Smuggler's Lair

by Virginia Henley

  Sir Peregrine and Edmund rose to their feet until she was seated, and Victoria saw they had awaited her return before dessert was served. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

  “Not at all,” their host said smoothly.

  The dessert was trifle, Victoria’s favorite. Perversely, she didn’t want any. Without raising her lashes, she spoke to her mother. “I’m afraid I have a dreadful headache.” It wasn’t a total lie; she did feel strangely light-headed.

  Edwina pursed her lips. “Manners, Victoria, manners!”

  Manners? Swine have none!

  “If Mistress Carswell has a headache, I insist you take her home immediately. I hope we can have dinner again soon.”

  There, you swine! I knew you’d find a way to be rid of us. Though she had invented the headache so she could leave, she laid the blame squarely at his door.

  As Sir Peregrine accompanied them through the neglected Great Hall to the front entrance, he gave his polite attention to Edwina’s incessant stream of words. Victoria took the opportunity to study the dark male who towered beside them. She saw that he had a birthmark that slanted down his cheek from ear to chin. He had tried to cover it by growing fashionable sideburn whiskers, but all they did was emphasize his dangerous, rakish look.

  Sir Peregrine took Edwina’s cloak from the servant and helped her into it. He did not extend the same courtesy to Victoria. A shiver ran down her back when she thought of his hands touching her. She did not know if she felt relief or disappointment.

  On the short carriage ride home, Victoria apologized for leaving the room during dinner, but the outrage she expected from her mother did not come.

  “Your absence gave Sir Peregrine and I the opportunity to speak freely and come to an understanding,” Edwina declared.

  “About me?” Tory asked in shocked disbelief.

  “We’ll speak of it in the morning, when your headache is gone.”

  Her mother bade her good night and went upstairs, but Victoria waited for Edmund to come from the stable. With a finger to her lips, she beckoned her brother into the parlor.

  “When I left the table, what exactly did Mother and Fuller say about me?”

  “Our host told Mother he was most impressed with you, and that your modest, self-effacing demeanor appealed to him.”

  “I did play the part rather well. What did Mother say?”

  “She said you were a biddable girl, then told him your virtue and chastity were only right and proper in a maiden.”

  Tory covered her mouth so her laughter wouldn’t bubble out.

  “Sir Peregrine asked if he could pay his addresses to you.”

  Her laughter turned to dismay. “Damnation, I played my part too well!”

  “Mother said she would be delighted and honored.”

  “Hell and Furies! I should never have left the room to go exploring. Still, if I hadn’t, I’d never have known the dissolute devil was throwing a party in another part of the castle. The guests wore Georgian costumes and the atmosphere was bawdy.”

  Her brother looked at her oddly. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not daft, Edmund. I know what I saw. Why do you think he got rid of us so quickly?”

  “We left because of your headache.”

  “I don’t have a headache!”

  “Good night, Tory.” Female logic was too much for him.

  It took a long time for Tory to fall asleep. Sir Peregrine Palmer Fuller was not the nonentity she had expected. On the contrary, the man was extremely compelling. She was highly offended that he wished to forge an association with her as a stratagem to acquire respectability in the eyes of the people of Hawkhurst. Before she met him, she assumed he desired the social connection to distance himself from Mad Jack’s reputation, but now she knew it was to cover his own dissolute activities.

  I shall decline every invitation!

  As she drifted to the edge of sleep, she fancied herself in an elegant ballroom wearing a gown with scandalous décolletage. She flirted outrageously from behind her fan as she decided which of a dozen escorts to favor with a dance. She raised her lashes and looked full into the eyes of a dark man, with a powerful build and a strong face, whose manner had more than a hint of dominance.

  CHAPTER 2

  “A note has been delivered from Sir Peregrine Fuller addressed to the Honorable Victoria Carswell. If it is an invitation to view Bodiam in daylight, as I expect, Edmund may chaperone you.” Edwina handed her daughter the letter with every intention of reading it once the seal was broken.

  “If it is an invitation to Bodiam, I shall decline it.” Tory was in the library, where she was allowed to spend an hour each afternoon. She set her book down and opened the letter.

  “You selfish girl! You will do no such discourteous thing. This is the first gentleman of means who has shown any interest in you. Spinsters and beggars cannot be choosers and you could soon be both if we do not find you a suitable match.” Edwina plucked the invitation from Tory’s fingers and read it. “For the benefit of your family, you will accept with grace and gratitude.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Victoria acquiesced quietly.

  “What are you reading?”

  “It’s a history of Sussex.”

  Edwina swooped upon the book and confiscated it. As she scanned the pages, she gasped with horror. “It is a book about smugglers and criminal activities. Surely you didn’t find this book on the shelves of your father’s library?”

  “Yes, it’s one of Father’s history books. Smuggling was rampant along the Sussex coast in the last century.”

  “’Tis no fit subject for a lady!” Edwina threw it on the fire. “Do something productive.... Reply to Sir Peregrine’s invitation.”

  The moment her mother closed the library door, Tory snatched up the poker and, with her heart in her mouth, prodded the book from the flames onto the tiled hearth. She stomped out the smoldering edges and cleaned up the bits of charred paper with pan and brush.

  This book is precious. A century ago, the people here in Hawkhurst were up to their necks in smuggling. When the export of wool was illegal, Sussex men secretly shipped wool to Calais. After that they smuggled in brandy from France, tea from India, and silks from China. How romantic and exciting it must have been to go on a smuggling run!

  Tory hid the book behind a religious treatise on the top shelf and sighed with resignation as her eye fell on the invitation. She sat down at the desk, took a sheet of parchment, and dipped the pen in the inkwell. Mutiny stirred in her soul. Though she longed to explore Bodiam Castle, she was determined to discourage Fuller from seeking an alliance with her. She threw down the pen.

  I shall answer Sir Peregrine in person. That way I can visit Bodiam, refuse his invitation, and squelch, once and for all, any pretended interest the conniving swine has in me.

  Victoria folded the invitation and slipped it into her silk bag. She put on her cloak, firmly tied the black ribbons of her bonnet beneath her chin, and slipped out the priory’s back door. As she walked along a footpath that led to the castle, Tory took delight in the profusion of Canterbury bells, larkspur, and wild roses that bloomed in the hedgerows. As she crossed the narrow bridge and looked down into the moat, the white, purple, and pink shades of the water lilies filled her with joy.

  When she pulled on a ship’s bell beside the portcullis, a servant appeared and raised the gate. He looked at her askance, so she said blithely, “I’m here at Sir Peregrine’s invitation.”

  Tory followed the man to the Great Hall; he took her cloak and bonnet and asked her to wait. The minute she was alone she walked the perimeter of the chamber, taking in every dank detail. It had a sadly neglected air; its high windows were dirty and broken, with some even boarded up. It lacked furnishings of any sort and its gaping, empty fireplaces were blackened with soot. The wooden dais had splintered boards. Decay from disuse was apparent everywhere.

  “Mistress Carswell, what a delightful surprise.”

  Tory whirled about at th
e sound of the deep, masculine voice.

  He waved his hand. “Bodiam is in deplorable condition, I’m afraid. All needs to be repaired and refurbished.”

  “That will take a deal of tender loving care, not to mention a fortune, Sir Peregrine.”

  His dark eyes lit with amusement. “Fortunately, I have both.”

  “You also have—”

  He held up his hand. “Please allow me to show you more hospitality than Bodiam’s Great Hall affords. I have only refurbished a couple of small chambers. Let us repair to my sitting room.” He led the way and Victoria followed to a small chamber adjacent to the dining room they had used two days ago. Its stone walls were hung with tapestries, the flagstones were covered by a deep-piled carpet, and comfortable brocaded chairs and settees were arranged in front of a small stone fireplace.

  “You were saying?” he prompted.

  Tory lifted her chin. “You also have bald-faced effrontery.”

  His dark eyes glittered. “I warrant you are about to explain.”

  “The only possible reason you can have for inviting my family to dinner and wishing to pay your addresses to me is to lend yourself a veneer of respectability. You believe an alliance with the straitlaced daughter of the Right Reverend Thomas Carswell will provide a smoke screen for your profligate pleasures.” She paused for dramatic effect, then delivered the coup de grâce. “Sorry to disappoint you, Sir Peregrine, but I am neither prim nor proper!”

  His mouth curved. “In that case, have some sherry.”

  “I’ll have port,” she said defiantly.

  He poured two glasses and handed her one. “Do sit and tell me what profligate activities you have discovered.”

  Tory took a chair and, to give her the courage she would need, took a large gulp of port. A red rose bloomed in her breast and she liked the warm feeling the wine produced.

  “Dinner with the Carswells the other night was a ruse. You couldn’t wait to be rid of us so you could join the bawdy guests you’d invited to your masquerade ball. When I excused myself, I went exploring and discovered the dissolute gathering.”

  His dark eyebrows drew together for a moment and then he grabbed her hand. “Show me,” he ordered.

  She clutched her wine with one hand and pulled her other one from his. “You don’t believe I discovered your secret party. Follow me, I’ll soon show you.”

  Tory ascended the staircase with Fuller towering at her side. She turned and went down the long passageway. In the dim light of day it looked even more neglected. At first Tory couldn’t find the place she sought, but by retracing her steps and turning in a different direction, they came upon the minstrels’ gallery.

  “The party was down there. I saw them clearly from here.”

  He seemed intrigued. “You actually saw them? I’ve heard music, but I’ve never seen anyone.”

  “Of course I saw them! Surely you’re not trying to fob them off as ghosts?” she scoffed. She looked down at the empty chamber below and was amazed at how different it now seemed. The deserted room looked dingy and dilapidated. Without the glittering guests and the light of myriad candles the chamber appeared desolate.

  “Can you describe the guests’ costumes?”

  “I most certainly can. They wore Georgian dress. The men were in powdered wigs and satin knee breeches. The ladies, and I use the term lightly, wore exquisite jewels and their gowns exposed their . . . charms . . . in an explicit and provocative way. Their behavior was beyond risqué, it was downright bawdy.”

  “Fascinating!”

  Tory stared at him for a moment and then her innate honesty came to the fore. “I admit I found it most fascinating.” She drained her wineglass. “I also admit I would have preferred the masquerade ball to the staid dinner invitation.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me in the least, coming from a young woman who disguises herself as a water sprite.”

  Tory’s mouth fell open. “How did you know it was me?”

  “The first time I saw you, I followed you to the priory.”

  “Why?”

  “I was completely enchanted.”

  “How many times have you watched me?”

  “Half a dozen.” He smiled into her eyes. “My enchantment shoots large holes in your theory that I am interested in an alliance because of your respectability. I quite agree that there is nothing prim and proper about you, Tory Carswell.”

  “Then why are you interested in me?”

  “You are beautiful, audacious, uninhibited, and unawakened as yet; therein lies your fatal attraction.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned!”

  His mouth curved. “Not for swimming naked, you won’t.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Mother wouldn’t agree.”

  “There is something infinitely familiar about you, Victoria, as if we have met before—perhaps in another time, another place.”

  “And perhaps you have inherited Mad Jack’s eccentricity!”

  “Touché!” He threw back his head and laughed. “I think we would deal well together. We have a mutual love of history, we share a fascination for Bodiam Castle, and we are not above thumbing our noses at society. Will you allow me to court you?”

  “Court me with a view to marriage?”

  “Of course.”

  “Marriage that endows me with all your worldly goods?”

  He smiled knowingly. “You covet Bodiam.”

  She smiled back. “I do indeed, especially when you dangle it before me as bait.”

  He reached out and gently brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “Then your answer is yes?”

  Tory shivered at his touch. She felt breathless and filled with excitement. He thinks me audacious! She swayed toward him, then caught herself before they could indulge in anything as daring and impulsive as a kiss. “I will give you my answer after I have fully explored the castle.”

  His arm swept out in a magnanimous gesture. “Be my guest.”

  * * *

  Victoria couldn’t believe her good fortune. It seemed the attractive devil who owned Bodiam was half in love with her because he’d watched her from one of his castle’s high towers, cavorting naked in the River Rother.

  Her blood sang with anticipation as she walked through the ancient chambers, exploring every nook, arch, and cranny, every artifact left behind by previous generations, no matter its sorry condition. She sensed intangible remnants left floating in the very air like dust motes. She spun around, dancing a solitary waltz, and let her head fall back as she gazed up at the vaulted ceiling. “I love this castle!”

  Tory was eager to explore Bodiam’s towers. The castle had a round tower at each of its four corners and square ones midway between. She was traversing a long passageway that led to a round tower, when suddenly she heard a faint noise of padding feet behind her. She turned, fully expecting to see a dog. Her eyes widened in shocked disbelief. “It’s a leopard!”

  She started to run, her heart pounding with fear. She glanced back, hoping she had been mistaken, but she was gripped with terror when she saw the large spotted cat was now chasing her. She reached the end of the passageway and in desperation began to climb the spiral staircase of the round tower. She could hear the animal gaining on her and ran faster and faster. Her silk bag slipped from her fingers as she frantically hoisted up her skirts so she would not trip. Her breath was exhausted and she had a painful stitch in her side when she saw a door up ahead. Hope plummeted as she realized she had reached the tower’s summit. “Please let it be unlocked!” she beseeched heaven.

  Tory lifted the latch and pushed hard. The heavy oak door swung open. She stumbled through it, slammed it shut, and leaned back against it, weak with relief and gasping for breath.

  “Who the devil are you and what the hellfire are you doing here?” a deep masculine voice demanded.

  Victoria found herself in a luxuriously appointed chamber at the top of the round tower. “Peregrine, is that you?” she asked breathlessly. “There’s a leopard ou
tside this door!”

  He advanced toward her. “The leopard lives here. It’s your identity that is in question.”

  Tory stared at the man who looked like Sir Peregrine and yet he was somehow different. Perhaps it’s his brother. “You are wearing a wig,” she blurted.

  His hand swept off the powdered wig and negligently tossed it onto a gilt chair. His own black hair fell to his shoulders. “And you are wearing the ugliest garment I’ve ever seen.”

  Tory looked down at her gray cambric dress with its leg-of-mutton sleeves and was highly offended.

  “You are extremely rude!”

  “Rude, crude, and tattooed,” he affirmed. “What is your name?”

  She lifted her chin. “I am Victoria Carswell.”

  “Carswell?” He spat the name as if it were an abomination. “If you’re Thomas Carswell’s offspring, you’re here to spy on me.”

  “My father, the Right Reverend Thomas Carswell, is deceased.”

  “Reverend? You must think me simple in the head! He’s the bloody customs officer who just gibbeted George Chapman on the village green.”

  Oh heavens, the man is mad . . . it must run in the family. Tory backed away from him. They keep him locked up here in the tower.

  He picked up a sword and took a threatening step toward her. “D’you know the fate of a spy is imprisonment, or worse, wench?”

  “Please . . . I was merely exploring the castle.... I’m not a spy.”

  He bowed gallantly. “Ah. In that case, feel free to leave.”

  She moved toward the door and remembered the leopard.

  He gave her a wicked grin. “Exactly.”

  “You cannot keep me here,” she gasped.

  “I can.” He flourished the sword. “You might as well make yourself comfortable.” He swept her with a critical glance. “If we are to dwell together, I must rid you of your offensive garb.” With a deft flick of his wrist, the slim blade of his sword swished through the air and slashed her dress from neck to hem.