She stood to leave, and her smuggler began to as well. It was then that she saw that another man had entered the tavern, probably from a door at the rear of the building, near where he now stood. She froze, staring at him. The glare he returned made her catch her breath.
Her smuggler looked over his shoulder. He did not run as she expected. Instead he cast a sharp gaze at the other men in the tavern, then sank back on the bench. “Southwaite,” he muttered. “Are you his woman?”
“No! I did not bring him either. I swear I did not.” She settled down again too.
Southwaite walked over to them. His blue riding coat contrasted starkly with the simple clothes of the other men, and the pistol tucked visibly beneath it could not be missed. Their companions in the tavern rose and quickly left. Even the proprietor decided to take some air outside.
The earl made his presence known, forcefully, by the way he loomed beside the table. He looked at her smuggler. “Tarrington.”
Tarrington merely nodded acknowledgment.
They knew each other.
“What are you doing here, Miss Fairbourne?” Southwaite asked.
“Waiting for some mutton stew to finish cooking.”
Tarrington smirked at her arch response. Southwaite did not find it clever at all. He turned his questioning gaze on Tarrington.
Emma expected the whole story to come out at once. Tarrington was in a bad spot here. If Southwaite recognized him, he was probably a well-known smuggler. She feared he would end up in gaol for letting her sad story touch his heart, after all.
To her surprise Tarrington met Southwaite’s gaze with a steady one of his own, and said nothing.
“Honor among thieves, I see,” Southwaite said.
Tarrington smiled. “There are no thieves here. Just a man looking for ale, and a pretty woman waiting to bring home some stew.” He looked toward the street. “I think you should leave the way you came, pistol or no, and without me. I would not want my lads’ affection for me to put you in harm’s way.”
“I did not come here for you.” He turned to Emma. “If you will do me the honor, Miss Fairbourne, I will escort you home.”
She did not want him to escort her home. For all his politeness, it had not been a request, however. She held her seat for a few rebellious moments, trying to find a way out of this.
Tarrington watched, amused. He was not going to break his word about their conversation, but he was not going to interfere with Southwaite on her behalf either.
“I will carry you out if I must,” Southwaite warned. “It will be more dignified if you obey me willingly.”
He had no right to expect any obedience. She almost said so. The air had turned heavy with his anger, however, and it was not clear how long Tarrington’s lads would remain on the street.
She stood. Southwaite took her arm in a firm grasp and guided her to the back of the tavern, and out a door.
He moved her down the lane to where his horse waited.
“I will walk,” she said, pulling her arm free.
In response he physically lifted her and set her up on the saddle. “Don’t move.”
She dared not, perched like this sitting sideways. Suddenly he was behind her, astride behind the saddle, his chest pressing her shoulder and his arms surrounding her as he took the reins.
“I can walk,” she complained. “Stop this now.”
“Once we are out of this village, you can walk,” he said, moving the horse to a trot. “Now, not another word of objection, Emma. Not one word, if you are wise.”
She tried to angle herself so there would be less contact. “I will not object, but not because you warn me. I will not because I have other things to say. You, sir, continue to be an interfering nuisance. I thank Providence that you are the only earl I have ever had the misfortune to know if such presumptions are—”
“You would also be wise not to call me presumptuous unless you are eager to see just how presumptuous an earl can be.”
“Then I will find other appropriate words. High-handed. Conceited. Arrogant…” She burned his ears with every other descriptive she could think of while the horse bore them away.
Chapter 17
Southwaite did allow her to walk once they were well outside the village. She had to demand it of him twice, however. Finally he stopped the horse and slid her down, his arm crossing her body and breast to support her until her feet hit the ground.
She found her balance and shook off the overwhelming intimacy of being encompassed by him. “You can leave now, Lord Southwaite. There is not a soul in sight, so I am totally safe.” She strode down the road, and hoped he would move on past her.
He did not. That horse paced alongside slowly, its master silently providing the escort he had offered. The air remained heavy with his mood, however, and she did not feel protected so much as vulnerable.
It seemed a longer walk home than it had going to the village. The hovering force behind her only partly explained that. Her resentment at her helplessness regarding Robert stoked her anger. She had gained so little from her conversation with Tarrington, and he had dashed her secret hope to learn Robert’s whereabouts.
A little fantasy of a daring rescue had played in her head during the last few days. What a goose she had been to indulge in such a childish dream. She had no choice but to do as she had been ordered, and try to find the money to pay the ransom and hope for the best if she did. Her better sense rebelled against being such a pawn.
She stopped at the edge of her father’s property and turned to Southwaite. “Thank you.” She tried to make her voice one of firm dismissal. He chose not to hear that note. While she trod to the house, that horse kept pace behind her.
Mrs. Norriston’s face appeared in the doorway. Her gaze shifted from Emma to the horse shadowing her, and up to the man riding it. With a deep flush she rushed out with apologies. “I did not know how to refuse such a man. He said if harm came to you, I would share the blame.”
“Why would he think harm might come to me? I could have been taking a turn on the property and nothing more.”
Mrs. Norriston lowered her gaze to the ground. “I might a’ said that you were at a meeting. I may a’ mentioned your need to speak to smugglers. He frightened me, and I could not think of ways not to answer.”
“Really, Mrs. Norriston, you should not have told him my business. Nor should you be frightened just because a man happened to receive the good fortune of being born a lord’s heir. He only told you I was in danger in order to get his way.”
Looking very sorry, Mrs. Norriston bobbed a vague curtsy in the direction of the horse, then disappeared inside. Emma followed her, and closed the door on the dismounting earl. If Southwaite did not understand that dismissal, he was stupid as well as arrogant.
She strode into the sitting room. She did not even get her bonnet untied before she heard Southwaite rap on the door. She ignored the summons. He rapped harder and slower, in a steady rhythm that reflected both his insistence and irritation. Well, he could stand out there all day if he wanted to. She would be damned before she let him in. He had no right to keep inter—
To her horror, she spied Mrs. Norriston’s skirts floating past the sitting room. Before she had a chance to forbid it, she heard Mrs. Norriston open the door again and greet his lordship like the good servant she was.
Boots strode toward the sitting room where she had taken refuge. His dark humor preceded him into the chamber like an ill wind.
When he finally darkened the doorway, he appeared very stern. Magnificent too, she had to admit, although that did little to placate her annoyance with him, or with herself for even noticing the figure he cut. Still, she resentfully acknowledged that he appeared very handsome in his riding coat and high boots, and his hair a little wild from the breeze. He no longer glared, but his dark eyes conveyed the sort of displeasure that only men feel entitled to.
“Mrs. Norriston erred in allowing you entrance, so please leave,” she said.
“Often that which must be said is better left unsaid. I am sure that is the situation with the words you are urged to spill.”
“That is a fine lesson coming from you, of all people. You had your intemperate say on the horse, and I must insist on mine now.”
“I will not hear it. I did not require your interference today. I was in no danger and—”
“You have no idea how much danger you might have been in. None at all. If any other man had heard about your housekeeper’s request for your meeting, I might have had to use this pistol.” He removed it and set it on a table. “That whole damned village is involved in illicit trade. Everyone knows it.”
He crossed his arms and regarded her with no sympathy. He reminded her of the way he had appeared when she first approached him before the Outrageous Misconception. She was in no mood for whatever he wanted to say, but she knew she would end up hearing it. With a heavy sigh of resignation, she sank onto a chair, set aside her scathing disappointment in her failed adventure, and gathered what strength her indignation might afford her.
“Why did you want to meet with any smuggler, Miss Fairbourne?”
“I am not obligated to submit to an interrogation. You have no right to—”
“The hell I don’t. You have been too willful from the start and my tolerance of that has led to this. Did you think to arrange a special consignment from them, to enhance that damned auction? Yet one more set of lots from the estate of an esteemed and discreet gentleman?”
Her heart pained her, it beat so heavily. “What are you implying? I’ll not have you impugn him.”
He exhaled an impatient sigh. “Those accounts are incomplete and vague for a reason. I thought to spare you my suspicions, but I do not think that is necessary any longer. Is it?”
She refused to answer. She bowed her head, gritted her teeth, and prayed he would just go away.
He did not. He stood there, overwhelming the chamber and her.
“You appear to know at least one smuggler yourself,” she said. “That is one more than we are sure my father knew. If my father had any doings with them, perhaps you led him into it.”
A mistake, that. For a terrible moment his fury crackled through the air. He paced away from her and stood there, a tight, tall figure exuding power and intensity. She braced herself for the slicing words sure to come.
Instead he reined in whatever had broken in him. He turned back to her, his eyes flaming. He was still angry, but he had composed himself.
“I know Tarrington because he does a bit of work for me. He is the king of his kind here, and he knows others of his stature all along the coast.”
“I am told you take a particular interest in the coast.”
“I and others. The Royal Navy does not have the ships to patrol it all, or even most of it. Even the sloops that make up the Prevention Service stay near the major ports. The bulk of the naval fleet sits at Portsmouth, to be ready if the French invade. Meanwhile, they can come in other ways short of a fighting force. Spies enter with impunity, as easily as French brandy. Information leaves the same way.”
“Are you saying English smugglers help them?”
“Some do. Better use is made of others, though. They watch and report activities that are suspicious. There is a chain now, all along the southeast coast, made up of such as them, and fishermen and landowners.”
“And lords?”
“There are some lords who remain at their coastal estates for this purpose.”
“Not you, I know.”
“I and a few others coordinate this surveillance, and ensure the links do not weaken.”
She guessed that meant he had helped put this in place. “What do the smugglers get in return? A blind eye?”
“They get nothing, except the satisfaction of aiding England. If Tarrington or another is ever caught, his efforts might speak for him and procure some leniency, but it has not been promised.”
“Why not? It would be only fair for the government to do that.”
“One does not bargain with thieves. Loyalty bought with such a promise could be just as quickly bought by another for a higher price.”
That made sense, she supposed. However, she wondered if the government had made no promises because the government was not involved, at least not officially.
Of larger concern to her was what this bargain revealed about himself. He would give no quarter with these men, should he catch them in their crimes, even though they aided this network of watchers that he had arranged.
Her spirits sank yet more on accepting how rigid Southwaite would be in matters of honor. That spoke well of him, she knew. It indicated that he would give no quarter to Robert or her either, however. She thought about the wine hidden deep in the storage room of Fairbourne’s, beneath obscuring swaths of canvas.
“You must make no attempt to meet them again,” he said firmly. “There are some of them who would kill you for the coin you carry. Do not let Tarrington’s manner fool you. Better if you stayed away from the coast entirely, now that you made the grievous error of being seen with him. This adventure was inexcusable, no matter what you hoped to achieve by it.”
She did not miss the ambiguity he gave her motivations. She assumed he attributed the worst to her, and believed Fairbourne’s was in league with Tarrington. She also heard the tone of a man who still had much to say. The storm clouds reappeared at the edges of his mood and blew in fast. Their winds puffed him up. She knew what was coming.
On a different day she might have defended herself, or tried to deflect his reprimand by being witty, indignant, or shrewd. Right now she felt too sick at heart that she had failed so spectacularly today. Worse, the longer she was in this house, the more she felt the presence of her father. His scent seemed to surround her now, and she sensed that his spirit reproached her as clearly as the earl did. Images of him kept invading her mind, distracting her from Southwaite’s lecture.
Darius could not hold back his profound irritation with Emma. An equally profound relief wanted to temper his ire, but he was not a man accustomed to biting his tongue.
His brain had been rehearsing this moment since Maitland opened the door to her London home and explained that Miss Fairbourne had gone to the coast. Maitland had appeared worried about that, or perhaps about Darius learning it. Neither the information nor the butler’s expression had encouraged an innocent interpretation of Miss Fairbourne’s behavior.
He had contemplated the possible reasons for this unexpected journey during his ride to the coast, and well into the night. Ridiculous visions of her digging up loot on a beach taunted him. While he doubted she would be that bold, she was up to no good, he was sure. The only question was whether she embarked on something merely foolhardy or truly dangerous.
Damnation, but he should have ridden to this cottage at dawn today. Noon had clearly been too late for such as this woman. Thank God the housekeeper poured out the whole story once she heard his title. Mrs. Norriston had reacted like an accomplice being threatened with the rack.
He explained most of this to Emma while he gave her a sound dressing-down. He did not mention his sickening worry, but he itemized the rest of it, the elements that pointed out she had a lot to answer for. Describing his pursuit only made the emotions fresh and chaotic again, and they fed the fire in his head.
While he reiterated her danger, he pictured that cliff walk from which her father had plunged to his death, and the fetid chambers at Newgate prison where women were housed, and the fate that could befall a woman at the mercy of men with nothing to lose. The last became a hot iron in his head and he heaped more admonishments on her.
She said not a word. She sat there, hands clasped on her lap and gaze fixed on the carpet, while his words rained down on her. Her silence only annoyed him more, but then he found it troublesome. Her manner was uncharacteristic of the Miss Fairbourne he knew.
He began to sound too forceful to his o
wn ears. He wondered if the way he paced back and forth frightened her. Her refusal to defend herself, to have a decent row, put him increasingly at a disadvantage.
“Have you nothing at all to say?” he demanded, at wit’s end with her docility. “Not even one word?”
“You had so many that I thought to give you the stage.”
He would have preferred if she said that with more spirit, instead of a quiet, almost dejected voice. He angled a bit to try to see her face better. Hell, she wasn’t weeping, was she? He thought he heard a sniff.
He cursed himself. Dismayed, he dropped to one knee beside her. “Forgive me. My worry for your safety almost drove me mad and I have perhaps been too vigorous as a result in expressing my—” His what? Anger, but not the normal sort. Fear, perhaps, but not for himself and not only for her, but also about a situation that might leave him faced with a terrible choice. “My concern.”
She turned her gaze on him. He saw tears and sadness, but little that indicated contrition. “That is good of you, to be concerned, especially since I am not your responsibility.”
Her statement carried a rebuke of its own. Since she was not his responsibility, she was saying, he had no right to scold her like this, or to even question her behavior.
His essence rebelled at the claim. She had occupied his thoughts and time enough these last weeks that he possessed some rights, damn it. He remained ensnarled in that auction house too, and whatever she plotted no doubt involved it, and hence him. She could not really expect him to remain uninterested in her meetings with known smugglers.
He began to explain that, but her eyes and expression arrested his attention so completely that further words seemed unnecessary. She already knew all that he might say, he was sure.
No more than two handspans separated their faces. She was so close that her sweet breath feathered his skin. So close that he felt the shadows burdening her. Something dark weighed on her right now. It occupied her mind more than anything he might say.
The Surrender of Miss Fairbourne Page 16