My Fair Princess

by Vanessa Kelly

  She slithered her way through the underbrush to the back of the cottage. It took but a few moments to make her way to a window that was missing one shutter, with the other sagging halfway off its hinges. Hunkering down, she listened to the rumble of masculine voices inside and felt a flare of triumph when she identified Scunthorpe’s.

  “How much longer?” the estate manager said in an impatient tone. “That bloody man of yours should have been here ages ago.”

  A low voice answered him. “Christ, man, it’s the bleedin’ middle of the night. No one’ll be up in the big house for hours yet. You’re safe.”

  She was fairly certain she recognized that voice, too.

  “The longer we wait, the greater the chance of discovery,” Scunthorpe whined. “His Grace is getting more and more suspicious. I don’t know how much longer I can hold him off.”

  “That pompous ass? You’ve got me shiverin’ in me boots.”

  “Leverton is no fool. And if you’re not afraid of him, you should at least be afraid of that runner he’s hired. God only knows what he’ll find out.”

  “That’s why we’re moving the loot tonight. Christ, you’re worse than a nagging old tabby. You might try growin’ a pair of balls.”

  “Aren’t you the brave one?” Scunthorpe retorted. “But I expect you wouldn’t be so bold if your brother knew about this. He promised Leverton there would be no more runs across estate lands.”

  “My brother’s a fool. We’ve been usin’Fenfield Manor to make our runs for nigh on two years. No need to stop just because that bleedin’ nob is hangin’ about. He and his kind won’t be stickin’ around for much longer, I reckon.”

  “They can’t leave soon enough for my taste.” Scunthorpe’s tone was bitter. “Why Leverton had to take it into his head to remain in residence is beyond me. I’ve kept the estate in prime order, but now he’s camped down here looking over my shoulder. He’s ruining everything.”

  “Shut your gob before I shut it for you. I hear someone.”

  A moment later, Gillian heard Teddy’s soft, trilling whistle, as if a bird had been disturbed from its slumbers. She crouched lower. Since she was at the back of the cottage, she should escape detection.

  “Is it your man?” Scunthorpe asked.

  Gillian heard shuffling footsteps and then a door creaking open.

  “Aye, it’s Billy,” replied the other man.

  Since the voices had moved away from the window toward the front of the cottage, Gillian decided to risk a look. Slowly, she came up and peeked over the windowsill to see a barely furnished room with a few broken-down chairs and some old hunting traps piled in the corner. A single lamp, placed on the roughhewn table near the door, lit the room. Three men clustered about the table, half turned away from the window. With Scunthorpe and the new arrival was the lout she’d shot the night they’d been robbed. It was his voice she’d recognized.

  Gillian quietly slid below the window. The gang leader— the one who’d negotiated with Leverton—had ordered his men to avoid estate lands, and he’d clearly kept his word. Just as clearly, the man’s idiot brother had defied him. That Scunthorpe would align himself with so great a fool was rather surprising. The man’s disloyalty would be a heavy blow to Charles, and Gillian didn’t relish the task of telling him that his lands had been at the center of a smuggling ring for quite some time, thanks to his estate manager.

  Well, at least she could help Charles put a stop to it.

  The voices inside the cottage had been rising for the last few minutes. Apparently all was not going as planned for the merry little band of thieves.

  “What do you mean I have to go with you to fetch the carts?” Scunthorpe angrily asked. “I never get involved in the transport of goods.”

  “I can’t do it meself,” said the newcomer. “It ain’t my fault that Sam and his mate never showed tonight. You know that, right, Jenkins?”

  Jenkins. Now she had a name to go along with the face.

  “I know that I’ll be beatin’ the piss out of Sam next time I see him,” said Jenkins. “But we’d best be off. It’ll take most the night as it is, with just three of us to haul the load.”

  “No,” Scunthorpe said. “I’ll stay here and—”

  “You’ll do exactly what I say, or I’ll beat the livin’ piss out of you too, you snivelin’ coward,” Jenkins snarled. “Do we got that clear?”

  Gillian held her breath, praying that Scunthorpe would do as he was told.

  “All right,” the estate manager finally said. “But after tonight, I’m finished with you lot.”

  “Suits me,” Jenkins said. “You’re nothin’ but a pain in me arse. Now let’s be off before it gets any later.”

  Gillian heard them shuffling around, then the cottage went dark. She quietly made her way to the corner of the building and peered around just in time to see three men cut across the clearing, quickly disappearing into the night-shrouded forest.

  A rustle sounded behind her. She whipped around, pulling her knife from her boot, but relaxed when she saw Teddy scuttle up.

  “Do you know where they be going?” he asked.

  “To fetch carts to move their contraband. Any idea where they might be hiding them?”

  Teddy scrunched up his face. “Sometimes smugglers store their carts ’n stuff in the tenant farmers’ barns.”

  “Oh, God,” she sighed. “How many Fenfield tenants are involved in this?”

  “Prob’ly only one or two. They threatens them, miss. Don’t give them no choice.”

  Anger made her stomach go tight. “That ends tonight. Any thoughts about which farmer it’s likely to be, or how close the carts might be?”

  Teddy shrugged. “Could be close as a mile or as far as five.”

  “Hmm. I think not the former.” Jenkins had said it would take several hours to transport the goods, which suggested the carts were not stashed close by. With a wee bit of luck, Charles could rouse his men and get to the cottage before the smugglers returned, trapping them.

  “Teddy, listen carefully. I need you to run back to the manor house as fast as you can. First, you must wake Reid. Tell him to saddle the duke’s horse right away and also send someone to wake the duke up. Then you tell His Grace what we’ve found, and tell him that I’m waiting here for him. He’ll know what to do.”

  Teddy’s hand stole up to her arm. “Miss, you shouldn’t stay here alone. It ain’t right.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to slip in and take a quick look around, and then—”

  “No!” he cried, yanking on her sleeve. “It’s too dangerous. You have to promise to wait in the woods till the duke comes.”

  “You needn’t worry about me.”

  “I ain’t going, not until you promise you won’t go into that bleedin’ cottage alone.”

  Gillian took in the stubborn tilt of his chin. She needed him on his way, and she needed it now. “All right, I promise to wait out here. Can you find your way back while avoiding the smugglers?”

  “Lord, miss, I ain’t a dummy.”

  She couldn’t help a grin. “You are anything but. Now, go as fast as you can.”

  He scuttled into the forest, taking the overgrown path that led back to Fenfield. Gillian listened until the sound of his footsteps faded. Then she slipped the knife back into her boot and sat down under the window to wait.

  * * *

  Gillian guessed that at least forty-five minutes had passed, but there was still no sign of Charles. She felt slightly guilty that Teddy had to face Leverton’s wrath, but the option of leaving the boy at the cottage had been no option at all. Even though the smugglers would probably take at least a few hours to return, Gillian was taking no chances with Teddy’s life.

  As for her own safety, she wasn’t worried. She had excellent hearing and vision, so there was little chance that Jenkins and his merry band of poltroons would catch her unawares.

  When a muscle in her leg started to cramp, Gillian danced a bit to get the
blood flowing. Then she slipped around to the front of the cottage, pausing for a good listen. She heard what she expected to hear—nothing. No one was within a mile of the place, she would swear, which made her promise to Teddy even more annoying. By now, she could have already tossed the place at least twice over. It was foolish to sit about doing nothing when she could be searching for the missing jewels. Besides, it would pass the time while she waited for Charles.

  Closing her eyes, she took another good listen, identifying all the sounds that drifted out from the surrounding woods. She heard the hoot of a distant owl, the scamper of a small nocturnal animal, and the whisper of a soft wind through the trees. She was convinced there was nothing out there that didn’t belong.

  Gillian turned and examined the cottage’s heavy oak door. Unlike the rest of the exterior of the building, it seemed in fairly good shape. It was also locked. She could climb through a window, but she might as well get the door open for Leverton and his men.

  Unearthing her picklocks from an inside pocket, she went to work. Fortunately, the lock was well oiled, and she had the door open only a minute later. It moved silently inward, the hinges clearly oiled, too—another indication the smugglers had been using the cottage as something more than an occasional place to stash their goods. Gillian slipped into the inky-dark room, closing the door behind her. Treading carefully, she crossed to the back window and pushed the shutter fully open to let in what little light was to be had from a half-moon behind broken clouds.

  “Better,” she whispered, slowly turning to scan the room.

  Left of the window, a large, misshapen object caught her eye. It was covered by an oilcloth tarp. She lifted the cover and saw at least twenty small casks stacked up against the wall. The heady scent wafting up told her they contained tobacco.

  Repressing a flare of impatience, she pulled the tarp completely off and wrestled the casks in the back row away from the wall. She took another good look, but saw no small package or box stashed behind them. The casks all seemed to be well sealed, and Gillian didn’t relish the task of prying off twenty lids in what would probably be a fruitless search for the jewels.

  Allowing herself a muttered curse, she stood and took another slow scan of the room. Unfortunately, there was nothing that would serve as a hiding place for the jewels, or anything else that might be classified as baubles or frippery.

  Had Teddy misheard the conversation in the tavern? Was this simply the last of the smuggled goods that had been stowed here after a final run? Perhaps the jewels had never been here at all, or Jenkins had already moved them. The grim reality was that they could be hidden away in any number of places or, even worse, they could already be on their way to Lincoln to be broken up and sold.

  Reluctant to give up, she started moving more casks in the faint hope that she might stumble upon a secret cubbyhole in the floor. She’d just pulled another one away from the wall when she heard horses’ hooves. She quickly pulled the tarp back over the casks, then slipped out the door and took a position around the side of the cottage, drawing her pistol.

  A single rider was coming along the main path through the woods. Gillian cocked her pistol and waited for him to emerge. Though it was most likely the duke, there was no point in taking any chances.

  The horse slowed, then stopped. She heard the jingle of a bridle, then nothing. Whoever it was had decided to exercise caution.

  Gillian ghosted back underneath the eaves of the cottage, crouching down behind a sad old water barrel half on its side. Straining her ears, she finally heard a soft footfall. Whoever he was, he was bloody good at concealing his movements.

  A moment later, a dark form emerged at the edge of the clearing. A tall man in a greatcoat came to a halt, his head cocked as he listened. Gillian would have recognized those broad shoulders and that confident stance anywhere.

  “Charles,” she called softly as she stood up.

  His head whipped around, and then he stalked across the clearing, swift and silent. His greatcoat swirled around him like an approaching storm.

  “Goddammit, Gillian,” he growled. He hauled her into a fierce embrace. “Are you all right?”

  For a moment, she let herself enjoy the feel of his arms around her. “Yes, except for the fact that you’re smothering me and may have just cracked one of my ribs. Other than that, I’m quite fit.”

  He slid his hands up to her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “I don’t know whether to laugh or give you a sound spanking. Probably both.”

  “Well, you can try. That might be rather fun, now that I think about it.”

  He did choke out a soft laugh at that. “God, woman, you are incorrigible. What the hell am I going to do with you?”

  She wriggled out of his arms, but then took his hand and started toward the cottage door. “For one thing, you can help me search for my jewels. For another, you can tell me where the rest of your men are.”

  He allowed her to pull him inside. “Christ, it’s like a tomb in here. I can’t see a blasted thing.”

  “Your eyes will adjust in a minute. Now, Charles, please tell me you didn’t come alone.”

  “Contrary to what you might think, I’m not an idiot. Two of the grooms are right behind me, at least I hope so.”

  “Only two?” she asked in some dismay. “What about the footmen?”

  “Yes, well, who knew that neither of my footmen could ride?” he said sardonically.

  “What about Reid? With him and the two grooms, that would make five of us. That should suffice.”

  “Unfortunately, in all the commotion, Reid slipped while saddling my horse. It appears he may have broken his ankle.”

  She winced. “Oh, that’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not,” he said. “Gillian, I need to get you back to the manor immediately.”

  She scowled at him. Clearly, his vision had adapted because he scowled right back. “I have no intention of leaving before the smugglers come back,” she said.

  “My grooms will keep an eye on them until I return here. I promise you I will deal with the smugglers.”

  “Charles, I’m not leaving.”

  “Gillian—”

  “Please, just look at this.” She hurried over to the casks and threw back the tarp.

  He crouched down to inspect the goods. “That bastard. I warned him what would happen if he didn’t stay off my lands.”

  “It’s not the leader. It’s his brother.”

  He frowned up at her. “How do you know that?”

  “What did Teddy tell you?”

  “Not much. I didn’t give him a chance.”

  “I do hope you didn’t frighten him,” she said in a stern tone. “He was very worried about that.”

  “You’re the one who should be worried, especially if our unwelcome visitors return.”

  When he started to tug her toward the door, she dug in her heels. “They won’t be back for at least another hour. They have to fetch their carts.”

  “Gillian—”

  “Charles, please trust me,” she said quietly.

  He muttered a few oaths under his breath, but then nodded. “All right. Tell me what you know, but quickly.”

  By the time she finished, he was fuming. “Scunthorpe certainly played me a merry dance. I’m sorry, Gillian. I should have listened to you.”

  “Let that be a lesson to you for the future, my dear sir,” she said with a cheeky grin. The narrowing of his eyes told her that he wasn’t yet ready to joke about the situation. “But never mind that now,” she added hastily. “We need to find my jewels. I’m afraid that even when we capture Jenkins, he won’t give them up. It’s not as if he would receive any clemency for doing so.”

  She didn’t need light from a lamp to see how much he hated that idea. Gently, she laid her hand on his arm. “I need to do this.”

  He stared down at her for long, agonizing seconds, his handsome features grim. “All right,” he finally said. “We’ll look for a few minutes, but th
en we’re leaving. Agreed?”

  She went on tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

  Quickly, they moved the casks but found nothing underneath. Then Charles peered under the table to make sure that Jenkins hadn’t nailed a packet to the underside of the top. But there was no sign of the jewels.

  “I don’t understand it,” she said. “Teddy seemed certain they talked about moving baubles and fripperies tonight.”

  “They used the word ‘baubles’?”

  “Apparently.”

  As he stood in the center of the room and did a slow turn, Gillian tamped down a growing sense of despair. They’d all but ripped the room apart and found nothing. “Confound it, it’s hopeless.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps not.” Charles crossed to the fireplace. He ran his fingers around the edges of the fireboard that sealed off the hearth from rodents or birds coming down the chimney. “You wouldn’t happen to be carrying a knife, would you?”

  She extracted the blade from her boot and handed it to him.

  “Of course you would,” he said in a tone as dry as the dust on the floor. He slipped the tip of the blade into the seam between the board and the brick surround. After a few sharp tugs, it popped off. He returned her knife, then reached into the empty grate and extracted a cloth pouch.

  “I’m an idiot for not thinking of that,” Gillian said. “Well done, Charles.”

  She was reaching for the pouch when she heard the scrape of a boot. Charles slowly came up from his crouch, his face grim.

  Blast. She’d been so eager to find the jewels that she’d stupidly dropped her guard. She whipped around, already knowing what she would see in the open doorway.

  As one might expect from a ruthless, despicable villain, Jenkins had a pistol aimed right at them.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The brute hadn’t come alone. Scunthorpe and another man crowded in behind Jenkins, both aiming guns, although the estate manager was obviously quaking in his boots. Charles had every intention of murdering the bastard if he and Gillian weren’t murdered first.