by Kate Bateman
Maddie shuddered. She watched him stalk back to the house, then tuned to find Gryff looming beside her.
Her stomach flipped. Dear God, how long had he been listening in the darkness? Had he overheard what Sir Mostyn had said? Pride and humiliation burned two hot flags on her cheeks and she glanced up at him warily, braced for his scorn.
Tension crackled around him like before a summer lightning storm.
“What are you doing out here alone?”
Maddie stiffened at his scolding tone, even as her heart turned over in relief. If he’d heard Sir Mostyn’s blackmail, it would have been the first thing out of his mouth. Which meant he didn’t know of her imminent disgrace. Thank God.
“I was looking for Harriet.”
“And found Drake. Unlucky.”
His tone was dry, and she couldn’t tell if he was amused at having found her in an embarrassing position, or angry at her for venturing into the gardens unchaperoned.
A spurt of irritation sparked to life within her. He might have arrived at the perfect time to save her from Sir Mostyn, but he wasn’t her father to be bossing her about or scolding her.
“Or maybe you were looking for him too?” Gryff said silkily. “Squire Digby seems to think you’re considering an engagement?”
Maddie bit the inside of her cheek. He’d heard the gossip, then. Damn.
Chapter 31
“It’s true that Sir Mostyn has proposed,” Maddie said carefully.
“You can’t seriously be considering it.”
Maddie frowned. If Gryff wasn’t aware of her financial problems, then why would he think she’d accept a man like Sir Mostyn? Did he truly think her so lacking in prospects? His insultingly low opinion of her stung. She might not be the best catch on the marriage mart, but she certainly wasn’t the worst.
“If I am, it’s no concern of yours.”
There was enough light that she could see him frown. His lips curled in disgust. “How could you marry a man like that? He’s a repulsive old letch.”
The sentiment was so close to her own feelings that it was hard to keep her countenance bland, but her pride kicked in and she lifted her nose in the air. “Who I choose is my own affair.”
He made a derisive sound and stepped closer. “Will you let him kiss you? Will you let him put his hands on your skin?” His voice dropped to a low growl that brought goose bumps to her arms. “Will you let him touch you the way I touched you, Maddie?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. Tension arced between them, but before she could answer, his expression turned feral.
“Will you let him bed you? Let him spend himself inside you, shuddering and slobbering?”
Her stomach rebelled against the vile image, and the look he gave her, as if he suddenly loathed her, cut her to the quick.
“If you do, then you’re no better than the whores in Covent Garden, selling yourself for a handful of coins.”
He ran a hand through his hair, fury evident in every line of his taut frame. “And at least those whores get some pleasure out of the transaction. What would you get, Maddie? Money for dresses, and hats? Finance for your archaeological digs? What?”
His scathing assessment had her close to tears, but she held herself tall. “I am under no obligation to explain myself to you.”
He made a harsh sound. “I thought you had more self-respect. What about children? Will he give them to you? He already has three of his own, full grown. And you’re, what? Twenty-two to his sixty. He’s in his dotage and you’re in your prime.” He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Do you think he’ll make you a rich widow soon? Is that it?”
Maddie’s heart squeezed in her chest. She’d thought they were friends; he thought she was a mercenary, heartless bitch. “You don’t know anything about me or my motives,” she managed shakily. “It’s none of your affair.”
“You can’t mean to be faithful,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Will you take a lover, like half the married women of the ton?” His tone was tinged with bitterness. “You’d better hope he’s not a jealous husband. I’ve just faced one those on the dueling field. Damn unpleasant for everyone.”
Maddie tossed her head, goaded into replying. “And what if I do take a lover? It would have to be someone like you. Someone who wants no commitment, no permanence, just a few nights’ pleasure before he moves on.”
She’d meant to wound and saw him flinch.
Good. He deserved it.
“Someone like me?” He stopped pacing and lowered his face to hers. The air vibrated between them, some terrible combination of frustration and desire, and Maddie had the fierce urge to hurt him as she was hurting. In the same breath she wanted him to take her in his arms and hold her tight.
Impossible. She had to make him leave before she broke down and confessed everything. Her father’s debts, her own pathetic longings, everything.
Gryff’s brows drew together. “Is that why you wanted me last night? As a stud? One last hurrah before you’re locked away with an old man?”
It was her turn to flinch. He raked her body with a scathing glare that nevertheless managed to increase her pulse, then caught her elbow just above her glove in the same way Sir Mostyn had done.
“Are you pregnant? Looking for a father for your bastard? Is that it?”
Her patience snapped. How could he think such things of her? She’d thought he understood her. Respected her. Instead, he was accusing her of being a cold-blooded fortune hunter.
“What if I said yes?” she hissed. “What would you do? Offer for me instead?”
His silence was damming.
She managed a creditable sneer of her own, even as her innermost dreams crumbled into dust. “Your face says it all, Lord Powys. But don’t worry. I’m not with child. Both you and Sir Mostyn are safe from my nefarious clutches.”
He sent her a look of mystified fury. “Then why? Does he have some hold over you? Are you being forced?”
The sudden switch from anger to solicitude almost broke her. How could she answer that without betraying her father? Herself? The awful truth was, he was right. She was little better than a whore. Oh, she might not be selling herself to Sir Mostyn, but wasn’t she mentally preparing to sell herself to someone, soon, in return for their fortune?
Her face flamed in mortification and at that moment she hated Gryff for forcing her to confront the stark array of options open to her.
He released her with a derisive shake of his head. “Well, I hate to be the one to spoil your plans, but I strongly suspect Sir Mostyn is a criminal.”
“What?”
“That was no random attack in the woods. The man who came for me was one of the ones who beat Brookes. Who else but Drake could have sent him after me?”
Maddie’s pulse pounded in her ears as she absorbed his words. Was it true? She’d barely caught a glimpse of the first rider before she’d been distracted by the second. And she’d been in too much pain from her wound to look at him when they’d returned to the well.
“But—”
“Drake’s hand-in-glove with the smugglers, I’m sure of it,” Gryff growled. “But I won’t have proof until we catch them in the act. Until then, you need to stay as far away from him as possible. He can’t know that you’re a witness too.”
Maddie caught his sleeve. “What are you going to do?”
“My brothers and I will set up an ambush at the caves tomorrow night. Brookes’s superior officer is bringing men to help.”
“I want to come. It’s—”
“Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous, and you’ll just get in the way.”
Maddie scowled up at him but didn’t bother arguing. Gryff’s set jaw and mulish expression were ample evidence that he wouldn’t change his mind.
She smoothed her hands down the front of her skirts and sent him a polite nod, summoning every ounce of icy poise she possessed. “Very well. In that case, I’ll wish you good luck. I can make my own way back to the b
allroom.”
To her immense relief, he moved aside to let her pass, and she forced herself not to run as she returned to the house.
The gaiety within was at odds with the bleak misery in her heart. She felt empty, burned out, like a tree that had been struck by lightning—hollow and charred inside.
She wasn’t dead, though. And people didn’t die of a broken heart, except in Harriet’s gothic novels. She would survive this, just as she had survived everything else.
Chapter 32
The next day dragged by. The Aunts had accepted an invitation to tea with Doctor Williams, and her father was buried in his study beneath a mound of paperwork.
Maddie hated the thought of staying behind while the Davies men took part in the ambush, but she understood why she wouldn’t be welcome. Gryff had probably set up countless traps like this in his time in the fusiliers. The last thing he’d want was some untried amateur getting in the way.
Still, the feeling of exclusion stung. She had just as much right to watch the smugglers get their comeuppance as he did. It wasn’t fair that she should miss all the excitement.
In an attempt not to think about all the dreadful things she and Gryff had said the previous night, she picked up a copy of Gulliver’s Travels, hoping the satirical work would satisfy her craving for adventure. But the unflattering parallels between the two warring factions in the tale and her own situation just depressed her. The rift between Swift’s Big-Endians and Little-Endians, who were constantly at odds over the “right” way to chop the top off a boiled egg, seemed just as ridiculous as the petty squabbling between the Davieses and Montgomerys.
And yet she could see no end in sight.
“Oh, miss, there you are.” Gwynn the housemaid hovered in the doorway, wringing her hands in a nervous, agitated way. “I’ve been looking for you all over.”
Maddie frowned. The last time she’d seen the girl, she’d related her late-night run-in with Ned, and the two of them had had a good chuckle about it. But there was no amusement on Gwynn’s face now.
“Whatever’s wrong?”
“Oh, miss, I don’t know who to tell. It’s about your Sir Mostyn, you see.”
“He’s not my Sir Mostyn,” Maddie corrected.
“No, miss, and I’m right glad of that. I never heard a good thing about him, and now I got proof that he’s a bad’n.”
Maddie put down her book. “What do you mean?”
“He’s mixed up in some plot against the customs men, miss.”
“How do you know this?”
“My Ned, from the Red Dragon. Some strangers were talkin’ in the snug. He heard the name Drake, so ’e started to listen.”
“What did they say?”
“One of the men said Drake had warned someone named Sadler that the customs boys were trying to catch them in the act. They all laughed and said how Sadler would ’ave a surprise of ’is own.”
A wave of dread slid down Maddie’s spine. “You mean the smugglers are expecting some kind of ambush?”
Gwynn nodded miserably. “Yes, miss. One of ’em mentioned Guy Fawkes.”
Maddie pressed her fingers to her lips. Guy Fawkes had set barrels of gunpowder beneath the Houses of Parliament in London two centuries ago, in a failed attempt to kill King James. Did the smugglers plan a similar trick? Did they mean to lure Gryff and the customs men inside the cave, and then … blow them up?
She leapt to her feet. “Thank you for coming to me. I’ll see that something is done.” She squeezed Gwynn’s arm in gratitude.
The maid bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you, miss. I don’t want nobody to get hurt. Those smugglers are a blight. They give honest people a bad name, they do.”
Maddie ran down the hall, her thoughts in turmoil. She had to warn Gryff that he was walking into a trap. But how? He’d probably already left Trellech Court, so sending a note there was out of the question. And he’d undoubtedly arranged to meet the customs men somewhere away from town for secrecy—it was unlikely she’d just stumble across them if she went galloping around the countryside.
Should she ride directly to the caves? She might find Gryff, but she could just as easily run into the smugglers. It was too risky.
The best option would be to go back through the tunnels, retracing the route she and Gryff had taken. If she arrived before the smugglers, she could wait until they set their trap and withdrew. Then she could either disable the gunpowder herself, or be in a position to warn Gryff when he and his men entered the cave.
But the thought of navigating the tunnels alone was very unappealing. Even following the chalk arrows, she could still lose her way or injure herself. It would be the height of foolishness to go alone.
She turned and pounded on Harriet’s door. She hated the thought of putting her cousin in danger, but Harry was an excellent navigator and always kept a level head in a crisis.
“Harry, I need your help!”
Harriet listened with wide eyes as Maddie revealed the plan, but her answer was unequivocal. “Of course I’ll come. Let’s go.”
They dressed quickly, in warm woolen skirts, jackets, and shawls, in case they had to wait for some time for the smugglers to arrive. Maddie packed her satchel with an array of potentially useful items, including extra candles and a tinderbox.
They saddled up Sir Galahad and a shy mare named Guinevere, rode swiftly to the clearing, and tied them to a tree near the Virtuous Well.
Harriet was as enthralled and delighted by the tunnel system as Maddie had been. They slid down the rocky embankment, and together they began following the chalk arrows. Harriet made a rudimentary map as they hurried along, noting the major distinctive features they passed.
It seemed to take less time to arrive at the tunnel’s end than before. Maddie extinguished their lanterns and crept forward to peer through the hole, just in case a guard had been set in the cave, but after a few minutes of silent observation it became clear that nobody was there. Only the soft suck and slap of the outgoing tide sounded in the space.
“Where’s all the contraband?” Harriet asked, poking her head through the opening next to Maddie and peering down into the cave.
Maddie pointed to the second cave, below them and to their left. The smugglers’ stash was still there; the dark lumps of oilcloth-shrouded barrels could just be seen, stacked near the entrance.
“The tunnel’s like this one—it leads back into the rock.”
“We should stay up here,” Harriet said softly. “It’s unlikely anyone will look up this high and see us.” She wrinkled her nose and squinted at some object across the cave. “What on earth is that?”
Maddie followed her gaze. A pale shape was lodged at the high-tide mark, just below the smugglers’ cache. Her stomach plummeted in sudden recognition.
“It’s my bonnet!” she gasped. “It blew off when I met Lord Powys at the bridge, and floated down the river.”
“Well, it must have gone all the way to the sea and washed in here on the tide. Or maybe the river connects to these caves?”
Maddie groaned. “The smugglers will see it. What if they think someone’s here, and start looking? We have to get rid of it. Stay here, I’ll climb over and get it.”
“Be quick, then.”
Maddie clambered through the hole in the rock and balanced on the rocky ledge, just as she’d done with Gryff. Unlike the last time she’d been in the cave, the tide was still partially in; the floor was submerged beneath several feet of water. She’d have to clamber sideways, across the rocks, to reach the sodden hat if she didn’t want to get wet.
Summoning her courage, she tucked the hem of her skirts up unto her waistband and made her way across the rocky expanse. Harriet called out helpful instructions from her perch, telling her where to put her hands or feet.
“There!” She snatched the mangled bonnet from the rocks and waved it triumphantly in the air, then hauled herself up into the mouth of the tunnel to catch her breath. She was about to start the return trip when Har
riet hissed a warning and started gesticulating wildly toward the entrance.
“Someone’s coming!”
Sure enough, the sound of deep masculine voices and splashing water was coming closer.
Maddie made a swift calculation of the distance between herself and Harriet.
“There’s no time for me to climb back over there to you,” she whispered. “I’ll hide back here.” She pointed into the cave behind her. “Hopefully it’s Gryff and his men.”
Harriet’s pale face bobbed a nod in the darkness.
With a hurried swirl of skirts, Maddie groped her way to the very back of the smugglers’ cache. The deeper she went into the cave the darker it got, and she cursed the fact that she couldn’t light a candle for fear of exposing her position.
Thankfully, the tunnel extended much farther than she’d dared to hope: The barrels and contraband had been stacked in neat rows near the entrance. She squeezed past them and concealed herself behind a huge wall of stalagmites that rose from the floor like the teeth of some enormous beast.
Several men entered the cave. Flames flickered across the inner walls as lanterns were lit. She strained her ears, praying to hear Gryff’s commanding tones.
“Right boys, get up there and start hauling barrels. I want this place empty by sundown.”
Her blood froze. She recognized that voice, and it certainly didn’t belong to Gryff. It was the man named Sadler, who’d ordered the murder of Brookes. She crouched lower, hardly daring to breathe as several men clambered up to the entrance of her cave and began ripping off the oilcloth coverings and passing the tubs of brandy down to their colleagues below. Their lanterns sent monstrous shadows, like hunchbacked giants, curving up the rock walls.
They were frighteningly efficient. In hardly any time at all the barrels had been removed, along with several huge wooden tea chests and bundles of other goods she couldn’t identify. The plaintive braying of a donkey from outside indicated they were using at least one of the beasts to carry the barrels up the steep hillside.