Smuggler's Glory (5 page)

“
It was only a matter of time,” Francesca murmured, knowing
that it was inevitable that at some point their paths would cross.
She knew she had taken a risk heading into the village
unaccompanied, but given that Bertie was ill, and Madeline was
still recovering from the flu that had befallen Bertie, it had been
left to Francesca to head to the village for fresh
supplies.

“
What was?” Simon muttered, feeling fairly certain that his
burgeoning suspicions were correct. He tried not to stare, and
inched infinitesimally closer in an attempt to get a better
look.

“
Oh, sorry, just thinking,” Francesca replied with a jolt. She
was completely lost for a polite way to take her leave of him, and
not entirely sure what he was waiting for. “Thank you again,” she
said, and began to turn around.

“
Wait!” Simon moved to stand in front of her, blocking her
path. He needed to see her face just one more time, just to make
sure his suspicions were correct, and almost smirked when her eyes
reluctantly returned to his for a brief moment before quickly
sliding away. The lady really did have a few secrets. Intrigued,
Simon simply couldn’t stand back and allow her to leave without
knowing more.

“
I’m sorry, but I don’t have much money to give you,” Francesca
mumbled, beginning to fumble in her pockets. It was then that she
realised she had dropped her basket further along the road; its
contents were now scattered across the pathway. Scurrying forward,
she began to gather the various vegetables, breads and cheeses and
shove them into the basket.

“
I don’t expect to be paid, for God’s sakes,” Simon snapped,
highly offended at her presumption that he was loitering for
money.

“
Thank you,” she muttered as Simon dropped several potatoes and
a small packet into the basket. She valiantly tried to ignore the
heat that stole into her cheeks, and hoped he hadn’t seen her
discomfiture for what it was; heightened awareness of him. She
wasn’t lost to the long, tapered fingers that were darkly tanned,
hinting at a life out of doors, or the broad sweep of his brows
that topped what was an exceptionally handsome face. Giving herself
a stern mental shake, Francesca shoved the cheese on top of the now
full basket and, as nonchalantly as possible, rose to her
feet.

“
I’ll walk you home,” Simon murmured, hefting the basket into
one hand before Francesca had the time to even bend down to take
the heavy weight for herself. Ignoring her protests, he glanced
down the track toward the groaning men, who had started to wake
up.

“
Oh no, I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that,” Francesca
protested, glancing worriedly down the road. She shifted from one
foot to the other, eager to be out of the area before the
attackers, Charlie and Tom, woke up entirely and realised she was
still there.

They
were spiteful, and she had no doubt that they would look at heading
in her direction as soon as they were fit and able, but that was
something she would have to deal with at the time. She had no
intention of repeating the events of the afternoon. Glancing up at
the man beside her, she tried to tug the basket out of his hand but
he wouldn’t let go.

“
Please, I need to go,” Francesca gasped, fear nipping at her
heels.

“
I know we do, but you need not fear when I am around. I won’t
allow them to harm you.” Simon didn’t know where that came from. He
didn’t usually take on other people’s problems, and had no
intention of becoming this woman’s protector, but there was
something about the fear in her eyes that struck a chord deep
within him and, soldier that he was, he couldn’t just walk away and
leave her to fight these particular thugs on her own.

“
Look, let me see you home, where I assume someone will be
there to be with you?” At the lady’s nod, Simon tugged the basket
out of her grasp and whistled to Billie.

Francesca watched as Tom rolled onto his knees and began to
throw up in the hedge. Wrinkling her nose up in disgust, she
hurried after the big man who had undoubtedly saved her virtue if
not her life, very aware of the huge lumbering beast that trotted
obediently behind them.

“
Is he yours?” Francesca gasped, eyeing the huge mount
warily.

“
Yes, he’s called Billie. Do you ride?”

“
Erm, no,” Francesca replied solemnly, missing Simon’s
questioning glance because her gaze was firmly locked on the huge
animal who was seemingly content to simply follow his
master.

“
He is big, but he won’t hurt you,” Simon murmured, slowing to
walk alongside her.

“
I wonder if you could tell me where I could stay for the
night?” Simon asked, easing back a little to study her a little
more closely when several moments of silence had passed.

“
The tavern in the village closed a few months ago,” Francesca
muttered, wondering how she could stop the man following her home.
Although he had saved her, she had no idea who he was and if he had
any connection whatsoever to the strange events that had been
happening of late. Until she could be sure, the less he knew about
her the better as far as she as concerned, and vice versa. “The
only other tavern is at Brostock about six miles away.”

Simon
bit back a curse and rolled his eyes.

“
Isn’t there anyone who takes in lodgers?”

Francesca shook her head slowly. There were in fact several
families who used to take in lodgers, but at the moment, everyone
was suspicious of everything and weren’t inclined to accept
strangers. Not that Francesca could blame them. Her thoughts
immediately turned to her uncle, and she felt the sharp pang of
grief that bought the familiar sting of tears to her eyes. Quickly
closing that thought off, she glanced at the man beside her and
felt a jolt as her eyes met his close scrutiny.

Glancing
around her, she sought a way to lengthen the gap between them. They
were walking so close that his shoulder occasionally brushed hers,
and that, along with his careful study of her, was more than a
little unnerving. She scowled a little. “I think you would be best
staying in Brostock.”

“
Why did the tavern here close down? I would have thought there
would have been enough passing trade.”

Francesca slowly shook her head. “I am not sure myself, to be
honest,” she replied carefully. “I only recently moved to the
area.”

Simon
shook his head slowly, aware that she was ill at ease from the
straightening of her spine and the almost frantic way her eyes
flitted around them. Although she may just be spooked from her
earlier ordeal, he had no doubt she was hiding something. Something
she had no way of knowing he had already uncovered. He was fairly
certain her true identity wasn’t the only thing she was hiding, and
he was intrigued to know what it was.

“
That’s too far away, I need to be in Much Hampton,” Simon
sighed, seemingly contemplating his options.

“
Why?” Francesca asked, panting a little from the speed they
were walking.

“
I have business here. I am an artist and have been
commissioned to paint some pictures of Much Hampton and the
surrounding moor. It is best if I reside here, otherwise half of my
time is going to be spent travelling backward and
forward.”

“
Oh, but –”

“
Oh, but what?” Simon’s curiosity was piqued.

Francesca considered him for a moment, wondering just how far
she could push the boundaries of what was polite – or safe. He had
saved her life, and for that she did really owe him. She sighed and
drew to a stop. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed the two
attackers Tom and Charlie were both now sitting; one rubbing his
jaw and the other his sore stomach. She had no doubt once the shock
and consternation had worn off, they would be looking for
vengeance. With a shiver, she turned away, flicking the man beside
her a quick glance.

“
It isn’t safe around here,” she whispered softly. “This isn’t
the place for strangers such as yourself to stay. If you have any
sense, you will turn around and just leave.”

“
Why? I am sure I have proven that I am more than capable of
taking care of myself.”

“
I am sure you are, but there is more going on that you
understand,” Francesca frowned, aware that Simon had shifted
closer. She could feel the sheer masculinity emanating from him and
it battered her senses, making her thoughts cloudy and
jumbled.

“
Like what?”

It was
on the tip of her tongue to tell him everything. It was so far out
of her character to confide in a total stranger that she had to
give herself a mental shake to keep quiet. Instead, because she
didn’t know him and ergo, couldn’t entirely trust him, she simply
looked at him.

“
There are a lot of unusual things going on, and have been for
some time. It isn’t safe for you to stay here. Please, keep
yourself safe, and go and stay in Brostock.”

“
I’m staying here,” Simon declared firmly. “I’m not afraid of
those two, are you?” He knew she was by the lingering fear in her
eyes and the brief, worried look she threw at him. “Come on, I’ll
walk you home.” He didn’t wait for her to follow, simply continued
to walk down the path in the direction they had been headed. That
is, until he rounded the bend in the road, and saw where she was
heading.

“
Good Lord.” His jaw dropped, and he stared at the sight that
before him with a mixture of horrified dread and awe. He was only
vaguely aware of the woman moving to stand beside him but couldn’t
tear his gaze away from the huge monstrosity that sat in the valley
below.

Slowly,
his gaze around and stared almost accusingly at her. He felt the
matrimonial shackles being slapped onto his ankles and suddenly
felt extremely angry. If she was a lady, she had almost certainly
been compromised and not by the two thugs now lying in the gutter
where they belonged, but by him. A lord of the realm and the third
Earl of Marlbrook, and entitled gent who had to do right by a lady
he had spent some not inconsiderable time alone with.

Francesca refused to apologise for the house and misread the
horror on his face for disgust of the aristocracy. She hadn’t been
raised in the ballrooms of the
Ton
and, until recently, hadn’t expected to inherit
any title or estates but, as events in her life had unfolded, she
had been handed everything; everything that she was now struggling
to know how to deal with.

“
Thistledown House,” Francesca mumbled, studying the yellow
stone mansion sitting below them. From a distance it sat in golden
splendour, nestled amongst the moor, fitted as intrinsically as
though placed there by Mother Nature herself. Long rows of windows
lined all three floors of the huge house, and were bracketed by
large towers capped with battlements. The drive they were standing
on swept down in a large ribbon toward the huge portico entrance
that sat overlooking a water feature that had not seen use for some
time.

Now that
the initial shock had worn off, Simon was able to study the facade
more carefully and realised that things were not as they at first
appeared. Everything was worn and unkempt, as though lost and
abandoned. Frowning carefully, he began to walk as he studied the
edifice.

Aware of
his surprise, Francesca continued to walk down the path, giving him
the time to absorb the mess Thistledown House was in. If she was
honest, she had no idea how she was going to go about restoring the
place, or even if she wanted to. It was such a mess, that she
wasn’t sure that it was possible to return it to its former glory.
But she was loath to apologise for its run-down and dilapidated
state.

“
What happened to it?” Simon asked, scowling at the dark scorch
marks marring the yellow stonework on one side of the building. The
boarded up windows on the far side of the house, together with the
variety of weeds that grew rampantly around the main driveway,
bespoke an age-old elegance that was long since past its
prime.

“
There was a fire,” Francesca replied after several minutes of
silence. She refused to study the house for too long. It brought
about such an air of helplessness that she wasn’t sure she could
bear it.

“
It can be repaired, surely?” Simon demanded, wondering why she
was so despondent. It was damaged, and would undoubtedly cost a
fortune to put right, but still, nothing was impossible.

Francesca sighed, knowing that his rapid-fire questions were
likely to continue unless she put a stop to them. She had no
intention of explaining herself to a stranger, even one who had
saved her life. The sooner he realised that and agreed to mind his
own business, the better for both of them. As he had insisted on
escorting her home, then she would allow him to the rear of the
house, thank him once again and then bid him goodbye. She wouldn’t
think about him, or wonder about him again. Inside, a small
niggling voice warned her that she wasn’t being entirely honest
with herself, because she knew that this man had made a big impact
on her senses.

“
Not at the moment. It’s too early,” she bit out, knowing the
question he was going to ask next before he uttered the
words.