Occasionally she fancied she saw Randall in the distance but he was as ever tight lipped about his work, and she preferred it so.
Once she thought she recognized a silhouette behind a boat, but the sun was at the wrong angle to see if she was hallucinating or if it was indeed Philippe.
Each night her dream visited her, and each morning she woke frustrated, her quim throbbing, her channel wet and her nipples hard and wanting. Before she rose she had to take herself in hand before she was able to start the day with equanimity.
Chapter Two
Randall had left the house after supper, after admonishing her to make sure the doors were locked and she had her pistol at hand. Cecy could tell he was worried about her safety and could do nothing to reassure him. Not for the first time she cursed Perry for sending her to this village on the coast of Devon, charming as it was on the surface. How long before she was absolved and allowed back into the bosom of her family? The ton she knew would be a harder nut to crack. They gave some leeway, but once a lady crossed the imaginary line into impropriety, it took a miracle or a good marriage to restore honor. Cecy was sure she wouldn't reach that mark anytime soon, but the thought of her manor in the shires gave her comfort. She could retire to it with satisfaction and reside there for as long as needed. Oh she loved this village, but always there was a feeling of anticipation. Of something about to happen, and not necessarily in a good way. With a grimace she got ready for bed.
As she undressed and put on her night rail and wrap, Cecy thought she really must stop wearing so much green. Just because a certain French count had said it matched her eyes was no reason to favor it. Not now, not after such a long time. As she got into bed she vowed there and then to send to Exeter for blue, orange or red garments. Anything but green.
She dreamed, of course. Of a dark haired, dark eyed man who beckoned to her.
A crash brought her awake with a jolt.
She knew it was no dream. Grabbing her silk wrapper she thrust her arms into the sleeves and then belted it tight. Mindful of Randall's warning she lifted her pistol from under her pillow and left her room.
The sight she saw in the hallway made her lurch at Randall and the stranger he was trying to hold up. Her mini assault, unintentional as it was, caused them all to fall. Mrs. Batting, resplendent in hair rags and a vivid scarlet dressing gown, bustled around like a demented hen, until finally they got the man upstairs and into Randall's bed. Cecy chose not to query why her brother's bed, or who the man was until the doctor had called. Once the fussy little physician had left she crept back into the room and confronted Randall.
"Randall, who is this man?" She looked from her brother to the stranger and back again.
"His name is Jason. Watch over him for me, Cecy."
She stared from her brother to the comatose body in the bed, and raised an eyebrow. Randall shrugged. The body groaned and opened one eye.
Jason swept back the bed covers. Cecy stifled a giggle. He was as naked as the day he was born. His physique was certainly not as that day, and proud of it. And judging by the way he looked at Randall, her presence was superfluous.
"All I ask is you both know what you're doing, and take care. I'll do as you ask."
However much she worried, a promise was a promise. It was no hard thing to do. Cecy took the evening meal to him and found her unexpected guest proved to be an restful companion. He said little, but seemed happy just to sit and enjoy the autumn evening and watch the swallows swoop over the river.
Which made it all the more difficult to assimilate when, after she had taken herself on a brisk walk over the local hills the next morning, she returned to find their visitor missing. Mrs. Batting had no idea he'd left, let alone when. Cecy hastened to reassure the housekeeper that it was nothing for her to worry about. Cecy would do the worrying.
Cursing under her breath, Cecy paced the parlor. Randall would never forgive her, and how on earth could she contact him and tell him she'd misplaced his lover? For lovers they were—or had been—of that Cecy had no doubt.
"Damn the bloody man, where the hell has he gone?" She was so deep in thought that when someone cleared their throat, she jumped and put her hand to her heart.
Oh dear.
"Oh Randall! I've misplaced your man!"
That startled a chuckle form him. "Misplaced him? You mean he sneakily gave you the slip. He's a former intelligence officer, you know."
That explained a lot to her. The way he was always alert, and almost seemed to anticipate some of her moves.
"A spy?" Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. "Really, no wonder I misplaced him. The bounder.
Randall nodded, and sympathy showed in his eyes.
"Yes. One of Percy's crew. He was leader of a squad in Paris, sending information back home."
"Then I should not be surprised or ashamed that he outwitted me." Cecy grinned. That was a relief.
"No. It was bound to happen. He's outwitted and out fought me on more than one occasion as well," he confessed.
"But Randall," Cecy leaned forward confidingly. "What shall you do? Will he return for you? How will you find him again?" Her heart tightened for her brother. To find someone so special only to lose them again. She knew how cruel that was.
"Finding him won't be a problem," Randall replied in a dry tone. "I met up with him in Tor in Fieldside.
"He followed you?"
Randall shook his head. "No. He was there afore me. He killed the man we went there to arrest."
Cecy's gasp of shock drew his gaze from the fire. He stared at her from under hooded eyes. As usual his face was impossible to read. Truly he was a master of insouciance when he chose to be. Only the tic at the corner of his eye showed he wasn't as indifferent as he chose to portray.
"Oh, it was perfectly understandable. You see, the man was part of the French spy ring that killed Jason's team."
"It was revenge?" Cecy's skin crawled. She had known Jason was dangerous. It was in every move he made, but to do such a thing in cold blood she thought was inexplicable. She was wrong.
"He called it justice, but yes, it was revenge." Randall said flatly.
"Then why didn't he return with you?" Cecy was puzzled. She was certain Randall was being somewhat economical with the truth." Why indeed? To put it shortly I had him arrested."
"Randall! You did not!"
Cecy stared at him, and noticed the fine tremor that rippled through him. So he wasn't as unaffected as he tried to make out.
"Indeed I did." He sank onto the sofa beside Cecy, and stared into the fire, and frowned. Cecy placed a comforting hand on his arm, and he covered it with his own, and squeezed gently.
"What will you do now?" she asked him.
"Now?" He snorted inelegantly. "I leave in the morning for London to give Perry the good and bad news." He gathered himself and continued bitterly, "Good news. Hello brother—the cousin we buried isn't actually dead. Bad news, I had to arrest him for murder. Good news, your little spy ring wasn't entirely wiped out, bad news, one of them has gone rogue and taken it into his head to commit homicide."
Cecy gasped and rubbed her clammy hands down her silks. "Oh. What do you think he'll do?"
"This is Perry. He'll do what's right and proper and legal. In other words, I get to be instrumental in the hanging of the man I love. And all because I couldn't take a moment to calm myself. I let my emotions guide my actions, and now Jason shall suffer for it."
Cecy had no words to comfort him.
Randall smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "I'll see you later.
****
Just over two weeks after their arrival, and not that long since their guest had departed, a knock on the door mid-morning was unexpected. Cecy put down her books and walked down the stairs, pleased to have a reason to ignore the household accounts. Randal had had scarcely been at home over the last days, and when he was, was irritable and short tempered. He'd been morose and then tight-lipped whenever she tried to bring the subj
ect of Jason up, and eventually she gave up. She acknowledged she was bored and promised herself a long walk as soon as it was practicable. Meanwhile any distraction from the dratted accounts and a lost bag of coal was welcome.
Mrs. Batting had departed on the early ferry across the river to the market, so Cecy took it upon herself to answer the insistent knocking.
"I'm coming," she muttered as she fought with the lock. Mrs. Batting had taken Randall's words regarding Cecy's safety to heart. She flung the door open and stared. Jason was the last person she expected to see on the step.
"Well?" she invested the word with all the imperiousness she could muster. How dare he return after all he had done?
"I wish to speak to Randall."
She stared at his ashen face, his unkempt hair and his sweat and sea-soaked garments.
"He is not here. Even if he was?" She raised one eyebrow and willed herself not to tell him what she really thought. If she started, the local fishwives would think they had a new member.
With an inbuilt grace he bowed. "I beg you accept my apology for disturbing you, my lady." Jason turned and walked along the lane. Cecy went to call him back, but stopped. Did she know if Randall would want to see him? She watched as he turned the corner, and could have cried for him and her brother and what might have been.
As she closed the door and made her way slowly back to her tiny study, Cecy made a decision. Tomorrow she would get up with the sun and walk. With this happy thought she returned to the accounts and found the missing coal listed under cooking equipment.
****
True to her promise to herself, Cecy woke early and once more looked out at the pearly sky. The day beckoned and she gave in. With only a cursory wash she dressed quickly, left a short note for the housekeeper. Snatching up her pelisse and a warm shawl, Cecy walked down the stairs and left the house.
Which way should she walk? A seagull wheeled overhead squawking at her in indignation when it realized she wasn't a source of food. It flew away eastwards toward the estuary mouth, and made her mind up for her. She turned right and began to walk along the track toward the river beach.
As the night sky cleared the mist rose over the river. Somewhere a curlew whistled, to be answered by a second and a third. The calls sounded eerie in the mist and Cecy couldn't decide where any of them came from. She shivered, and not just from the pre-dawn chill. The atmosphere was menacing, the air still and waiting for something to happen. She mocked herself as she strode out. This was not a Gothic novel, this was reality.
Her footsteps rang out as she walked and for one strange moment she could have sworn they were echoed. She stopped walking. The only noise was that of distant waves slapping against a boat's hull, and she fancied the sound of an oar in a rowlock. Or was it? Even as she cocked her head to listen better the noise stopped and the misty, eerie stillness surrounded her again.
Shaking her head at such fanciful notions, Cecy continued her walk along the track, which had deteriorated into a few feet's width of mud and sand, and now skirted the shoreline.
The blanket of white mist was smothering. Almost she felt she should turn around, go home and save her walk for later. Some imp of devilment propelled her forward. She had to see if there was any way to access the sea.
Humming to herself, she swung her arms the better to get some warmth in them.
Ahead the seagull shrieked, a strange two–note noise like she had never heard before.
Nothing prepared her for what happened next.
Chapter Three
Damn woman. She'll find them. Philippe De Caen muttered under his breath as he followed her, his careful footsteps muffled by the sand. The whistled birdcall told him to stall her. They needed five more minutes to hide the goods. Not for the first time he cursed the fact that Randall Gretton had been posted to the village. Him alone would have been bad enough, but for Randall to be accompanied by his sister was Philippe's worst nightmare.
Grimly he remembered Caleb's words as they rested, rolled in each other's arms the previous week.
"He's bringing her. No doubt Lord Gretton is laying down the family law once more. We must take care."
Now he wondered just whom they must take care of; themselves or Cecy? His was not the only smuggling ring in the area, indeed he was not generally working for himself, but to facilitate ease of passage for others. In specific for someone who wanted Britain to proper and become a safe country. Within his role as smuggler's friend he walked a dangerous path. His own leader was ruthless when necessary, but basically kind. Others were not.
Another birdcall filled the air and he knew he had to act. Philippe moved swiftly, caught up with Cecy and lifting the lacy shawl he carried, he flung it over her head. He muffled her surprised shout with his hand and pressed carefully on her neck.
As she went limp, Philippe lifted her effortlessly into his arms and strode away from the foreshore, up the hill toward the manor. Stupid woman, how was he going to explain her abduction to her, let alone to Caleb? Philosophical as ever, he decided he'd worry about that when the time came. There were more pressing things to mull over. Her breast rose and fell with an evenness that in other circumstances he would have marveled at. It was a surety the lady did not often have such a level demeanor. With a ruthlessness that surprised him, he compelled his cock to remain quiescent, as it threatened to rise to the proximity of her body crushed against his. Now was not the time, even though he itched to touch her breasts. Then, he decided he would nip the nubs until they stood out proud and hard. Run his hand over her quim, tease her entrance and listen to the soft mewls and cries she would no doubt make. Sadly, there were other, more important things at hand.
He trilled a set of notes, and paused until he heard them returned. Satisfied he continued his uphill journey away from the river, tunnel, and caves that hid a myriad of secrets. Half way up the steep slope his companion stirred and began to struggle and once more he stilled her. Philippe was under no illusion how she would hate him even more when she woke. His face grim, he turned off the track and along an overgrown path that ran alongside a high stone wall until he came to a studded wooden door. It was slightly ajar and the nettles and ferns growing up against it indicated it had been so for many a year. However, he knew it was left like that on purpose. It was in his favor that the gap between it and the wall was just large enough for him and his burden to pass through.
Cecilia was a complication they could well do without, he thought, as he approached the house by a slim entrance set in a side wall. What Caleb would say or do was an unknown.
Caleb had suffered much more than Philippe over what had occurred before, and it had been many a long month before the light she had snuffed out reappeared in Caleb's eyes again. For the troubles at the ball to once more bring their relationships to the notice of the ton was worse. He had thought their swift removal from the capital would have helped to defuse the matter. If Cecy was here he rather thought his hopes were unfounded. Philippe prayed to god that a rerun was not about to happen. It wouldn't, not if he had any say in the matter.
He set her to stand up against him and jigged the door handle. As he opened the door inwards, a stab of pain in his kidneys radiated through him. It took his breath away and it was only with a great effort he managed to catch hold of Cecilia's hands as she leaned in for a second assault. The shawl had slipped and tangled around her body, and this he thought worked in his favor.
"You cur." Her words might be slurred, but there was no mistaking the vehemence in them. "Bastard." The latter was accompanied by a lifted knee, which if her wits were about her and she was not so unsteady could well have ended his lineage there and then.
She spoiled the action by falling into him and then sliding gracefully down his body. Every touch sent a shaft of heat through him. Daggers of sensations pricked and stabbed him as her breasts moved over his torso, and then seemed to encircle his cock. She ended up with her cheek resting on his prick. One small movement and it could just about nest
le in her mouth, breeches notwithstanding.
"Ah, so nice… is it all for me?" Her tone was one of satisfied female, as she turned her head and her lips feathered over his luckily still covered cock, and…
Sweet lord, was that a nip? A second tug on his prick confirmed it. What? Surely I only rendered her unconscious, not hallucinating or stupid? Or, heaven help me, horny?
"Maybe later," he said cautiously as Cecilia continued to play. Her hands were busy at his waistband, and under no circumstances could he let her continue. "No, not now, let's get you inside and warm."
"Am warm." However she stopped her fumbling, and looked up at him. She reminded him of a baby owl, all eyes and feathers; although in her case it was long auburn hair that surrounded the orbs. He saw the minute her eyes cleared and awareness returned.
"You arrogant cad, you, you…" Cecilia's voice trailed away, and she tried to scramble to her feet. Philippe caught her by the arms as she swayed and all but fell again. There was no way he could enjoy the closeness of her again without acting on her unspoken invitation. With an outward show of firmness he was far from feeling he hauled her upright.
"Yes, all of those no doubt, but now is not the time to expand on them. Come with me, and if you struggle or protest, I will cause you to be unaware once more. Are you prepared for that? To discover what in your insentient state you decree acceptable?" He made his voice harsh, and winced at himself.
Lord, I sound like a pompous idiot.
She was silent for a heart stopping moment. The way her chest rose and fell so rapidly was a statement of her agitation. Eventually, just as he felt he had no option but to coerce her, she nodded.
"It seems I have no option Monsieur Le Compte. However, I can state now, quite categorically, you will be wise to expect a visit from my brother, and to have chosen your seconds. He will not take such behavior lightly." Her eyes flashed fire, and her fingers clenched in on her palms. He was in no doubt she itched to use them on his body, preferably where they could inflict the most damage. Equally he had no intention of letting such an injury happen.
Cecilia's Claim Page 3