by Regina Scott
He glanced around as if to make sure they were alone, then turned to her. “What are you doing, Eva?”
Eva put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing, James? The truth, now.”
His face offered her no clues as to his motives. “I’m simply making sure there’s nothing here the earl can use against us.”
She spread her hands. “In the kitchen?”
“In any part of the castle,” he insisted.
Eva dropped her hands. “It won’t wash.”
He sighed. “Very well. I’m trying to make sure our mysterious visitor hasn’t returned.” He moved to the hearth, took down one of the spills, and stuck it into the banked coals. The little splinter of wood flared.
“Surely no one would sneak into the castle with the earl in residence,” Eva protested. “You know something more, something you don’t want to tell me.”
He didn’t answer as he straightened, and, in the silence, she heard the tread of footsteps, coming closer.
He grabbed her hand and drew her over to the wall. A stout wooden door that might have been a pantry opened to reveal curving stairs leading down instead. He pulled her inside and shut the door. Then he stood still, face lit by the sputtering spill, as if listening. Eva listened too. The door was thick enough she could detect no movement through it.
He turned toward a lantern hanging from a hook on the wall and lit it with the spill before tossing down the wood and grinding it out with his heel. Pulling the lantern off the hook, he started down, and she followed him a couple of turnings, where there was no danger of being seen.
“Who was that?” Her whisper echoed off the stone walls. Eva clapped a hand over her mouth.
“I don’t know,” James murmured back. “It could have been Yeager or Pym, keeping an eye on things.”
“Why would you care if one of them saw you?” Eva asked.
“Because I don’t want anyone investigating what lies below.” He nodded down the stairs. “These lead to the caves Mrs. Tully told you about. I intend to check them. You can wait here if you like. It will be cold and damp, and you aren’t dressed for either.”
She glanced down at her nightgown. “What, no white lawn? I assure you, sir, it is all the rage in London.”
James shrugged out of his coat, juggling the lantern in the process. “If you’re certain you want to come, take this, and follow me.”
Hugging his coat close, she did.
James moved down the stairs, pausing every so often as if listening for noises above and below. Whoever had come into the kitchen hadn’t opened the door, for she heard no sound of extra footsteps on the stone. From below came only a soft, rhythmic slush, like the waves on the shore.
“Why do you want to check the caves?” Eva asked, voice once more reverberating.
“I’ll tell you when we reach the bottom,” he said.
Why was he delaying? It wasn’t as if anyone else could hear them.
Could they?
She swallowed and kept following. Ahead, an arched doorway looked out into blackness. James stepped down and lifted the lantern high.
Eva gazed around and up. And up. Everywhere she looked, light touched rock. Rock walls, damp and dark. Fallen rock on sandy soil, like teeth sticking up. Rock disappearing in front of her into darkness.
“It’s huge,” she said.
Her voice bounced around the space, the echoes crossing each other until it sounded as if the cave spoke back.
Eva grinned. “Ha, ha, ha,” she called.
The cave giggled.
“Don’t,” James said as she opened her mouth again. “If there’s anyone here, they already think we’re mad.”
She sobered, glancing around again. Was there someone else here? Would even breath echo? She held hers, listening. All she heard was that rhythmic noise, louder now. Where was it coming from?
“Is that the sound of the sea?” she asked, careful to keep her voice quieter now.
He nodded toward the darkness. “It comes in through an opening called the Dragon’s Maw in that direction. We should be nearing low tide now.”
Which meant the water would be coming in farther soon. She glanced around again. Were those rocks darker? Was that how high the water rose?
He swung the lantern one way and then another, sending light streaming across the space. Whatever he saw didn’t seem to please him, for he frowned.
“What are we looking for?” Eva asked.
“Evidence of occupation,” he said. He moved toward a circle of darker rock. As Eva followed him, he began kicking them apart, each movement as loud as a gunshot.
She stopped short of joining him, shuddering at the noise. “What are you doing? That looks like a fire circle. Doesn’t that mean someone has been here?”
“If they have,” he said, “I want nothing that might suggest as much to the earl.”
She couldn’t see the earl venturing down those stairs. But then again, perhaps he’d been the one to send someone into the castle to begin with. She tugged James’s coat closer, looking out toward the waves. They were visible now that he’d moved deeper into the cave, foam tinged white and lapping at the stone.
And there, drawn up against the sea, was a boat.
Eva cocked her head, studying it. She hadn’t sailed much, just a few times on the Thames with her father’s friends, who owned a yacht. This was smaller, as if it had been designed to hold only a sailor or two.
She nodded toward it. “Isn’t that more concerning?”
He followed her gaze and stiffened.
“Go back to the castle, Eva,” he said. “Now.”
Chapter Eighteen
James looked in every direction, feeling as if his gaze ricocheted off the rough stone walls like their words. No sign of any movement. No sound of other voices. He’d told Quill not to sail in, and the tide was wrong for this boat to have landed tonight in any event. Quill would have told James if he’d left a boat behind.
Who else had landed in his cave?
Despite his warning, Eva hadn’t moved. She watched him now. “I’ll leave if you insist. But first tell me why.”
Perhaps he should. He’d wanted so badly to protect her, but was keeping secrets from her merely putting her in more danger? She had vowed they were partners. Marriage of convenience or not, the law tended to view a husband and wife as one. When they finally quit the castle, she might wonder at the nighttime rambles Quill had planned for him. Perhaps it was best she knew all.
“Someone’s come through the castle,” he said. “I don’t know who or why, but they’ll be returning for their boat. I don’t want you here when that happens.”
“And I don’t particularly want to meet them on the stairs,” she said. “Especially in white lawn.” She craned her neck as if to peer out into the darkness. “Let’s see if they left anything to identify themselves.”
He could not feel so calm about the matter, but she was right. The boat might tell them more about who had used it and when. Together, they ventured closer.
It was plain wood, with no ship’s marks or owner’s name that he could see. A single bench down the center and at each end would accommodate two to four men. The oars lay inside, awaiting their use. So did a long pole wrapped in canvas.
She wrinkled her nose. “Did this come through the Dragon’s Maw?”
“It must have,” James said. “That’s the only way into the caves from the sea. That pole and canvas formed their mast and sail.”
He crouched beside the wood, studied the sand beneath it. “The seawater’s dried on it. It hasn’t moved since the most recent highest tide.”
“When was that?” she asked as he rose.
“Near midnight last night.” He glanced around but still could spot no sign of any other disturbance. “It looks like they left the cave through the castle. Which means they’ll have to return or abandon their boat. Very likely they didn’t expect the earl, or us.”
“Could it be someone from the village?” she
asked. “Someone who knows about the caves.”
“Possibly,” he allowed, “but few own ships large enough to carry this one and offload it near the castle. Likely it took at least two men to bring it in.”
“Wouldn’t we have noticed two strangers?” she asked.
He motioned her up the rocks toward the stairs. “We were a bit preoccupied with the wedding.”
“So was most of the village,” she said. “Perfect timing. Still, it must be inconvenient to come in that way.”
“And dangerous,” James agreed. “The opening is called the Dragon’s Maw in part because of the boulders that stick up near the entrance like teeth. Sail in that way, and a revenue cutter can never follow you.”
“But it could be waiting until you come out,” she argued.
“And so you abandon your boat for another day and exit through the castle, leaving a dram of rum for the cook.”
“Or the earl.” She turned to him, wide-eyed. “Or the magistrate. Oh, James, promise me you aren’t in league with smugglers.”
“Never,” he assured her. “I’m merely explaining what’s happened in the past.”
“And that fire ring?” she challenged. “Who built that? I cannot conceive someone rowed in for a picnic in the dark.”
“The fire ring was built by men working for Quillan St. Claire.” There, he’d said it, and the air tasted cleaner.
“Captain St. Claire?” She frowned. “Then he’s a smuggler?”
“Not of illicit goods,” James clarified. “He’s merely built up a fiction of the Lord of the Smugglers to hide his true activities. Quill has a number of contacts in France. He and his men sail over, gather information. Sometimes they bring back those in danger from the Corsican madman. What he learns, he sends immediately to the War Office in London. It was through Quill England first learned of the ships massing across the Channel.”
“And he never brought back anything but information and those fleeing Napoleon’s wrath?” Her voice was laced with skepticism.
“To my knowledge, no. I gave him a key to the castle and permission to use the caves. I do my best to keep others from intruding on his affairs. The rest I leave to Quill.”
She arched her brows. “You must trust him a great deal.”
“I would trust Quill with my life. But know this—he isn’t involved with our mysterious visitor. There’s someone else using the castle. And we can’t afford for the earl to discover Quill or the visitor.”
“You assume the earl isn’t involved,” Eva said. “Maudie said he was connected with smugglers. The visitor she met claimed to know the earl’s mind. Perhaps smugglers are leaving a dram, or more, for him.”
James sighed. “It’s a possibility, but if there truly are smugglers using the caves, why hasn’t Quill run afoul of them before now? With that cipher, we could easily be looking at the work of French spies. I can only hope Mr. Carroll uncovers its secrets soon.”
She tugged his coat closer, and he felt it too—a chill, a damp, creeping up his stockings and down from his face.
“With this boat here, we know they are near,” Eva said. “We can lie in wait, send for the dragoons, the Navy.”
“All good suggestions,” James said, “except that we don’t know when they’ll return or even if they’ll return. Neither the Navy nor the Army has men to spare, and I cannot bring anyone here without alerting the earl.”
She raised her chin. “Even he would take the English side.”
“Are you certain?”
She hesitated before answering, then shook her head. “No. The earl thinks only of himself. If it would profit him, he would allow the entire French army to camp on his lands.” She giggled, the sound encircling them. “Can’t you see it, James? Ordering Napoleon to pay his rent on time?”
He chuckled. “He would pay too. Even the little emperor must quake at the earl’s command.” He looked back at the boat. “I’ll alert Quill and Lark. Both can keep watch for ships at sea, and Lark can be on the lookout for strangers in the area. In the meantime, the best we can do, for all our sakes, is to send the earl back to London before he discovers any of this.”
Eva linked her arm with his. “Then let’s show him how deliriously happy we are. That ought to sour his stomach.”
He smiled. “Let’s hope it’s that easy. For now, we should return to the castle and attempt to escape notice.”
~~~
Eva agreed, and they started for the stairs. Her feet protested, and she paused to shake a rock from her slipper. The pink satin was torn and stained.
“It appears you weren’t dressed for it after all,” James said, handing her the lantern. Before she knew what he was about, he swept her up into his arms. She could see flecks of gold in the blue of his eyes, or perhaps it was the reflection from his thick lashes.
“Do not argue with me this time,” he said, setting out for the stairs once more.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Eva said, warm in his embrace.
He frowned at her, as if he couldn’t decide whether she was being impertinent. She refused to tell him she’d been dreaming of being in his arms again since he’d kissed her on the way to the castle.
“I can climb the stairs,” she protested as he reached the smooth stone steps. “It’s far too narrow to carry me.”
“Very well,” he allowed. He set her down, arms still around her, head cocked as if he studied her. Her heart began pounding as hard as if she’d run the distance from the French boat.
The French boat. Spies.
He must have seen the fear in her eyes, for his arms tightened. “We’ll sort it out, Eva,” he promised. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
But something was happening to her. She could feel it. Since coming to Grace-by-the-Sea, she had taken risks—trusting him, working with him to thwart the earl, marrying him. Each step had been concerning, glorious. Was she willing to take the final plunge and make a true marriage with him?
Just the thought had her stepping out of his embrace. “Thank you, James. For everything. We should go.”
He regarded her a moment. Her chin was tipping up before she knew it. What, was she begging for his kiss?
He motioned her to lead him up the stairs. Blowing out a breath, Eva picked up the skirts of her nightgown with her free hand and started climbing.
The way back seemed harder. Like echoes, thoughts of the boat, Quillan St. Claire, Napoleon, the earl, and her feelings for James bounced around her. James said nothing, and she could only conclude he was also thinking hard. Still, the earl, their future, seemed so minor when England’s safety might be at risk.
James put a hand on her shoulder as she reached the door at the top. Taking the lantern, he extinguished the light, plunging them into darkness. He brushed against her as he bent. In the gap at the bottom of the door, no light showed.
“Let me go first,” he murmured as he straightened. “If there’s anyone about, I’ll lead them away.”
There he went, protecting her again. It seemed he’d been protecting people all his life. Small wonder the villagers were so devoted to him.
She was beginning to feel more than devoted.
He eased open the door and slipped out, and she waited in the silence, alone. She didn’t have time to wonder before he was back.
“No one around,” he murmured. “Follow me.”
The return trip was accomplished quickly and quietly. They saw and heard no one. Once inside the sitting room between their bedchambers, Eva lit a lamp and went to sit on one of the chairs by the fire.
“Give me your boots,” she said.
“My boots?” he asked, glancing down at them. “Why?”
Eva pulled off her ruined slippers. “Because Pym will wonder how you managed to scuff and dirty them while you were sleeping.” She rose and went to the window, heaving up on the sash.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She tossed her slippers out and leaned over in time to see them fall into a
bush in the moonlight. “Disposing of evidence.”
“I will not throw out my best boots,” he informed her.
“Your best boots,” she pointed out. “Meaning you have another pair.” She pulled back in and closed the sash.
He crossed his arms over his chest, shirtsleeves pale against his waistcoat. “There must be another way.”
Eva waved a hand as she returned to the settee. “Feel free to use the washbasin in my bedchamber. Patsy should have left the pitcher full. I can throw out the water. Just don’t get mud on anything.”
“You have a remarkably devious mind,” he commented as he came to sit near her and began removing his boots.
She would have taken umbrage, but he almost sounded admiring.
“I had to think that way to outwit the earl,” she told him, leaning back against the satin-striped settee and closing her eyes a moment. “He was all kindness and compassion after Father died, but I’d seen him enough times to know he could be wily. So I wasn’t surprised when he began dropping hints about me marrying Thorgood. Though I do think the viscount was surprised when I ended up in his bedchamber.”
There was a thud, and she opened her eyes to find he’d dropped one of his boots on the carpet and was staring at her.
“His bedchamber?” he asked.
She shook her head, remembering. “We’d gone to the country house in Somerset, my first visit, and the earl led me up to what was supposed to be my bedchamber to change for dinner. He’d even told Patsy to go there, then sent for her on some excuse. I was partly undressed when Thorgood walked in. I think the earl expected me to seize my good fortune, claim ruin, and demand a wedding. I told Thorgood to find somewhere else to change. He was very good about it.”
He chuckled as he bent to remove the other boot. “He wanted to marry even less than you did. He still mourns his first wife’s passing.”
She watched him as he tugged at the black leather. “Do you?”
He raised his head. “No. I long since realized my infatuation with Felicity was exactly that—a boy’s first love. It saddens me she died so young, leaving behind a husband and daughter who adored her. But I don’t mourn her the way Thorgood does.”