Smuggler's Glory

by King, Rebecca

Simon was trying to keep control of his fear. It was a highly unusual emotion that he wasn’t familiar with. It made his thoughts far too jumbled. When her parents had left, he had assumed that Francesca had gone to her room for something and had expected her to appear in the kitchens. When she didn’t, he had planned to go in search of her only to be waylaid by Pie who wanted to go through the plans they had made for the following day. It wasn’t lost on Simon that he had yet to discuss leaving with Francesca. Glancing out of the window, he was surprised to see dusk was already beginning to descend.

  “I’ll go and check,” he murmured, feeling the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “There’s something wrong, I just know it.”

  He knew he should have sought a private conversation with Francesca as soon as her parents’ carriage had left the driveway, but he had still been struggling with surprise at his own depth of love for her. It bothered him that she hadn’t sought him out and asked for clarification.

  A quick check of the downstairs rooms revealed them to be empty. Taking the stairs two at a time, he arrived at his room feeling slightly deflated, to find it empty. Francesca’s room, as well as the rest of the upper floors, were all empty. In the attic room he moved to the window and stared out into the encroaching darkness.

  Had she been taken? If so, why? Had someone been watching earlier and seen the possessive arm he had put around her? Cursing fluidly, he spun away from the window and raced for the stairs, yelling for Pie and Archie as he went. Unsurprisingly they were halfway up the main staircase, guns drawn by the time he reached the upper landing.

  “Francesca’s gone,” he spat, sweeping past them and racing into the kitchen. It didn’t seem possible to think that she would actually want to be outside in the pouring rain. The night they had discovered Madeline’s body swept before him in horrifying detail. It had been raining that night, too. Closing his eyes, he tried to keep the fear at bay and think logically. Panicking could get her killed.

  Puffing out his cheeks, he stared blankly at his hands, unsure where to start. “Did she just go for a walk and get lost?”

  “She knows the moors like the back of her hand,” Bertie replied wisely. “She won’t get lost. If you just wait a while, she will be back soon.”

  “How do you know?” Simon demanded, refusing to be mollified.

  “Because Francesca is as wild as the moors she lives in. Just as beautiful, too. She spent many hours walking mile after mile around the moors with her uncle, mulling over problems and discussing solutions. It was where she was happiest, besides here.” Bertie nodded to Simon. “Having her parents turn up on her doorstep will be what done it. You know, upset her. When the moors have worked their magic, she will come back. Wetter, colder but far more at peace with her lot. You’ll see.”

  Simon wanted to shake the man for his lax care of her. Bertie might be prepared to sit back and allow night to descend, but he wasn’t so casual. Not about this. Not about Francesca’s safety. He should be getting some rest before they left for their mission, but it was impossible to consider settling down with Francesca out on the moors, alone.

  “I’m going to check around,” Simon muttered, waving Pie and Archie back down and glancing at Bertie, who was watching him with a knowing glint in his eye.

  “You’re going on a fool’s errand,” Bertie reported. “She’ll be back and you won’t, then what will you do when you have walked miles around the moor for nothing?”

  Simon paused beside the back door. Dusk hadn’t settled completely and it was still light enough to see. While darkness was held in abeyance, there was every chance that he could see her if she was heading home, as long as he found himself a high spot with a good view of the surrounding area. He was mentally running through possible locations when a flurry of movement at the top end of the stable yard drew his attention. He practically sagged with relief at the sight of her walking toward him.

  The bottom of her dress was ruined. Her walking boots stained and muddy. With her hair hanging down in damp curls around her face, she looked like an orphan. He had to struggle with the urge to sweep her into his arms and chastise her for scaring him.

  Now that he was assured that she was safe, he felt his blood begin to boil.

  “Just what the hell do you think you are doing?” he bellowed, slamming the door behind her with so much force that it rattled alarmingly in the frame.

  Francesca stood before him, dripping all over the floor, and simply stared. “I needed some fresh air to think.”

  “Fresh - .” Simon shook his head, aghast that she could be so blindingly stupid. “Might I remind you that there are dangerous murderers running loose? Do you have any idea what could have happened if they had come across you?”

  Francesca merely shrugged unconcernedly. “I didn’t see anyone.” Indeed, there were several times over the course of her walk that she had thought she was the only person left in the country. She had crested the top of an escarpment and been able to see for miles, and hadn’t spotted a single person. It bothered her that despite her best efforts, the moor hadn’t been able to soothe her battered soul the way it used to.

  “Did you not think to leave a note? Call to us that you were leaving? Anything?” Simon asked, fighting the urge to shake her.

  “If I had then you would have insisted on coming with me, and that would have defeated the purpose of me going for a walk to get some time to myself, now wouldn’t it?” Francesca snapped, feeling her own temper fray. “Now, as much as I would like to stand here while you rant at me for going about my life, I am cold, tired and wet and am going to get changed before I die of putrid lungs.” With that she swept out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

  She didn’t bother to lock the door of her room behind her. Right now, if anyone poked their head in through the door, she would probably beat them to death with her pillow. Instead, she removed her sodden clothing and quickly changed into warm, dry ones. She was starving, but refused to go back down to the kitchen in search of sustenance.

  Seeing Simon looking so at home in her kitchen made her want to cry. She wanted to weep on his shoulder at the same time as she wanted to shout at him for being so heartless. But she knew she couldn’t do either. He had done everything humanly possible to protect her from her problems. He had dealt with Mr Lindsay, even lied to her parents in an attempt to leave her with an easier life, but there was nothing he could do about the pain his departure would bring her. Except stay – which is something she knew he simply couldn’t and wouldn’t do.

  Lighting the fire, she slumped into the chair and placed her feet on the fender to try to warm her frozen toes. She could understand her uncle’s devotion to his wife and his determination when she was so swiftly taken from him, never to replace her. When one finds one’s true love in life, it was impossible to replace it with anything, or anyone. Simon was her one true love. She couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to him, but was helpless to find a way to prevent him from placing himself in danger. It was an integral part of him; what he did. One that he wasn’t prepared to turn his back on, even for her.

  Not that she could blame him. She had nothing to offer him except for a run-down mansion, nightmare parents and desolate moorland. The urge to leave the chair, go downstairs and be with him was so strong that she trembled with the need to move. She was so lost in thought, that she didn’t notice when he appeared in the doorway nearly an hour later.

  When it became apparent that Francesca wouldn’t be returning to the kitchen, Simon realised that he would have to go and find her. He wasn’t lost to the fact that she was still at Thistledown, on the eve of their skirmish with the smugglers. She should be in Padstow by now. Hugo would already be wondering where she and Bertie had got to and deciding when to head out in search of her. Simon felt time pressing in on him and it made him want to shout that it wasn’t long enough.

  Sighing deeply, he knocked gently on the door. He didn’t wait for her to invite him in, simply ent
ered and closed the door behind him. He had forewarned Archie, Pie and Bertie that he was going to confront her about leaving. Bertie was already packing his bag, having assured them that he could find his way through the moors without a problem. Simon hated to send her out across the moors with nobody to protect her except an old man, but there just wasn’t the time to arrange for someone more adequately armed, better trained and younger. He simply couldn’t countenance the possibility that she could remain in Thistledown tomorrow while they prepared the armoury they would need for the battle.

  “I want to talk to you about tomorrow,” Simon began, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  Francesca felt her stomach drop and knew he was about to announce his departure. She tried hard not to shift uncomfortably in her seat and waited patiently for him to continue, but she couldn’t ignore the strength of the cry of denial that hovered on her lips.

  “We have found out what we need to know to bring about the resolution to the mission we were sent here for, as you know.”

  Unable to form the words, Francesca merely nodded.

  “I know you don’t want to go, but you really must leave Thistledown for a few days.” He held up a hand when she instinctively began to protest, and watched as she jumped to her feet, turning to glare at him. Unfortunately that put her directly in front of the fire that turned her nightgown almost see-through.

  “I can’t order you to go, you know that. But I want you to understand just how dangerous it is going to become around here while we return life to normal. None of us can be here to protect you if Lindsay evades capture and decides to come calling, and he inevitably knows that you are alone with only a frail old man for company. I don’t want what happened to Madeline to happen to you.” He tried to keep his voice reasonable, but couldn’t stop the raw fear from making his words almost biting.

  “I am not really your concern, Simon, you know that.”

  “I am afraid you very much are my concern and have been for quite some time.” Francesca lapsed into silence, waiting for something, anything, to show that he really cared for her. She wondered briefly if he would declare his affection for her again like he did outside, but then reality reminded her starkly that men like Simon weren’t interested in women like her. His declaration had been a ruse; a fabrication created to throw her greedy family off her scent.

  “You don’t need to feel responsible for me. I have done nothing more than put a roof over your head for a few nights. You have paid anything you think you have owed me a hundred times over by the way you helped with Madeline’s body, chased after the intruder so readily and confronted my father. You didn’t need to take on my battles, not when you were facing so many of your own.”

  “I am not a noble man,” Simon argued, rising to stand before her. “I am a humble man who has seen more than his fair share of death and destruction. You need to understand that I have spent my life in the darkness for so long now that I don’t belong in the light.” He lifted her hand and placed his much larger one against it. “We are darkness and light. Opposites. You are sunshine and beautiful skies, I am darkness and clouds. I don’t know how I could ever adapt to a life of domesticity and permanence and, as a result, I have nothing I can offer you except myself, which isn’t much. You deserve much more, Francesca. Someone who will love you the way you ought to be loved. Someone who will help you turn this place into a home and send your relatives off with a flea in their ear if they should be stupid enough to show their faces again.” Simon sighed and led her over to the bed, waiting until she sat, before taking a seat beside her. “Believe me, if I could change things then I would, but right now I am facing what is going to be probably the biggest battle of my fighting life. We are facing a very dangerous enemy who has a lot to lose and will do whatever is necessary to evade capture. I may not get out alive,” he said the words, the truth, without thinking and realised his error at her cry of alarm. He glanced up and caught the horror in her eyes, smiling gently at her with humour that didn’t reach his eyes. He knew that he had been unfair by declaring the depth of his affection for her, especially given that he was leaving soon, but the words had broken free before he could stop them. It had felt so right, so natural that he couldn’t regret them. A small part of him wasn’t ignorant of the fact that it was most probably going to be the only chance he may have to tell her.

  “I want you to go and stay with a friend of mine and his wife for several days. He will keep you safe. His wife is wonderful, and would be so happy to have another woman to talk to. Please, Francesca, take Bertie to Padstow for a few days. Keep him safe as well. Pack a bag now, and you can leave at first light.”

  But Francesca was already shaking her head. “This is my home,” she whispered. “I won’t leave it – you.” The words hung between them, ripping the tension like pebbles thrown into a calm pond.

  “I don’t want you here,” Simon sighed, staring down at her hands in an attempt to avoid the pleading he could see building in her beautiful eyes. “I will be able to concentrate on fighting to stay alive better if half of me isn’t thinking about where you are and if you are safe. Please give me a fighting chance, and go and stay with Hugo and Harriett in Padstow.”

  Francesca hesitated. She was torn beyond words. The last thing she wanted was to arrive unannounced in any stranger’s house and prevail upon their generosity while waiting to learn Simon’s fate. She didn’t think she could stand the fear, the stress and the worry.

  Simon cursed fluidly, feeling desperation build. He saw the stubborn determination creep across her face and shook his head at fate for handing him such an awkward female. Why was she not biddable and easily cowed like most women? Why had God decided to hand him the woman of his dreams, who had the determination of a mule?

  “For God’s sake, Francesca, think about the danger staying here is placing you in.” He struggled with the urge to punch the wall beside them in frustration, and instead dropped to his knees before her, grabbing her shoulders in a firm hold and giving them a quick shake. “The next time you are here in the middle of the night and you come across an intruder, I won’t be here to protect you. These people will think nothing of doing the same to you as they did to Madeline. Don’t leave yourself open to that kind of death.” He shook his head, quickly blocking out the vision of Francesca with a knife sticking out of her.

  “I have learned that life is never kind and generous. For everything you receive, you lose something precious to you in equal measure,” Francesca replied flatly. “I once thought that Thistledown would be my salvation,” she sighed, glancing at the room around them dispassionately. “Now, though, I do consider it may be a curse,” she whispered, turning lambent eyes on his.

  The sadness in her gaze unmanned him and he shook his head. “You have such a wonderful future ahead of you, my darling. Don’t be afraid to go after it. Take chances. Do what you think is right, but make sure that you have that future to call your own.” His voice was husky with the depth of his despair. He hated to see her like this and wondered as to the cause. Thistledown was her pride and joy. Her home. What had happened to make her look on it with such cynical eyes? He frowned up at her but she merely smiled gently at him. Tears shimmered on her long eyelashes, clingingly resolutely against the gravity that would make them fall.

  In that moment, Francesca made a decision. Drawing her hand away from his, she slowly cupped his cheeks. She could feel the bristles of his stubble prickling her fingertips. She couldn’t say the words she wanted to put a voice to, but she could show him. Lowering her head, she placed her lips ever so gently against his and felt rather than heard his swift intake of breath. When his hands rose to cover hers, she thought for one brief moment that he was going to draw away, apologise and put some distance between them. Instead, his large fingers curled around her delicate bones, and he drew her hands behind his head, running his large palms down her arms. Drawing her forward, he rose to his feet, pulling her closer until she was held so tightly against his masculine
length that it was difficult to breathe. But Francesca made no protest, merely opened her mouth, silently pleading with him to deepen the kiss.

  “God, Francesca,” Simon gasped several long minutes later. He buried his lips in the fragrant curve of her neck and sucked in a deep breath. Until the day he died, he would never forget her scent. The delicate hint of lavender sweetened by the glorious undertones of honeysuckle reminded him of warm summer evenings. He placed one hot, wet kiss in the hollow at the base of her neck, gathering her long hair into his hands when she tipped her head back to allow him better access.

  “Go to Padstow,” Simon begged, drawing away enough to place random kisses along the delicate sweep of her jaw. “Go to safety, where I know you will be protected and cared for. Do that for me, Francesca. Do it for me.”

  Francesca opened her eyes. She had to struggle to break free of the gentle haze that had settled over her, and focus on his words. Looking deep into his beautiful blue eyes, she tried to convey everything she found it impossible to say.

  “On one condition,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to his lips at the same time she slid her hands beneath his shirt to find the warm flesh beneath.

  “What?” Simon growled, feeling the last tendrils of self-control begin to tremble. He had decided downstairs that if arguing with her wasn’t going to work, then he wasn’t averse to a little gentle persuasion. Whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not, he had meant every word he had said to her parents earlier in the day. They may not have a marriage certificate but as far as Simon was concerned, they may as well be married. He loved her with all of his heart. It didn’t matter that she didn’t love him back. It would be enough if she could allow him to share her life. If only that were possible. Right now, he didn’t know if he had a life, a future, to look toward.

  “Make love to me.” Her words hovered in the air around them for several heartbeats. She could sense his hesitation and wondered if he was repulsed by the idea. Slowly, reluctantly, she raised her eyes to his.