The Surrender of Miss Fairbourne (20 page)

Gritting her teeth against a flood of emotion, she left the house and walked the mile inland to the village.

The buildings displayed the ravages of sea air. Some badly needed new paint and whitewash, but others had been better maintained. The houses had gardens and were small in size. Families of fishermen lived in most of them, but the village possessed a store too, and was big enough to support the living of a tradesman or two.

Her walk down the main lane garnered some passing attention, and also a few greetings from people who recognized her from her occasional visits to her father. She stopped outside the Prince’s Sword and looked through the window. It was too early in the day for a tavern to have many patrons, and the tables were mostly empty. A man sitting near the window peered up at her as she peered in at him, then lost interest in her presence.

She had never entered a tavern before. It was not a place for women like her at any time. She wished her smuggler had set this meeting for the churchyard. He had not, however, and if she hoped to learn anything about her brother, she must enter.

Enter she did. The few patrons inside barely noticed. The proprietor merely glanced her way. She chose a rough table away from the window, and sat down to wait.

The unmistakable odor of beer and ale filled the air. It mixed with other smells, of food being cooked. Somewhere out of sight a meal was being prepared, perhaps for selling along with drink. Her nose twitched. Mutton stew, she decided.

A long ten minutes passed while she sat alone beneath the timbered ceiling. Then the door to the street opened and a man entered. No one paid him much mind. He strode over to her table and slid onto the bench so he faced her.

In her mind she had expected to meet with an old, grizzled fellow, one very coarse and red-faced from the sea winds. Instead her smuggler appeared no more than his mid-thirties in age, and thin in a wiry way that spoke of some strength. He looked almost stylish in his long brown
frock coat and loosely tied neckcloth. The only odd part of his appearance was his facial hair. A neatly groomed mustache and short beard hid most of his face, and thick dark eyebrows framed his blue eyes.

“You are alone.” His quiet voice made it both a statement and a question, enough of the latter that she felt compelled to nod.

“That was foolish,” he said.

“You left me no choice. Would you have entered just now if I brought an escort?”

“I shouldn’t have anyway. Some woman pled your case to a good friend of mine, though, so here I am for a few minutes. No more.”

She took that as an invitation to speak. “I need your word that you will not repeat anything that I tell you. I cannot risk anyone in authority learning these things, and—”

“For a woman I am seeing as a favor, you have conditions?” He laughed softly.

“I am sorry, but I must make them. I must ask for your word as a…as a gentleman.”

He did not laugh at that. Instead his blue eyes examined her with curiosity. He nodded.

“I am Maurice Fairbourne’s daughter. He owned the property down on the—”

“I know of him.”

“My brother, Robert, went missing two years ago. I think perhaps he is being held by smugglers.”

“Not by any that work this stretch of coast.”

Her heart dropped. She had been stupid to hope this would be simple, and that the answers just waited for her questions. “Are you sure? There might be others besides you who thought to make easy money this way.”

He looked at her with some exasperation, and also, she thought, some sympathy. “There are some who put in here at times, who are not from these parts, the sea being what it is. It is discouraged, though.”

She wondered how, but guessed she should not ask. “Have you ever heard anything about this, then? About my
brother, or if those from other parts are holding a young man? You see, everyone thinks he is dead, but now I am sure he is not, and I must try—”

A gesture from him, a raised hand, abruptly commanded her silence. His attention shifted from her to the window. The man sitting there also gestured, calling for attention while he peered intently out the window, craning his neck to see something on the street. Everyone in the tavern, even the proprietor, stilled like animals alerted to danger.

Another gesture from the man at the window, a calming one, and a quick glance in their direction spoke reassurance.

Her smuggler relaxed. “Would be a hell of a thing to find myself in gaol for letting your story touch my heart,” he said. “As for your questions, I’ve heard nothing about a man being held.”

“Do you think you would have learned about it? Do you all speak among yourselves?”

“I would know for certain if it were near here. As for the rest of the southeast coast, there’s gossip, just like in your drawing rooms. A man drinks and he talks, and such as that can become known. Or not.”

She hated asking the next question. The disloyalty of it sickened her, but she really should find out what she faced. “Did you…Did my father or brother ever trade with you or the others?”

She thought she saw pity in his eyes, enough that she was not sure he would be honest. “I would not have minded it. Things come to us that would do better in a place such as his. But he did not trade with such as us. Not me or my lads, at least. However, it is a very long coast, and I don’t know about any of the others.”

That was something, at least, and it gave her some heart. As for the rest, she sadly accepted that she would have little to show for this small adventure. “Learning that you know nothing is learning something, I suppose. I will not wonder if Robert is easily within reach, but languishing due to lack of effort on my part. I thank you for the kindness of seeing me so I could discover that much, at least.”

She stood to leave, and her smuggler began to as well. It was then that she saw that another man had entered the tavern, probably from a door at the rear of the building, near where he now stood. She froze, staring at him. The glare he returned made her catch her breath.

Her smuggler looked over his shoulder. He did not run as she expected. Instead he cast a sharp gaze at the other men in the tavern, then sank back on the bench. “Southwaite,” he muttered. “Are you his woman?”

“No! I did not bring him either. I swear I did not.” She settled down again too.

Southwaite walked over to them. His blue riding coat contrasted starkly with the simple clothes of the other men, and the pistol tucked visibly beneath it could not be missed. Their companions in the tavern rose and quickly left. Even the proprietor decided to take some air outside.

The earl made his presence known, forcefully, by the way he loomed beside the table. He looked at her smuggler. “Tarrington.”

Tarrington merely nodded acknowledgment.

They knew each other.

“What are you doing here, Miss Fairbourne?” Southwaite asked.

“Waiting for some mutton stew to finish cooking.”

Tarrington smirked at her arch response. Southwaite did not find it clever at all. He turned his questioning gaze on Tarrington.

Emma expected the whole story to come out at once. Tarrington was in a bad spot here. If Southwaite recognized him, he was probably a well-known smuggler. She feared he would end up in gaol for letting her sad story touch his heart, after all.

To her surprise Tarrington met Southwaite’s gaze with a steady one of his own, and said nothing.

“Honor among thieves, I see,” Southwaite said.

Tarrington smiled. “There are no thieves here. Just a man looking for ale, and a pretty woman waiting to bring home some stew.” He looked toward the street. “I think you should
leave the way you came, pistol or no, and without me. I would not want my lads’ affection for me to put you in harm’s way.”

“I did not come here for you.” He turned to Emma. “If you will do me the honor, Miss Fairbourne, I will escort you home.”

She did not want him to escort her home. For all his politeness, it had not been a request, however. She held her seat for a few rebellious moments, trying to find a way out of this.

Tarrington watched, amused. He was not going to break his word about their conversation, but he was not going to interfere with Southwaite on her behalf either.

“I will carry you out if I must,” Southwaite warned. “It will be more dignified if you obey me willingly.”

He had no right to expect any obedience. She almost said so. The air had turned heavy with his anger, however, and it was not clear how long Tarrington’s lads would remain on the street.

She stood. Southwaite took her arm in a firm grasp and guided her to the back of the tavern, and out a door.

He moved her down the lane to where his horse waited.

“I will walk,” she said, pulling her arm free.

In response he physically lifted her and set her up on the saddle. “Don’t move.”

She dared not, perched like this sitting sideways. Suddenly he was behind her, astride behind the saddle, his chest pressing her shoulder and his arms surrounding her as he took the reins.

“I can
walk
,” she complained. “Stop this now.”

“Once we are out of this village, you can walk,” he said, moving the horse to a trot. “Now, not another word of objection, Emma. Not one word, if you are wise.”

She tried to angle herself so there would be less contact. “I will not object, but not because you warn me. I will not because I have other things to say. You, sir, continue to be an interfering nuisance. I thank Providence that you are
the only earl I have ever had the misfortune to know if such presumptions are—”

“You would also be wise not to call me presumptuous unless you are eager to see just how presumptuous an earl can be.”

“Then I will find other appropriate words. High-handed. Conceited. Arrogant…” She burned his ears with every other descriptive she could think of while the horse bore them away.

S
outhwaite did allow her to walk once they were well outside the village. She had to demand it of him twice, however. Finally he stopped the horse and slid her down, his arm crossing her body and breast to support her until her feet hit the ground.

She found her balance and shook off the overwhelming intimacy of being encompassed by him. “You can leave now, Lord Southwaite. There is not a soul in sight, so I am totally safe.” She strode down the road, and hoped he would move on past her.

He did not. That horse paced alongside slowly, its master silently providing the escort he had offered. The air remained heavy with his mood, however, and she did not feel protected so much as vulnerable.

It seemed a longer walk home than it had going to the village. The hovering force behind her only partly explained that. Her resentment at her helplessness regarding Robert stoked her anger. She had gained so little from her conversation with Tarrington, and he had dashed her secret hope to learn Robert’s whereabouts.

A little fantasy of a daring rescue had played in her head during the last few days. What a goose she had been to indulge in such a childish dream. She had no choice but to do as she had been ordered, and try to find the money to pay the ransom and hope for the best if she did. Her better sense rebelled against being such a pawn.

She stopped at the edge of her father’s property and turned to Southwaite. “Thank you.” She tried to make her voice one of firm dismissal. He chose not to hear that note. While she trod to the house, that horse kept pace behind her.

Mrs. Norriston’s face appeared in the doorway. Her gaze shifted from Emma to the horse shadowing her, and up to the man riding it. With a deep flush she rushed out with apologies. “I did not know how to refuse such a man. He said if harm came to you, I would share the blame.”

“Why would he think harm might come to me? I could have been taking a turn on the property and nothing more.”

Mrs. Norriston lowered her gaze to the ground. “I might a’ said that you were at a meeting. I may a’ mentioned your need to speak to smugglers. He frightened me, and I could not think of ways not to answer.”

“Really, Mrs. Norriston, you should not have told him my business. Nor should you be frightened just because a man happened to receive the good fortune of being born a lord’s heir. He only told you I was in danger in order to get his way.”

Looking very sorry, Mrs. Norriston bobbed a vague curtsy in the direction of the horse, then disappeared inside. Emma followed her, and closed the door on the dismounting earl. If Southwaite did not understand
that
dismissal, he was stupid as well as arrogant.

She strode into the sitting room. She did not even get her bonnet untied before she heard Southwaite rap on the door. She ignored the summons. He rapped harder and slower, in a steady rhythm that reflected both his insistence and irritation. Well, he could stand out there all day if he wanted to. She would be damned before she let him in. He had no right to keep inter—

To her horror, she spied Mrs. Norriston’s skirts floating past the sitting room. Before she had a chance to forbid it, she heard Mrs. Norriston open the door again and greet his lordship like the good servant she was.

Boots strode toward the sitting room where she had taken refuge. His dark humor preceded him into the chamber like an ill wind.

When he finally darkened the doorway, he appeared very stern. Magnificent too, she had to admit, although that did little to placate her annoyance with him, or with herself for even noticing the figure he cut. Still, she resentfully acknowledged that he appeared very handsome in his riding coat and high boots, and his hair a little wild from the breeze. He no longer glared, but his dark eyes conveyed the sort of displeasure that only men feel entitled to.

“Mrs. Norriston erred in allowing you entrance, so please leave,” she said.

“There are things I must say first.”

“Often that which must be said is better left unsaid. I am sure that is the situation with the words you are urged to spill.”

“That is a fine lesson coming from you, of all people. You had your intemperate say on the horse, and I must insist on mine now.”

“I will not hear it. I did not require your interference today. I was in no danger and—”