Smuggler's Glory (9 page)

Having
toured the entire ground floor of the house, minutes later Simon
eased out of the conservatory door, and silently vanished into the
shadows. Once in the sheltered protection of the small copse of
trees, he paused to gather his bearings and scout the area.
Although he couldn’t see anyone, he could feel eyes watching him,
and frowned. There was no way of scouting the area without being
seen. Keeping a wary eye on the gardens, he slowly began to
circumnavigate the perimeter of the house. Learning the layout of
the land in the darkness would give him an advantage if he was
chased, or needed to pursue anyone.

Several
hours later, having gone as far as he could for the time being at
least, Simon slowly returned to the house, approaching from behind
the stable block. As was habitual for him, he didn’t walk straight
up to the building, and instead paused in the shadows, studying the
area carefully for any sign of movement. The house was truly in the
middle of nowhere and left him feeling as though he could easily
have been the only person left in the country.

He was
about to leave the sheltered protection of the stable block when
the sudden flurry of movement at the end of the block drew his
attention. A dark frown swept over his face and he watched the
heavily cloaked figure scurry across the side garden and disappear
through the kitchen door.

“
Well, well, well,” Simon whispered, noting that once inside
the cloaked figure felt they knew the house well enough not to need
to light a candle.

Within
seconds he was entering the side door of the conservatory in
pursuit of his quarry. He felt reasonably certain that Madeline and
Bertie were, unusually, sleeping in the bedchambers upstairs, but
couldn’t be entirely sure. Easing toward the kitchen, he was
unsurprised to find two damp footprints on the otherwise clean
kitchen floor. Unfortunately, whoever had just entered the kitchen
had had the forethought to remove their boots before going any
further. Turning around he carefully closed the kitchen door and
slid the bolts closed. He studied the footprints as closely as
possible in the dark, before turning toward the back stairs,
undoubtedly the route the new arrival had taken moments earlier. He
paused at the top of the stairs to listen. At the far end of the
corridor, a soft thump of something hitting the floor drew him in
that direction.

Slowly
easing open the last few doors revealed nothing more unusual than
room after empty room. That is, until the last door on the left.
Easing open the door, he was immediately aware of the soft glow of
embers from the fireplace that bathed the room in an orange glow.
Unlike the other rooms, this bedchamber bespoke warmth and
occupancy. It felt as though something deep inside him was already
linked to her, and he knew without entering the room that this was
Francesca’s bedroom. He had no idea about scents, but could
immediately identify the sweet yet slightly musky scent as
Francesca’s.

Sure
enough, she lay in sleepy abandon in the middle of the bed and, if
her boots sitting next to the chair beside him were any indication,
she hadn’t been out for some considerable time. Something inside
him was relieved to be able to remove her from suspicion, but the
warrior in him still refused to be fooled so easily. During his
time in the Star Elite, and before, he had seen more than one good
soldier be struck down by a duplicitous female. He had no intention
of becoming one of those unfortunate souls who was ensnared by
beauty, only to find himself stabbed in the back.

Well
aware that his back was open to attack from the corridor, Simon
decided to take the opportunity to search her room. Keeping a wary
eye on her slumbering form, he eased into the room, silently
closing the door behind him. It didn’t take long to search her
belongings. Unless she was very good at hiding things, there were
really very few possessions at all with most drawers remaining
empty. The few items she did have were soft and well
worn.

He
studied the room carefully, before his eyes turned toward her. The
rhythmic rise and fall of her chest remained unchanged. She was
still beautiful, even with her features relaxed in slumber and he
felt the unfamiliar urge to lie down next to her. Tiredness began
to slow his movements and, even though he could go on for several
hours yet, if he had any chance of being of any use tomorrow night,
he had to get some sleep. He was about to turn toward the door when
the creaking of a floorboard in the hallway outside broke the
silence. At the same time, Francesca moaned and rolled over in
bed.

Staring
at the door for a moment, Simon turned to study the woman on the
bed. She looked like a goddess with her hair fanned out across the
bed. The white of her nightgown lay in stark contrast to her dark
golden hair. He thought about the white strands he had seen earlier
and was inordinately pleased that the grey wasn’t her natural
colour. His fingers itched to stroke the honeyed strands and see
for himself if it really was as soft as it looked. He instinctively
clenched his fingers into a tight ball to prevent himself from
crossing the room and finding out.

Outside
the door, the gentle rustle of fabric snapped him away from
temptation. With all of his senses tuned to movement beyond the
door, Simon eased around until he was standing with his back to the
wall. Whoever was moving around, was looking for something, of that
he was certain, but what?

One hand was placed on the holster of his gun as he watched
the knob on the door slowly begin to turn. As silently as a ghost
in the night, the door to the otherwise ramshackle house swung
silently inward.
There was no creaking or
groaning like his bed
, Simon thought
wondering if someone had taken the time to oil the
hinges.

Standing
behind the door, Simon caught a glimpse of the back of a black
cloak. It was undoubtedly the same person who had snuck into the
house earlier. But where had they been, and what did they want with
Francesca? Was it Madeline, or Bertie?

Quickly
scanning the room, Simon knew he couldn’t be seen through the
mirror at the far end of the room but he was at a distinct
disadvantage. He waited for what seemed like an age before the door
slowly began to close. The cloaked figure hadn’t entered the room.
For some reason they had been checking on Francesca, but was that
to check which room was hers, or was it to assure themselves that
she was safely tucked up in bed, fast asleep and oblivious to their
activities?

The door
was only partly closed when he yanked it toward him. Determined to
get answers, he lunged through the door and raced after the cloaked
figure, down the stairs and through the house toward the front
door. He made no noise as he flew down the stairs, gaining valuable
ground when the figure was delayed at the front door by the heavy
iron bolt. They almost managed to get outside, but Simon was
quicker and grabbed hold of the thick woollen fabric, tugging it
harshly. The figure spun around and began to flail wildly with
skinny arms. Their fight was hampered by the voluminous folds of
the heavy cloak, giving Simon the opportunity to use his height and
weight to his advantage. Unfortunately, his attempts to wrench the
hood away from the face were dashed when the material suddenly went
limp.

“
Damn it,” he snarled, watching the thin figure crash through
the thick bushes in front of the house. Within seconds Simon was in
hot pursuit, lunging through the dense foliage with nothing more
than his quarry in mind but, despite his most valiant effort, the
intruder escaped. His chest was heaving moments later when he
appeared at the kitchen door for the second time that night.
Somewhere in the side gardens he had lost sight of the figure,
which had seemingly vanished into thin air. He briefly considered
giving chase, but knew the unknown intruder had familiarity on his
side. Determined not to be thwarted for a second time, Simon began
to secure the windows and doors around the house, checking to make
sure the intruder hadn’t simply gone right around the house and
back in through the kitchen door. His curses were blistering when
he found the kitchen door standing slightly open.

Did that mean someone in the house
was
the intruder, or someone inside
was
helping
the
intruder? Even more importantly, if they lived in the house, they
couldn’t really be an intruder, could they? So, why had they
checked on Francesca? What did they want? Slowly closing the door
and securing it with the heavy iron bolt, Simon did another check
of the house, unsurprised to find it undisturbed. He sighed and
shook his head at his own stupidity when he realised that the front
door had been left wide open. Once it was secured, he left the now
secure entrance hall to check on Francesca.

Taking
the main stairs two at a time, he cursed himself when the reality
dawned that he had just been played for a fool. Not only had he
given his whereabouts away, but he had left the one woman who
seemed to be under threat alone, unprotected and, more devastating
to him, had left the bloody doors wide open for anyone to get
in.

The
enormity of the relief that swept through him as he rounded the
corner of the doorway and saw her still sleeping, seemingly
undisturbed, shook him greatly. Easing into the room, he closed the
door behind him and studied the room. At first glance everything
seemed undisturbed, and he would have considered that nobody had
been near since he had left the room to chase the figure in black,
if it wasn’t for the dresser drawer that was now slightly open,
with some white fabric sticking out of it, and the door of the
wardrobe that was now standing slightly ajar. Both of which he had
left closed and as neat as he had found them. Either he was going
mad, or someone had searched the room while he had been
gone.

Certain
that it couldn’t have been the cloaked figure he had chased, Simon
studied the woman on the bed carefully. Had Francesca left the bed
and checked her belongings? It seemed a ridiculous notion to even
contemplate, but over the past few years in his line of work, he
had learned not to dismiss any possibility.

Quietly
turning the lock on the door, Simon crept toward the wardrobe, his
gun pointed toward the wooden door that lay partially open. Was
someone inside? Had they tried to hide in the one place they
thought he wouldn’t go? His blood thumped in his veins. Every sense
was on alert as he approached the door. His fingers grasped the
small brass knob at the same time as he raised his gun to eye
level. In one wild flurry of movement, he yanked open the door and
took aim.

“
What the
hell
are you doing?”

Simon
swung around, his gun pointed directly at Francesca’s head. Her
gasp met his ears but had no impact. He was lost in the depths of
her wide amber eyes as she stared up at him in horror. Closing his
eyes, Simon fought to gather his control and slowly lowered his
gun.

“
I’m sorry, please forgive me.”

“
Forgive you?” Francesca glared incredulously, her eyes
flickering between him and her wardrobe and back again. “For
pointing a gun at my wardrobe?”

“
Shhh,” Simon warned, raising a finger to his lips. He could
sense her next question and raised his hand mutely. His sigh was
loud when he eased closer to whisper to her, only to find her
backing away cautiously.

“
You’re perfectly safe, for Christ sakes,” Simon snapped. “Just
keep your voice down, there is something I need to tell you.” He
hated to do it, but glancing around the room it was evident that
there was really very little choice. “Let’s sit down and I will
tell you, but for God’s sakes, just keep quiet.”

Francesca scowled at him, but nevertheless did as she was
told and moved toward the bed, yanking her elbow out of his hold as
she went. She had no idea what he thought he was doing, but if he
thought he was going to be taking any liberties with her, he had
another think coming.

“
I think you had better remain standing and tell me what you
have to tell me. Then I want you to leave my room,
Mr Marlbrook
. I feel it
would be better under the circumstances, if you left first thing in
the morning.” Her voice held every ounce of outraged formality she
could summon, but she was achingly aware that its impact was
thoroughly diminished by the fact that she was sitting unashamedly
in her nightgown on the edge of her rumpled bed. Her cheeks flared
at the thought of Simon seeing her in such a state of
deshabille
, and she
quickly drew a blanket around herself to cover her
modesty.

Simon
fought a groan and almost told her it was too little too late.
Covering her nightgown didn’t go any way toward rendering her
unattractive. With her beautiful golden hair tumbling wildly around
her shoulders, and the last vestiges of sleep still clinging to her
eyes, she looked as though she had just spent the night in her
lover’s arms, only he wanted to be that lover. Shaking his head to
erase the erotic images that filtered through his mind, Simon held
up a pleading hand.

“
Get out of my bedchamber,” she bit out, feeling embarrassed
and nervous at the same time.

“
We need to talk first,” Simon warned her, shaking his head to
warn her that he wouldn’t be put off. Even in the shadowy room he
could see the feminine fury building in her beautiful eyes, and
hesitated. The last thing he needed was to risk her ire.