“I read about that in the papers. It seems you’re a lady now.”
“I’ll thank you to remember it,” I said tartly.
He smiled a thin, sarcastic smile, pleased to have riled me, and I damned myself for rising so quickly to the bait. Captain Jon Ramsey was undeniably a commanding figure in his gleaming black boots and snug white breeches and that impeccably tailored scarlet tunic with its shiny gold epaulettes and swirls of gold braid. Hard, harsh, arrogant, he undoubtedly inspired terror in his men, but I wasn’t about to be intimidated. I moved over to the sofa and rested my hand on the curved back, but. I didn’t sit down.
“I knew you’d come to Cornwall,” he said.
“I’ve hardly made a secret of it, Captain Ramsey.”
“I made it my business to know. I’ve kept very close track of your every move.”
“Indeed?”
“I knew when you left London. I knew when you got here, to the very hour. One of my men spotted your carriage and reported to me immediately. We’ve been watching you. We’ve been watching the house.”
“How very dreary for you,” I replied.
“You didn’t know it, of course. No one did. I’ve had two of my best men on the job. Naturally they weren’t in uniform. Blended right into the scenery, they did.”
“How clever,” I observed.
“One of them even applied for a position as footman here, but unfortunately your man Brown turned him down.”
Thank God for that, I thought. While I had hired Mrs. Clemson and all of the maids, I had let Ned hire the footmen and grooms. I was shaken, far more so than I cared to admit, but Captain Jon Ramsey wasn’t going to know that if I could possibly help it. I gazed at him haughtily, very much the Great Lady of the Manor.
“You know why I’m here,” he said.
“On the contrary, I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“You’re lying.”
“How dare you—”
“I’m the King’s agent, Miss James. The Duke of Cumberland personally appointed me for this particular job. He hasn’t forgotten that assassination attempt three and a half years ago—far from it. He’s more determined than ever to round up every single man involved.”
I didn’t deign to respond. Jon Ramsey moved toward me, seething with hostility, wanting me to cower, but I had nothing whatsoever to hide. He stopped a few feet away from me and folded his arms across his chest, the fringe on his epaulettes swaying to and fro, glittering brightly. His blue eyes were no longer icy. They burned now with murderous hatred. I stood my ground, desperately trying to control my alarm. I had encountered dangerous men in my day, but Captain Ramsey made Black Jack Stewart and crew seem almost amiable.
“I want Cam Gordon,” he said.
“I’m afraid I don’t have him.”
“You know very well he’s part of a band of smugglers working off the Cornish coast.”
“I’d heard that, yes.”
“And I suppose you expect me to believe your coming to Cornwall was merely a coincidence?”
“I know this will probably come as a terrible shock to you, Captain Ramsey, but I couldn’t possibly care less what you believe.”
He didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all. He moved a step closer, unfolding his arms and spreading his legs again, planting his fists on his thighs. My throat had gone dry and my heart was beginning to beat much too rapidly, but I gazed at him with cool hauteur nevertheless, staunchly refusing to show the least sign of intimidation.
“They’ve been working off the coast some thirty miles from here,” he told me. “Naturally our main force has been concentrated in that area, although I’ve kept an eye on all the villages in this part of Cornwall.”
“Very wise of you, I’m sure.”
“You’ve both been very clever,” he said.
“Clever?”
“You haven’t fooled me, though, not for a minute. You’ve been in Cornwall four and a half months. Cam Gordon has been slipping in and out of the country all during that time, just thirty miles away. Are you going to tell me the two of you haven’t been in touch?”
“I’m not going to tell you anything.”
“I don’t know how you’ve managed it—we’ve been watching you, watching the house—but I know you’ve been secretly communicating somehow or other. I don’t believe in coincidences, Miss James. I find it very peculiar that a young aristocrat without a penny to his name should suddenly have the money to open a pottery factory that’s been closed for years and completely do over the family mansion.”
“My brother’s financial affairs are no concern of—”
“I’m sure many a man would gladly have a whore in his home for that kind of money, pass her off as his long-lost sister. Your little charade may have taken in a lot of people, but it hasn’t taken me in.”
Calmly, as calmly as possible, I moved over to the fireplace and pulled the long yellow cord that hung beside it.
“I’m going to ignore what you just said, Captain Ramsey,” I said, turning to face him again. “I’m not going to slap your face. I’m not going to have my menservants throw you out of the house. I’m going to let you leave peacefully. This minute.”
“Your charade’s almost over,” he informed me. “Abetting a wanted man is a criminal offense. I shouldn’t be surprised to see you hang right alongside your lover.”
I pulled the bell cord again, rather too violently. I wasn’t going to lose control. I wasn’t. I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.
“We had a little skirmish with the smugglers two nights ago,” Ramsey continued. “Walked right into a trap we’d set, all of them. It was a very dark night, lots of confusion and shouting, knives flashing, blood spurting, gunfire, smoke. Never knew what hit them. Three captured. Seven killed.”
He watched intently to observe my reaction to this piece of news. I showed none whatsoever, gazing at him with a cool composure that completely belied the turmoil inside. Not Cam, I told myself. Not Cam. If Cam had been one of them, Ramsey wouldn’t be here. Please, Dear God, not Cam. Ramsey’s thin lips lifted at one corner in a cruel half-smile, his blue eyes gleaming darkly.
“Killed two of the bastards myself,” he said. “Most satisfying. Unfortunately, neither of them was Cam Gordon. Gordon and one other man got away during the confusion.”
I said nothing. Ramsey moved toward me.
“We captured his companion this morning, not five miles from here. He was sneaking toward a farmhouse, planning to steal food. Apparently he and Gordon were hiding out in one of the caves or tunnels that riddle the coastline around here. I had the man brought to me, determined to make him talk and reveal Gordon’s whereabouts, but I fear I was a bit too zealous in my interrogation. He won’t be in any condition to talk again for at least twenty-four hours.”
He was standing in front of me now, so close I could have reached out and touched that cruel, attractive face with its cap of tight blond curls. I tilted my head back, looking up into the blue eyes that smoldered now with a perverse lust. The skin across his cheekbones was taut, his thin lips tight, and I repressed a shudder. I knew all about men like this. They used to flock to Mother Redcoat’s in St. Giles to satisfy their brutal appetites.
“I have fifty men in the area, searching for Gordon,” he said. “Five of them are waiting outside right now. It occurred to me he might possibly have slipped past my men somehow and gotten into the house. I intend to search it from top to bottom.”
“Like hell you will!”
My composure was gone. Lady Miranda had vanished in an instant and Duchess Randy was ready to kick and claw and do as much damage as possible. Ramsey sensed this. He smiled again, pleased to have cracked my cool facade at last. I glared at him, the wildcat of old.
“I suggest you cooperate, Miss James.”
“And I suggest you get your arse out of this house this instant!”
“Once a whore, always a whore. I look forward to dealing with you personally when
this is all over with. It’s going to—”
I slammed my palm across his face with such force that he lost his balance, reeling, stumbling backward. I grabbed one of the silver candlesticks standing on the mantelpiece and gripped it as I would grip a club, fully prepared to smash his skull in. Ramsey was stunned, a vivid pink handprint burning on the side of his face.
“You little bitch! I’m going to—”
“Trouble, Lady M.?” Ned inquired.
He strolled casually into the room, looking more than ever like a pugilist in the tight black uniform that emphasized his tough, muscular build. A silky white neckcloth was folded neatly into the top of his black vest, and his black frock coat swung open, flapping slightly as he moved. That rugged face with its broken nose and monklike fringe of thick brown hair was unperturbed, brown eyes bovine, as though there was nothing at all remarkable about finding the mistress of the house clutching a candlestick, ready to swing at a visitor.
“Captain Ramsey was just leaving,” I said crisply.
“Want I should show him out?”
“Please do.”
“I’m not leaving! Not until I’ve searched this house! I’m going to call my men in right now, and—”
“Seems we have a bit of a problem,” Ned interrupted.
His voice was a lethargic drawl, his manner utterly nonchalant, yet he exuded brute strength and an undeniable menace. Ramsey hesitated, eyes flashing blue fire, and then he drew himself up, assuming an air of steely authority.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t interfere, Brown. I’m the King’s agent, answerable directly to the Duke of Cumberland. I have five men outside. They’re fully armed. Get in my way and you’ll find yourself in serious trouble.”
Ned grinned a broad grin, his brown eyes full of lazy amusement as he contemplated the smartly dressed officer with the tight blond curls. Ramsey was disconcerted and not a little uneasy. Ned didn’t answer at once. He gave the grin full play, and then he shook his head.
“Don’t know what kind of authority you might have,” he said lazily, “but I feel pretty sure it doesn’t extend to searching the home of a lord without his permission. If I were you, I’d leave at once—while you can still walk.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Guess you might say that. It’d give me considerable pleasure to break your neck and leave them little tin soldiers out there without a leader. Start walking, Captain.”
Ramsey hesitated, sizing the man up, taking in the powerful build, the broken nose, the dark brown eyes that seemed to be anticipating that pleasure he had just mentioned. He paled, the burning pink handprint standing out even more vividly. Like so many other petty tyrants, Ramsey was accustomed to bullying those weaker than he or, as with his men, those in no position to fight back. Confronted with someone like Ned, his true cowardice showed through.
“You’ll regret this, Brown!”
“I’m gonna be patient. I’m gonna count to ten.”
Ramsey whirled around and glared at me. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. That tight mouth, those murderous blue eyes said everything, and I repressed another shudder as he twisted his lips and stalked out of the room. Ned ambled after him. I heard the front door open, close, heard loud voices and, a few moments later, the sound of horses galloping down the drive. I set the candlestick back on the mantel and took a deep breath, desperately striving to compose myself. Ned came back into the room, frock coat flapping.
“Are you all right, Lady M.?”
“I’m fine, Ned. They—they left?”
“Rode right off. They’re going to be watching the house closely. There’ll be at least a dozen men watching it, maybe more.”
“I—perhaps I’d better explain, Ned.”
“You don’t need to explain anything, Lady M. Reckon I know what it’s about. This fellow Gordon, the one Ramsey’s so eager to capture, he’s the chap you used to live with. He was working with the smugglers.”
“Two nights ago there was—”
“I know all about that. Gordon and a man called Hawkins got away. Hawkins was captured this morning. Gordon’s still on the loose, and Ramsey thinks maybe you’re hiding him.”
“I haven’t seen him in years, Ned. I haven’t heard from him. He—he doesn’t even know I’m in Cornwall. Ramsey—”
“You’re not to worry, Lady M.,” he told me.
His voice was calm and reassuring, his dark brown eyes full of concern, and I felt much better having him on my side. Ned might look like a brute, might be wry and cocky on occasion, but he had devoted most of his adult life to my brother, watching after him with a loyal devotion that could only be called paternal. He had a quiet strength that had nothing to do with his size. I felt it now. I seemed to draw from it.
“I don’t want my brother to know about this,” I said. “I don’t want him to be bothered.”
“No need for it,” Ned agreed.
“If he sees the soldiers, if he finds out that Ramsey was here, we’ll merely say they’re looking for a—for one of the smugglers who is believed to be in the area.”
“Right,” he replied. “None of the servants will tell him anything, I promise you.”
“Thank you, Ned. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come in when you did.”
Ned grinned again. “Bashed his head in, probably. You wield a wicked candlestick, Lady M. I sure wouldn’t want to get you riled.”
He gave me an admiring look, still grinning, then made a mock-servile bow and left the room. I went upstairs and took a long, hot bath and washed my hair, trying my best to put the incident out of my mind. Putting on a thin cream petticoat with half a dozen gauzy skirts aswirl with ruffles, I dried my hair thoroughly and sat down at my dressing table. I brushed my hair until it fell to my shoulders in loose, flowing waves shiny with red gold highlights. My cheeks were pale. I carefully applied a subtle pink rouge, applied a touch of pink lip rouge as well, gazing at the stranger in the glass with dark sapphire eyes that seemed haunted, lids etched with blue gray shadow.
The wind howled, whipping around the house as though trying to break in. The windows shook in their frames, rattling furiously, and thunder rolled in the distance like cannon fire. That didn’t help my nerves at all. I frowned and put the lip rouge aside. You aren’t going to think about it, I told myself sternly. Cam Gordon may be in the area, but it isn’t because of you. He doesn’t even know you’re here. Getting involved with smugglers, risking his bloody neck … the son of a bitch hasn’t changed one bloody bit. It would serve him right if they caught him. The idiot. The bloody idiot! Dear God, let him get away. Please let him get away. I closed my eyes, gripping the edge of the dressing table as the emotions swept over me.
Half an hour later, wearing a rich cream satin gown with thin gold stripes, I greeted Douglas with a serene smile and accompanied him into the dining room. My nerves were still ajangle and I was emotionally depleted, yet, determined he not suspect anything, I somehow managed to present a poised facade for Douglas. He was very excited about the new pink the craftsmen from France had perfected, such a pink, dark and rich, unlike any pink you’ve ever seen. Things were going fantastically at the factory, fantastically, the first set of new china would be ready to show in a day or two and orders were already pouring in from major distributors whom Bancroft had contacted. All the best shops in London were going to carry it, shops in Bath, and the inexpensive pottery was going to be sold all over England! He seriously doubted they could even fill all the orders.
He chatted exuberantly throughout the meal, so carried away with enthusiasm he probably wouldn’t have noticed had my hair suddenly turned white. He talked about the various processes they were using, going into technical details above my head, zestfully describing exactly what was done and why and how important it was to have just the right degree of heat for baking in the colors and how you had to be careful when you were using gold, the kilns had to be … I listened and nodded and longed to hurl the salt
shaker at His head. Douglas sensed this eventually and grinned a sheepish grin.
“Guess I can be a galloping bore at times,” he admitted.
“You?” I arched a brow. “Surely not.”
“I feel kind of guilty, going to the factory every day, having all the fun, leaving you alone here. Must be dreadfully boring for you.”
“Rarely that.”
“You’re looking unusually gorgeous tonight in that cream and gold gown,” he told me. “Bit daring, isn’t it?”
“They’re wearing them this way. Dessert?” I inquired. “I believe Cook has made a chocolate cake.”
“Tempting,” Doug said, “but I really must hurry. I promised Linda’s father I’d stop by for a chat tonight.”
“Oh. So it’s Linda’s father you’re courting.”
“He’s a very interesting chap!” Doug protested. “Drops off to sleep quite early.”
“And then?”
“Linda’s very interesting, too. A bit too cool and snippy to suit my taste, but she’s warming to me.”
I smiled. Doug grinned again and we went into the hall, my satin skirt making a soft, rustling music. He had changed into his best outfit before dinner and looked dashing indeed. I straightened his lapels, fussed with his silk neckcloth and brushed errant blond locks from his brow. Douglas grimaced, impatient with my ministrations, eager to be gone. The wind was still howling fiercely, and thunder rumbled constantly.
“Do be careful,” I said. “It’s going to storm.”
“I’m not a baby, Miranda. Besides, it could keep this up for hours before we get a drop of rain. I’ll probably be late.”
“You usually are. Give Linda my love.”
He left, and I wandered into the library. The candles were lighted, casting a warm amber glow over the rich leather bindings. One of the footmen came in and asked if I would like him to light the fire. I nodded, for the room was rather cold, and he soon had a nice blaze going. I looked in despair at the stacks of books on the floor and the two crates of my own books that hadn’t yet been opened. Sighing, I set to work, though I was hardly dressed for it. Best to keep busy, as busy as possible. My nerves were near the snapping point, and I knew that if I allowed myself to dwell on what had happened I would crack completely. Work. Don’t think. Work until you’re ready to drop with exhaustion.
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