long moments. “I give you free rein to do whatever you wish. Can you not extend me the same courtesy, mistress?”

“I am not insanely reckless! Come to think of it, madness runs in your bloodline.”

“Ah yes, claiming to have traveled through time is perfectly normal,” he drawled.

She jumped up. “You mocking swine. Go to the devil!” When Tory shouted, the hairs along Pandora's neck stood on end and the leopard growled in her throat. Tory threw Hawkhurst a furious glance. “Now see what you've done!” She stalked from the room.

The lovers avoided each other for the next forty-eight hours, yet both found that the time apart seemed endless. To Victoria, the days and nights estranged from Falcon were joyless. To Hawkhurst they were unendurable. He held out until the third night, but when the hour grew late, his patience snapped.

Falcon's mood was dangerous as he descended to her chamber. He had every intention of breaking down the door if it was locked against him. To his surprise, it swung open when he tested it. A smile of satisfaction curved his mouth.
She's been hoping I would come for her.

The room was in darkness and when he lit the candles and saw the empty bed, the complacent smile was wiped away. His heart constricted.
She's left me. . . . She's gone back to her own time!
He felt bereft. Sharing things with Tory had given him deep pleasure and brought new meaning to his life. He refused to accept her loss. “Come back to me, Victoria,” he demanded. His glance swept about the chamber and he noticed that the books were gone from the bedside table. A tiny glimmer of hope lit in his heart and he clung to it fiercely as he descended the stairs of the round tower and made his way to the small library. He flung open the door and it crashed against the wall.

Tory gasped. “I . . . I couldn't sleep.... I was getting a book.” The undisguised look of relief on Falcon's face revealed to her what he had feared and her heart softened toward him. “I was never angry with you. My temper flared to mask my fear for your safety.”
And my dread of your committing shameful deeds
. She quickly shoved the book she'd been reading back on the shelf. It was about shipwrecks caused by accident or by foul deliberation.

“I want no gulf between us, Tory. I've always been a solitary man—I never knew what I was missing until you came into my life.”

She went to him and raised her face to his. “Thank you, Falcon. I feel exactly the same way. Sharing your life fills me with wonder and joy. And I do appreciate the freedom you offer me—my existence was so restricted before. I shall try my utmost to return the favor.”

He wrapped his arms about her and grinned. “That was our first quarrel.”

“We feel things so passionately, I doubt it will be our last.”

“Passionate?” He bit her ear. “I'll show you passionate.”

She laughed, and wriggled from his embrace. She had the urge to run for the sheer pleasure of having him chase her and catch her. Perhaps if she used feminine, subtle persuasion, she could keep him from his piracy.

That night after their mating, Falcon held her for hours while they talked. He told her about his childhood, his sailing adventures to foreign lands, and the time he'd spent in London at the Royal Court. Tory entertained him with stories of how she escaped from the confines of her narrow life by the clever use of ploys, tricks, and deceptions that often needed the compliance of her brother, Edmund. The part where she used the garden shed to put on her stockings, screw her hair into a bun, cram on a black bonnet, pick up her prayer book, and put a pious look on her face had Falcon roaring with laughter.

They slept in spoon fashion; his powerful body curved about her back, his arm anchoring her to him possessively. As Tory drifted into sleep she hoped that tomorrow night she would be able to keep him attached to her by an invisible thread that would stay him from his dangerous roving.

When Tory awoke she was alone. She wasn't too concerned because he always arose early and usually broke his fast in Bodiam's Great Hall with the other castle inhabitants, including his crew. Just to make certain he hadn't left, she went to the desk and pulled open the drawer. She let out a long breath when she saw his pistols were still in their case. She ran her fingers along the twelve-inch barrels, fascinated that such beautiful objects were meant for a deadly purpose. She heard the chamber door open behind her and spun round guiltily. Quite used to being caught in compromising situations and talking herself out of them, she spoke a half-truth. “Falcon, I was admiring your pistols. Would you teach me how to use them?”

“I admit I enjoy tutoring you in pleasurable pursuits, but I'm not sure shooting qualifies as such. I assumed guns would be offensive to you.”

“I prefer to think of them as defensive.”

He came to the desk and lifted the weapons from their case. “This is a pair of naval officer's belt pistols. The barrels and mountings are made of brass, which resists the corrosion of salt water. These are matched and have left- and right-hand locks.”

“Isn't it usual to have your name or initials engraved on the polished butt caps?” she puzzled. “These say ‘James Freeman.'”

“That's the maker's name.” He winked. “Expedience before vanity. I want no identifying marks on my lethal weapons.”

She felt a chill and purposely ignored it. “You are the best tutor I've ever had. I shall strive to be a model pupil, milord.”

From behind a false panel, he opened a cupboard she didn't know about and extracted a small barrel of gunpowder. He offered Pandora a small leather pouch, which she carried in her mouth. “Come, then; I warrant target practice is never time wasted.”

On the grass quadrangle in the courtyard, Falcon set out two metal brackets that each held a square candle, which he then lit. “Twenty paces is far enough for a beginner, I think.”

“That's the accepted distance between duelists when they turn and fire.”

He gave her a quizzical glance as they strode down the field. “Duels are fought with swords and rapiers, Tory. I've fought enough. Hellfire, don't tell me men challenge each other with guns in your time? Where's the honor in that?”

She was about to ask Falcon about the duels he'd fought, but bit her lip. She didn't want to know if he'd killed anyone.

He opened the barrel of gunpowder and took out a flask with a small spout. Then he took the pouch from Pandora's mouth and fished out a lead ball. He gave Tory an empty pistol to hold and loaded the other. “Watch carefully. Keep it at half cock until you're ready to shoot.” He put the pistol down, took the one she'd been holding and loaded it the same way, then picked up the other one. “Now you fully cock, aim, and pull the trigger.”

Tory jumped as the powder exploded with a bang and both candle flames were snuffed. “You are a superb marksman!”

He shook his head. “They didn't go out at the same instant. My left hand is slower on the trigger.”

“But you aimed two pistols at once, at two different targets. I am in awe, Falcon Hawkhurst.”

“Are you game to try it? I'll go and light the candles.”

“No need. I won't even hit the candle, let alone a flame. And I can't handle two guns at the same time.”

He handed her the pistol with the right-hand lock. “Load it the way I showed you and don't forget to keep it half-cocked until you are ready.”

“Are you sure it won't go off at half cock? Isn't that where the expression comes from?”

He gave her a wicked grin. “It is a belt pistol. If it went off it would literally mean half cock.”

“You are making me laugh to distract me. Behave yourself.” Tory had no trouble loading, unlocking, or aiming. The snag came when she fired the weapon and landed on her derriere. “I wasn't expecting that.” She dusted off her bottom. “Let me try again.”

Exercising infinite patience, Falcon encouraged and instructed her in the use of firearms the entire morning. Only when her lead ball hit the castle and chipped the ancient stone did Victoria throw up her hands in defeat. Falcon gave the pistols to Mr. Burke, who was watching the target practice, to clean and reload.

To Hawkhurst, the morning had been a great diversion. It was a new experience to have a female for a friend, especially one who was willing to share his interests and not just his bed. “Let's go for a ride. We can stop at the Oak and Ivy, then I'll show you the village. You haven't seen it in daylight.”

The inn, about a half mile from Hawkhurst, fascinated Tory. Its doorstep was worn down from all the feet that had entered over the years. Downstairs were four snug rooms with rough-hewn trestle tables and benches. Each had a large fireplace with a spit for roasting haunches of meat. The mellow light came from candles mounted on ancient oxcart wheels. Barrels of ale were stacked against the walls and the air was redolent of smoke, cooking smells, hops, and malt.

“An honor, yer lordship, how can I serve ye?”

“A dozen oysters and a pint of ale. M'sister will have the same, and a pint for your good self, Harry.”

When the food arrived, Tory looked askance at the raw oysters sitting on their shells.

“What's the matter, love? Don't you like them?”

“Only men eat oysters raw. Ladies like their crustaceans decently fried, but I'll try anything once,” she said gamely.

Falcon picked up a shell. “Swallow the oyster and wash it down with a swig of ale . . . like so.”

Victoria mimicked what he did, including wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The first few went down easily, but at the sixth she couldn't suppress a shudder.

Falcon laughed and finished them off. “What are friends for?”

Harry came to replenish Falcon's ale. “Bring us some winkles.”

“Winkles?” Tory was disconcerted. “My mother would never approve of anything so vulgar and low class as eating winkles.”

“She wouldn't approve of your strutting about in your drawers either, but it proved to be great fun. Eating winkles is a pleasure not to be denied.”

When the miniscule shellfish arrived, Tory took the pin, stabbed the winkle, pulled it from its tiny case, and popped it into her mouth. She rolled her eyes with pleasure. “Delicious!”

Falcon gave her a suggestive wink. “
You
are delicious.”

“Stop that, I'm supposed to be your sister,” she said laughing.

They finished off their meal with bowls of mutton and barley stew and bread fresh from the oven, then they rode into the village of Hawkhurst, which was three miles from Bodiam.

Tory gazed about avidly. “Neither the priory nor the parish church have been built yet, though there is a cemetery.”

“Graveyard,” Falcon corrected. “Bodiam Church is on the hill.”

“The village is much smaller than the Hawkhurst I know, but it is endearingly rustic and surrounded by the same lovely rolling hills that I've walked all my life. Thank you for bringing me.”

On the ride back to the castle, Victoria was busy planning her strategy to keep Falcon at Bodiam for the night. “You are such a good tutor. How would you like to teach me the dice game of hazard?”

“I'll teach you games, all of them hazardous,” he promised. Falcon helped her dismount and told her he was taking Bess to the smithy to get her reshod. “I enjoyed your company today. I'll see you tonight, sweetheart. We'll find out if oysters really are an aphrodisiac.”

Hawkhurst usually ate the evening meal with his men and seldom sought his chamber before nine, so Victoria planned accordingly. At the appointed time, she made sure she was reclining in her slipper bath with her hair spilling over the edge and cascading to the carpet in a dark waterfall. Her back was facing the door, which she had purposely left open. When she heard his step she lifted a slim leg and let the sponge trickle water down it. The bath drew him like a lodestone.

“Let me do that.” His deep voice sent shivers up her spine. Without turning to look at him, she said, “I'll give you the sponge if you teach me to play hazard.”