Simon smiled as though he had just swallowed a bug. “Mrs. Foster, I’m placing you under arrest for smuggling.”
“Smuggling?” Prudence gasped. Two of the men grasped her upper arms, and her book of poetry tumbled to the floor. “But how? For what?”
Cunning though Simon was, he couldn’t possibly have found evidence of smuggling in the manor.
Prudence stumbled when one of the men jerked her forward. Gil reached out, first to steady her, then toward the man as though to pry his employer from his grasp. The man gave him a shove that sent the aged butler sprawling against a side table.
Simon’s eyes glittered as though he hoped she might do something rash.
Prudence glanced over her shoulder as the men dragged her toward the door. “Gil, find Richard.”
“I’ll find your husband, ma’am. He’ll know what to do.”
“No, Richard will be faster.” She couldn’t tell Gil that Richard would know where Evan was, not with Simon hanging on every word.
Clay face shoved Prudence into Simon’s waiting carriage. Her slipper caught on the upper step, and she stumbled forward, landing on her chin on the hard floor. Instead of offering his hand to help her from the floor, Simon waited until she righted herself then climbed in after her.
He took the seat across from her and studied her with his heavily lidded eyes. Prudence drew her gaze away to look out the rear window as the carriage pulled away from the manor. She could see Gil issuing orders to a couple of stable boys. When finished, they dashed away, intent on their mission.
She watched the figures grow smaller and smaller, her hopes diminishing along with them.
“So, it’s to be Richard who comes to your rescue and not your husband. Trouble in paradise, perhaps?”
“My husband is away from home. But then you knew that, didn’t you, since I told you yesterday.”
The implication he had waited until she was alone hung in the air, but Simon refused to take the bait.
“Ah, yes, you did mention that.” He picked at the fingers of his glove. “Then it is to be Richard. Of course, even now, my men are searching the Ashcroft offices. If they find the same evidence—”
“What evidence?” Prudence demanded.
He couldn’t have found any evidence at Ashcroft because there was none. But the offices were a different matter. Yes, Richard had cleverly concealed it, but…
“You will find out soon enough at your trial.”
“I am to have a trial then?”
“Of course you are to have a trial. England is a civilized country, and even though you live in this uncivilized land, you are still one of his majesty’s subjects.” He paused to consider his gloved hand. “However, I hope the gown you are wearing is warm. I hear Nova Scotia can be quite brutal this time of year.”
Nova Scotia? She had heard that the admiralty trials had been moved to Nova Scotia.
Prudence looked out the window to watch the countryside pass and to give herself time to think.
So she would have a trial, if you could call an appearance before a judge appointed by the crown a trial. There would be no jury, and it would be incumbent upon her to prove her innocence to a judge who stood to gain a portion of the proceeds from any confiscated property. The odds were definitely not in her favor. If found guilty, she may or may not be jailed, but she would be left destitute.
She returned her gaze to Simon. “Are we going directly to Nova Scotia, or will I be allowed to send for a change of clothing before we depart?”
Perhaps, if she could send a note, she could find a way to warn Richard.
Simon looked as though he hadn’t considered the notion, then his face brightened.
“It’s a long way to Nova Scotia. A lot can happen along the way.” He left his seat to take a position next to her.
Despite the layers of clothing between them, the press of his thigh against hers nauseated Prudence. She slid as near the side wall of the carriage as she could.
Simon scooted closer, filling the space she had just vacated. “I could find a way to make this all go away.”
She gave him a scathing glare. “You are the one who started all of this, why would you suddenly be willing to make it all go away?”
He seemed not to notice her scorn. “If I were offered a proper incentive…”
Prudence inhaled through her nose, a long drawn in breath that served to control her anger.
Was he asking for a bribe? It wouldn’t be the first time a customs official had been bought off with a bribe, but usually such transactions were carried out in a more formal manner, not in the back of a carriage with the customs official’s hand on the accused smuggler’s knee.
A shiver of revulsion racked Prudence’s shoulders. Her gaze returned to Simon’s face in time to see his tongue swipe at his lips. They glistened in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the carriage windows, and Prudence’s stomach heaved.
Had Evan been right?
“If you become my mistress, I will drop the charges.”
Simon’s eyes grew soft, as though he actually held some small feelings of affection for her. He looked almost vulnerable.
“But I am a married woman!”
The softness in his eyes disappeared, and Prudence couldn’t help but wonder if it had just been a trick of the light.
“With a husband who leaves you alone most of the time. It doesn’t appear to be much of a marriage. I would have made a much better match for you. I come from an established family, and I see a bright future for myself. If my career keeps headed the way it is, I may even be appointed governor one day.”
Prudence had no words to counter Simon’s assertions. If anything, his sense of self-satisfaction seemed delusional.
“And when I am governor, I will rid this accursed colony of all the thieves, rogues, and smugglers who are such a blight on our kingdom.”
Prudence chose her words carefully. She didn’t want to encourage Simon’s advances, but it didn’t seem like a wise idea to antagonize him either. “I’m sure you will go far, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am a married woman. Whether or not my marriage is a happy one is irrelevant.”
Simon laughed, a vicious sound that chilled her to the marrow.
“I can solve that problem, too. You see, I know more about your husband than I’ve let on. In fact, I’d venture I know more about him that you do.” Simon leaned back against the leather seat cushions, his self-satisfied smile daring her to argue that point.
Prudence couldn’t. After all, with Simon’s connections he might very well know more about Evan’s past than she did. She remained silent, for once hoping he might keep talking and tell her what he knew.
“I know where your husband is headed, and I’ve sent my best ship to the West Indies to hunt him down.” Simon said, being disappointingly vague. “Funny thing about the Navy. They may be British, but the law at sea isn’t quite the same as it is on land. From what I hear, they don’t require a trial to convict a man—nor to hang him.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Prudence paced in the darkness. She was nervous, but that only accounted for part of her restlessness. Whenever she stopped pacing, an infernal cold crept into her limbs and refused to leave. She had made the mistake of lying down on the cold stone floor hoping to catch a few minutes of sleep. It took more than an hour of pacing just to get the feeling to return to her toes.
This had to be Nova Scotia. It was too cold to be anywhere else.
She had been blindfolded during the last part of a carriage ride that must have lasted for several hours. They had stopped only once so Simon could speak to the driver. She hadn’t even been allowed out to see to her personal needs, which had grown quite urgent.
At least he hadn’t renewed his offer to make Prudence his mistress, but she could still feel his reptilian stare on her even if she couldn’t see him.
By the time they finally stopped, night had fallen, and hunger gnawed at her. She assumed they had st
opped at an inn for supper. After all, even customs officials needed to eat. She had been wrong.
The carriage door opened to reveal a tiny harbor. Well, not really even a harbor since only a few fishing boats bobbed on the gentle waves. A greasy haired man stood at the bow of one, untying it from its tether. When finished, he pushed it a few feet away from the beach and nodded back toward Simon.
“Get in,” Simon had said, shoving her down the beach toward the small dinghy.
They had rowed out to a ship waiting offshore. The men aboard didn’t say much, although she caught a snippet of a crisp English accent here and there as they acknowledged Simon’s orders. If they were surprised to see their superior in the company of a woman, they didn’t let it show.
“Take her below.” Simon pushed her toward one of the men.
Feet already numb from cold, she had been dragged down a ladder and thrown into a hold. She never would have believed it, but she had been actually glad to see a bucket that served as a privy in the corner. As soon as the heavy footfalls of the men died away, she used it, thinking it a sure sign of how dire her circumstances were.
The ship set sail almost immediately, and soon they were in open waters. With no light to judge by, she had no idea which direction they headed, nor how long the journey took. The increasing cold suggested north. Her hunger suggested a little more than a day. At the end of their journey, she was blindfolded once again and led off the ship. By the quiet sound of waves lapping against many hulls, but the lack of human activity, she decided it was a major port but probably night.
A short carriage ride later, she was shoved down a set of stone steps and into another prison cell. In that cold, dark hold, she remained for what seemed like several days and nights. No light shone into her prison through the barred window in the door, so she had no way to tell the passing of time. Periodically, she guessed once a day, a guard came to slide food and water under the door. Prudence had learned to snatch up the stale bread and moldy cheese before the rats got to it.
Waiting for her daily rations, Prudence snorted. Rats were another thing that had ceased to bother her during her ordeal.
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the door, then she saw the small, welcome flicker of the guard’s candle lantern. When he reached the door, he indicted with a grunt and nod of his head that she should step back. Once she had done so, the metal tray scraped against the stone floor as he shoved it under the door.
“Thank you,” she said.
Prudence had given up trying to get the man to speak days ago. Since he never acknowledged her when she spoke, never even glanced up, she wondered if he weren’t perhaps deaf. Still, she always remembered to say thank you whenever he brought her food. He might be her jailor, but for now, he was also her lifeline.
Prudence stooped to pick up the wooden bowl and a loaf of bread that resembled a small stone. At least the food had been reliable even if it were little more than slop fit for swine. She softened the hard bread in the thin stew and ate with gusto.
“Have you changed your mind yet?”
Prudence swallowed, the lump of bread sticking in her throat. Simon’s voice made her lose her appetite in a way that not even moldy bread, semi-rancid meat, or the company of rats ever could.
She stood up, swiping crumbs from her lips with the back of her hand. “Changed my mind about what, exactly?”
“If you’ll agree to be my mistress, I can get you out of here, clear you of all charges.”
“What? Take me away from all this?” She made a dramatic sweep of the room with her free hand. “What could you offer me that would possibly be better than what I have now?”
Anger glinted in his eyes, and although heavy wood and the steel bars of the window separated them, she took an involuntary step backward.
“I don’t think you understand the entirety of your situation. Posh though your surroundings may be, they are only temporary.”
“Do you mean I am going to finally get my trial?”
Surely, even if they convicted her of smuggling, destitution was preferable to this dungeon.
“You’ll get your trial. Only it may not be what you anticipated.”
“What do you mean?” Her blood chilled at the eagerness in his voice.
“It seems the crown has decided to alter the charges.” Simon licked his lips. “Tomorrow, you will be tried for treason.”
“Treason?” Since when had smuggling been elevated to the level of treason? It was preposterous. Yet, the seriousness in Simon’s tone suggested he wasn’t lying.
“My husband will hear about this.” Prudence’s threat echoed against the cold stone walls. What would Evan be able to do about it even if he did arrive in time?
“Your husband? Your husband is dead by now, my dear. As I told you, I sent one of my best captains after him. His ship of the line will have turned that little schooner of Captain Foster’s into toothpicks.” Simon took a step forward. “And even if he does surrender, as I believe I might have mentioned, the laws at sea aren’t as lax as those on land. His majesty’s ships carry enough rope to hang a traitor one hundred times over.”
A traitor? What had Evan done?
Prudence clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms. It mattered little. Ashcroft had done nothing but evade a few of parliament’s more odious import laws. She could be fined and her ships and other property impounded, but she had never heard of a merchant being charged with treason.
“You have six hours left before your trial begins. I suggest you use that time to consider which of your possible fates you prefer.”
Simon wiped away a drop of spittle from the corner of his lips, and Prudence fought the urge to gag.
“He will come for me.” She wished she felt as confident as she sounded.
With a growl, Simon stalked away.
Prudence stared at the bowl in her hands, her appetite gone. She needed to eat, needed to keep her strength up. She set the bowl on a rock that had passed for a chair for so many years it had a little divot worn in the center. Somehow, the rancid beef had lost its appeal.
How she longed to see a familiar face, one other than Simon’s. Why hadn’t anyone come to see her?
She supposed she couldn’t blame Richard for not coming to her rescue. If Simon had put her on the first ship to Nova Scotia, perhaps Richard hadn’t been able to find her. After he scoured New England, he would eventually settle on Nova Scotia, but by the time he reached her, would it be too late?
Of course, that was assuming Simon hadn’t locked Richard up for some fabricated crime as well.
But Evan? Prudence blinked away fresh tears. Evan couldn’t be dead, he just couldn’t. She would know it. Prudence leaned forward, setting her forehead against the cold stones. For once the chill felt good, almost as if she had grown feverish.
If Evan were dead, she wasn’t sure she could go on living. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. She had begun to think her marriage to Evan might end up as happy as her grandmother’s had been. While Evan didn’t love her yet, they shared something. Despite her naiveté, she knew it went beyond a simple business arrangement, even beyond a simple matter of physical desire. They were friends, but also so much more.
Prudence gave a cynical chuckle. She really owed Richard for bestowing her with her first kiss. With that one simple gesture, he had shown her the difference between friendship and a desire that ran so deep it would last through the decades.
Her grandmother had known that sort of love and wanted it for her granddaughter. It was why she had not left Prudence to her own devices in finding a husband. Grandma Rachel knew she and Richard would almost surely have settled into a marriage that left them both content, but never fulfilled. Instead, her grandmother presented her with a gift.
Prudence sank to the floor. “Oh, Grandma, I’m so sorry, but I may have lost him already.”
Cold seeping into her bottom, she buried her face in her bent knees.
“You’re going to catch
your death sitting on the floor like that.”
Prudence’s gaze shot up at the sound of the male voice. The guard stood at the iron bars. No, the guard’s clothing, but not the guard.
“Evan!” Prudence shot to her feet. “You found me.”
“Of course I did.” He reached a hand through the iron bars.
Prudence clasped it as though it were a life line. “But how did you get past the guard? You didn’t kill him did you?” As glad as she was to see Evan, she hated to think of the guard lying dead because of her.
“Funny thing that. The man seemed almost happy to see me when I said I had come for you. He didn’t say anything, but I got the impression he was told you weren’t to have visitors. As soon as I explained that I was your husband, he handed me his coat and hat, gesturing that I should switch with him. Even left the keys in here for good measure.” Evan jangled his pocket.
“Then the guard turned around and pounded the back of his head. I’m guessing he thought I should knock him out.”
“What did you do?”
“I did as he asked.” Evan glanced at her face. “Don’t worry, I didn’t do any permanent damage. I probably didn’t even hit him hard enough to knock him out for more than a few seconds. I just gave him a nice lump to serve as an alibi should anyone discover me down here. Hey, why the tears? I told you I didn’t hurt the guard.”
Prudence reached up a hand to the tears streaming down her cheeks. With a sniffle, she wiped them away with her grimy sleeve. “Simon told me you were dead. He said he sent his best captain after you, and the Cythraul would be toothpicks by now.”
“He did send his best captain after me. A man named Black Jack. And he found me all right.”
Evan’s grin was almost too much for Prudence to bear.
“But how is it that you’re here?”
“Your former beau”—he chuckled when Prudence scowled—“is an idiot. I’m sure the crown didn’t realize that when they appointed him tax commissioner, but they will realize it soon enough.”
Willing Love Page 26