Smuggler's Glory

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Smuggler's Glory Page 4

by King, Rebecca


  “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 abou
t 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.

  “Why? When did it happen?” Simon frowned, studying the weeds growing up the scarred stonework carefully. Two months, three at the most?

  Sighing loudly, she glared at him impatiently. “Four months ago my uncle was sitting in the room in that far corner when there was a fire. Unfortunately, my uncle wasn’t able to get out in time.” Her voice trembled at the last words and she bit back the sob that hovered on her lips. “Now please, I really would like to get home now;” with that she swept around him and stomped toward the house, the subject clearly not open to discussion. She didn’t need to look back over her shoulder to know he was there. Everything within her seemed attuned to his movements and it was beginning to annoy her.

  Her problems couldn’t involve anyone else. There were far too many situations for her to deal with at the present time without a stranger adding to the mix. Glancing sideways at the man now walking with her, she knew instinctively that he could pose a very big thorn in her side if she allowed it. The speed and efficiency with which he had despatched the two thugs who had attacked her had been startling, and strangely unnerving to watch. The man was a trained fighter, and it belied his claim that he was here to simply paint. His sudden appearance when she needed it the most was a little suspicious only, until she had the time to think about it in more detail, she wasn’t sure what to make of Much Hampton’s latest arrival. Had his appearance on the path just now been mere circumstance?

  Whatever the reason he had arrived at Much Hampton, Francesca knew he had to leave – soon.

  “I’m sorry,” Simon muttered. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He knew there was much more than she was letting on but clearly the subject upset her. If he was honest, he was battling his own demons going anywhere near the place. It was so similar to the house in which he had grown up that it was startling. Revisiting the ghosts that came with it wasn’t an entirely pleasant prospect, and he was struggling to absorb the riotous emotions that had already begun to tumble through him.

  Silence settled between them while they circled the huge building and walked toward one of the doors at the rear of the house. Once at the door, Francesca turned and smiled weakly at the man.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I got your name,” Simon muttered, feeling as though he was standing on the cusp of something, only he didn’t know what. He fought the urge to fidget and check over his shoulder. The feelings surging through him left him uncomfortable and on edge, but even so, there was something deep inside that refused to allow him to simply turn around and walk away.

  “Francesca.” She could see no reason for him to know her title.

  “Do I call you Lady Francesca?” Simon asked, biting down on his growing frustration. She should be working for Hugo, Simon thought. Trying to get information out of her was like trying to pull hen’s teeth.

  “No, just Francesca.” With a mental sigh, Francesca knew she couldn’t allow the man to leave without at least learning his name.

  “Well, Francesca, I’m Simon Marlbrook, but you may call me Simon.”

  Francesca offered him a weak smile, very aware that manners dictated that she at least offer him refreshments before sending him on his way but something kept her quiet. She knew that if she allowed him inside, she would struggle to get him back out again. There was something about his calm expectancy that annoyed her and she was determined not to play along. Eyeing the basket, she held her hand out.

  “Thank you for escorting me home and, for your help on the path. It was very kind of you to come to my rescue.” She mentally sighed when Simon made no attempt to hand the basket over, merely smiled obliquely at her, clearly waiting. She fought the urge to kick him.

  Simon almost smirked at the growing frustration on her face. She was trying her best to get rid of him as politely as possible, but clearly had no idea how much she had just handed him. There was no way in hell he was going anywhere except through the door behind her, she just didn’t know it yet.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Francesca almost screamed when the door behind her was suddenly wrenched open at the same time as a large flash of lightening lit the skies.

  “Oh, Francesca dear, there you are! I thought I heard someone, come on in, before you get soaked, we -,”

  Francesca sighed as Madeline lapsed into shocked silence at the tall man standing beside her.

  “This is Simon Marlbrook,” Francesca warned, glaring pointedly at Madeline in the hopes she would take the hint. She didn’t. “This is Madeline, my companion.”

  “Oh, well, hello, Mr Marlbrook,” Madeline replied doubtfully, bobbing into a curtsey.

  “Please, call me Simon,” Simon’s lips quirked up slightly at the corners and he bowed over her proffered hand. He had no idea if servants below stairs bowed and curtseyed to each other, but until he could garner more information on her position in the household, he was happy to oblige. He wondered why, if she was Francesca’s companion, she hadn’t sought to accompany her charge into the village. His suspicious nature pushed him to discover just what was happening, and why everything around here was so unusual.

  “Erm, yes, quite,” Madeline replied, clearly at a loss. “What happened to you?” she gasped, eyeing the mess on Francesca’s dresses. Outrage lined her weathered face for several moments and she glared accusingly at Simon, who wasn’t altogether certain she wouldn’t cuff him around his ears for the unknown liberties he had taken.

  Francesca coughed loudly and glared at Simon, silently willing him to keep quiet. She didn’t want Madeline or Bertie to worry any more than they already were. She had no doubt that if Bertie got wind of what had happened on the road, he would blame himself for not being well enough to accompany her into the village. It had taken some heavy handed persuasion before Madeline had finally relented to Francesca going into the village alone: someone had to stay at Thistledown and look after Bertie and, as Francesca was the one holding the purse strings, it had made more sense for her to go and purchase the supplies they needed to take them through the next few days.

  Picking up on her cue, Simon’s eyes locked with hers in silent understanding. “Francesca has had a fall. I found her and escorted her home to make sure she arrived safely. I am new to the village and was looking for a place to stay for a few nights, but alas, I am to be disappointed.” Inside he was relieved that it had started to pour down with rain. It gave him another excuse to linger in order to achieve his goal.

  “Oh, but the tavern closed down several months ago, and there really isn’t anywhere else,” Madeline gushed, fluttering around Francesca like a mother hen.

  Simon mentally groaned, wondering if Madeline was her mother and had latched onto Simon being the only eligible bachelor in the area. Had he just walked into a trap? Once again he felt the matrimonial shackles being roughly shaken, and felt the urge to bolt for the door. He would rather face a fierce thunderstorm than the vicar, any day of the week. As it was, he had little choice but to stay there, at least for the time being.

  “Madeline, I am fi
ne. It was just a little tumble, that’s all,” Francesca frowned. Although she loved Madeline, the former nursemaid could be a little overprotective at times.

  “Well then, I’ll make some tea while you gather yourself. Oh good, you managed to get some provisions. That should tide us over for the time being, at least until Bertie can go into Bodmin,” Madeline chattered as she gathered the basket, seemingly oblivious to Francesca and Simon still standing in the kitchen. “Oh, don’t stand there, please go into the parlour while I get some tea,” she waved toward the ornately carved door at the far end of the room before busying herself at the dresser.

  “If you would care to take tea before you go?” Francesca asked reluctantly, knowing his answer.

  “Can I put my horse in the stables out of the deluge for now? He is averse to thunderstorms and is likely to run off if he is left outside unaccompanied.”

  It was on the tip of Francesca’s tongue to tell him that he could sit on his horse and then if it ran, they would be together but she kept quiet and nodded slowly instead.

  “Our horse, Dolly, is in there. She is old and will enjoy the company,” Madeline replied as though the question had been put to her rather than Francesca. She was bustling about the kitchen as she prepared a tray of tea things and missed Francesca’s frustrated sigh.

  Francesca turned to the man beside her only to find the space empty. She glared through the open door at the broad expanse of the man’s back as he stalked, with his horse, across the courtyard toward the stable block. Clearly he didn’t intend giving her the chance to change her mind.

  “What happened really?” Madeline asked, moving to stand beside Francesca.

  “I was mugged by Tom Simpson and Charlie Wick on the road,” she ignored Madeline’s gasp and hastened to reassure her. “I’m alright. But he appeared right out of the middle of nowhere, like the grim reaper, and laid both men out before they could even bat an eyelid.” She glanced sideways at Madeline and read her startled look for what it was.

 

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