Smuggler's Glory (10 page)

Francesca felt panic building and pointed one long finger
toward the bedroom door.

“
Out! Now!”

“
Shh,” Simon whispered, showing no interest in doing as he was
told.

“
Get out of my bedroom,” Francesca persisted, wishing she could
shove him in that direction, but loath to put a hand on him. She
was certain he would feel the fine trembling running through
her.

“
Please, just hear me out. I think you need to listen to what I
have to tell you. What has happened tonight?”

“
Happened? What is it? Is Madeline alright? Bertie?”

Sensing
her rising panic, Simon eased down onto his haunches before her and
tried to keep his face impassive. In reality he wanted to scowl and
punch something for the impact she was having on his wayward body.
The last thing he wanted, or needed right now, was a feminine
diversion, even if she was as beautiful as the woman before
him.

“
They are fine, as far as I am aware,” he replied honestly. He
hadn’t thought to check, strangely enough, and wondered if he was
starting to lose the plot. His first, and if he was honest, his
only thought upon finding the front and kitchen doors open, was to
check the safety of Francesca. He had no idea if Madeline or Bertie
were even in the house. Mentally chastising himself for not doing a
thorough job, he sighed and carefully relayed events as they had
unfolded.

“
They came back?”

Simon
nodded slowly.

“
Did you see who it was?”

“
I’m sorry, but it was too dark outside and, when I did remove
the cloak, they had disappeared into the bushes too quickly for me
to take stock of their height. The only thing I could ascertain was
that they were roughly about your height, and not much heavier than
you but, from the people I have met around here so far, that could
have been any one of you.” He had inadvertently dropped the cloak
the intruder had wriggled out of and, unsurprisingly, it had
vanished by the time he had returned to the house.

“
It wasn’t me,” Francesca snapped, horrified at the thought of
anyone entering her home. Her stomach roiled nervously and she
turned terrified eyes toward the man before her. Was he really her
saviour, or was he her tormentor? She couldn’t be certain, and had
no way of proving if the events he had told her had really
happened, or if they were a ruse to scare her into not going out at
night.

“
I know that, sweetheart,” Simon replied gently. “But it could
be Madeline, or Bertie, or either of those two thugs who accosted
you on the road.”

“
Do you really think it could have been those two? Charlie and
Tom?”

Simon
shook his head. “I think they would have entered the room, closed
the door and finished what they started earlier.” He hated to be so
blunt, but it wouldn’t hurt for her to feel slightly on
edge.

Although
the thought made her feel sick, she could see Simon’s logic and
knew what he was saying was the truth. Tom and Charlie were not
careful or secretive enough to sneak into her room in the middle of
the night. They were cruel and clumsy.

“
The fact is, my darling, that you really must start to lock
your bedroom door at night and don’t open it to anyone unless you
know the person on the other side of the door.” He didn’t add that
the lock would go some way to keeping him out of the arms of
temptation as well.

“
I don’t usually bother with it. With Bertie being ill, and the
house being so far out of the village, it didn’t seem a necessary
precaution,” Francesca’s voice trembled with lingering fear. She
was suddenly grateful when he placed his warm hands upon her cold
ones; his long fingers curling gently around the tight balls of her
hands.

“
I don’t want you taking any risks at night, sweetheart,” Simon
whispered. “If you do have to go out, tell me and I will come with
you but you mustn’t take any risk upon yourself by venturing out
alone.” He watched as a guilty blush stole over her alabaster
cheeks and he knew he had hit on something she was valiantly trying
to hide. Feeling his feet begin to go numb, he rose and took a seat
beside her on the bed, some distance away to be heard without
talking any louder than a whisper, and far enough away not to pose
any physical threat to her.

“
I want you to tell me what you
think
has been going on around here.”
He lifted a cautionary hand when she took a breath. He knew from
the look in her eyes that she was going to deny knowledge of
anything, and felt his patience begin to wane. “I can’t help you if
you are not honest with me.”

“
Look,” Francesca began, her thoughts racing frantically in all
directions. “This is all highly improper. It is the middle of the
night and here we are, in my room, all alone. The gossips would
have a field day, if this ever got out,” she gushed, tugging the
blanket higher.

“
There are no gossips, Francesca. You said yourself we are too
far out of the village for neighbours to overlook anything we do
and besides, the only people in the house are Madeline and Bertie,
who are here to protect you. How can your reputation be ruined? I
am certainly not going to tell anyone, are you?” His voice dropped
in silent challenge, and he watched as she cautiously shook her
head.

“
Well then, now there is just you and me, we can talk. You can
tell me everything I need to know, and then I will leave you in
peace to get some more sleep. I can go back to my room knowing that
tomorrow, I can start to resolve the difficulties you are facing
and help life get back to what constitutes normal around
here.”

“
You are not an artist, are you?” Francesca’s voice was cool
and calm. She wondered why she wasn’t shouting at him for telling
her lies to gain access to her home, but somehow she couldn’t find
it within her to be cross with him. If there had been an intruder
in her home as he claimed, he had protected her.

Simon’s
eyes met and held hers through the darkness. The silent
understanding that flowed between them shook them both with the
depth of it, but he was still unable to say the words he knew she
wanted to hear.

“
I am, for all intents and purposes, an artist who is here to
paint the scenery.” His voice was bland and
noncommittal.

She knew he was lying by the careful way he was studying the
skirting boards as he spoke. It was almost as though he didn’t like
lying to her, and was trying to avoid her gaze in case she read the
truth in his eyes. Something within her felt vaguely reassured with
the knowledge that
she
could make
him
feel just as awkward and off-balance as she felt around
him.

“
Meaning you are not going to tell me who you really are.” She
launched off the bed and began to pace up and down the length of
the bed in front of him. “Yet you want me to trust you.”

“
You think your uncle was murdered,” Simon declared softly,
watching as she froze and turned slowly toward him. The sheer grief
on her face unmanned him and it took every ounce of self-control he
possessed to remain seated and wait impassively for her to
reply.

“
Who sent you? My family? Are they trying to scare me into
leaving here so I return home and they can sell me to the first
groom that sweeps through the door again?”

Simon scowled darkly at her. “Your family tried to
sell
you?”

Francesca huffed, aware that he hadn’t answered her question.
“The groom with the highest status and largest wealth wins,” she
replied cynically. “They would have a field day if they were here.
You wouldn’t stand a chance of getting out without the matrimonial
shackles in place, that’s for certain.”

Simon’s
brows rose. “You sound so averse to marriage.” In reality he was
shocked that this beautiful woman would declare the words so very
close to his heart, so boldly and so matter of fact.

“
That’s because I am. My sister was married to someone she
barely knew. Pressured into doing so to allow the rest of us to
find husbands and release some of the financial burden on our
parents. Unfortunately, nobody thought to ask my sister what she
wanted. As a result she is married to a man who can’t keep his
trousers up with any woman, except his wife and she is a mere
shadow of the person we grew up with. My parents, meantime, have
one daughter less to feed and the financial benefit of having a
wealthy and titled son-in-law.”

“
I’m sorry,” Simon murmured, hearing the pain in her voice. “I
can see why you wouldn’t want end up the same way as your sister,
but not all men are like that, you know.”

“
Of course not,” Francesca replied cynically. “I believe you,
just don’t expect me to ever find out.”

“
Do your family actually know you are here?”

Francesca paused and stared blankly at the wall for several
moments before turning slowly toward him.

He
cursed when she shook her head slowly.

“
How old are you?” He hoped to God she wasn’t going to say she
was one and twenty, or seventeen. She was beautiful, and young, but
surely she wasn’t that young.

“
I’m five and twenty.”

Simon
didn’t know why he was nodding wisely. He felt a gentle flurry of
something at the realisation that she wasn’t all that much younger
than his own four and thirty. Certainly of marriageable age, yes,
but definitely no impressionable young miss.

“
I am my own person. I have made it perfectly clear to my
family that I am not going to agree to being sold into any kind of
marriage to anyone. Indeed, I am not going to be married to anyone,
full stop. I have alleviated the burden my presence in the family
home causes my parents so they really have no reason to follow me
here.”

“
But they may come looking for you, if they are of a mind to
want you back.”

“
I don’t see why,” Francesca scoffed. “They hardly wanted me
when I was at home. Now I have left, I cannot see any earthly
reason why they should want to re-burden themselves.”

“
Except that you have already given a reason why they would
want you back.” When Francesca turned toward him with her brows
raised in query, he sighed. “You are marketable. A beautiful young
woman such as yourself would attract many suitors and if your
parents are the kind of people who would have no qualms about
entering into agreements with future son-in-laws for social gain,
they may be sufficiently greedy to try to get you back for
financial reasons.”

Francesca shuddered, and stared at him in horror. The sudden
paleness of her cheeks told him everything he needed to know and he
suddenly wished he had kept his mouth shut.

“
I am sorry, Francesca, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“
But you are right,” Francesca sighed, feeling the walls begin
to close in on her. She sat down in the chair in front of the fire
with a heavy thump. In all honesty, she wasn’t certain how much
longer her legs would hold her up. She felt shaken to the core by
Simon’s reasoning.

“
You didn’t tell me,” her voice broke the long silence that
stretched between them. Her eyes met and held his across the
distance of the bedroom. “Did they send you?”

Simon
shook his head. “I had no idea you were here, Francesca, and that’s
the truth. I do think there is something going on in the village,
though.” He continued after several moments of thoughtful silence.
He didn’t like to see her so pale and decided to drop the subject
of her parents for now.

“
Like what?”

“
Like have you ever considered why, in a village as seemingly
busy as Much Hampton, there is no tavern? The village isn’t so tiny
that the populace cannot support a fully functioning tavern, so why
did the one here close down?”

“
Maybe the owner became ill and couldn’t run it
anymore.”

Simon
thought about that for a moment before shaking his head. He knew it
was going to be almost impossible for him to get the information he
needed, but Francesca could probably get some of the locals to talk
to her. If only he could persuade her to be on his side. She could
help him gather the information and, if it came down to a battle,
she would be protected from becoming directly involved. He would
see to it that she wasn’t incriminated in his activities in any
way.

A small,
niggling voice warned him that his mere presence in her house
involved her in his operation, whether he liked it or not, but he
quickly closed that thought down. His first goal was to uncover the
identity of tonight’s intruder and find out if they were the same
person who had hung the dead rook on the kitchen door. He was
fairly sure that the events in Francesca’s home had nothing to do
with the document forgery for the French spies in the area but,
until he had the evidence to prove it, he had to consider the
possibility that the two may very well be closely linked. He just
didn’t know how yet.

Francesca studied him for several moments. She was fairly
certain that the dark shadows beneath his eyes hadn’t been there
the previous day. If he was the artist he claimed to be, why was he
concerning himself with the eccentricities of Much Hampton, and
wandering around her house in the dark, rather than getting a good
night’s sleep?