Smuggler's Lair

by Virginia Henley

  Tory screamed, then stared in dismay as the gray cambric parted to reveal her corset and drawers. “You lecherous swine!”

  The wicked grin returned. “Lord Hawkhurst, at your service.”

  The name was familiar to Victoria from the history books she read. The town of Hawkhurst had been named after the noble lord who had owned Bodiam Castle a century ago. Could it possibly be? No, I’m just being fanciful!

  “Why d’you wear your hair screwed into a knob?”

  Her hand moved to her head. “It’s a bun.”

  “It’s bloody ugly.” He set aside his sword. “Here, let me help you.” He took hold of her leg-of-mutton sleeves and pulled off her dress. Then he took the pins from her hair and it came tumbling down in a silken mass that curled about her shoulders.

  Tory flew at him and tried to scratch his insolent face.

  He took firm hold of her wrists and appraised her with bold black eyes. “By God, wench, you are quite a showy piece.”

  “Wench? My name is Victoria—I was named for the queen!”

  He let go of her wrists. “The queen’s name is Caroline.”

  “Caroline was King George the Second’s wife.”

  “Is King George’s wife,” he corrected.

  “Queen Caroline has been dead for almost a century. This is the year of our lord, eighteen thirty-seven.”

  “Seventeen thirty-seven, you ignorant wench.”

  If that is true, I am from a hundred years in your future, and you are from a hundred years in my past.

  “Don’t call me wench. My name is Victoria.”

  “A hideous name.”

  “I quite agree. I much prefer Tory.”

  “You called me Peregrine when you came in. How did you know? It’s a name I detest; I changed it to Falcon years ago.”

  Falcon . . . what a lovely, romantic name. “It quite suits you, Lord Hawkhurst.”

  Her glance traveled from his frilled lawn shirt to his tight black breeches that did little to hide his masculine bulge. You are quite convinced you are a Georgian gentleman and you are certainly dressed like a Georgian. I wonder if this is a dream?

  “Now that we have dispensed with the formalities, confess what you’re really doing here.”

  “I’ve fallen in love with Bodiam Castle. I came to explore.”

  His bold stare was insolent. “You look quite fetching in those—”

  “Drawers.”

  His stare turned into a wicked leer. “I’m going to enjoy keeping you captive.”

  This isn’t a dream; it’s more like a fantasy. Perhaps I’ve conjured him from my imagination. Lord Hawkhurst . . . Falcon. . . finds me attractive. He thinks I’m a showy piece and wants to seduce me. Common sense came to her rescue. Stop it, Victoria . . . that’s just wishful thinking!

  He went to the door, opened it, and called, “Mr. Burke.”

  Tory, who had fully expected the leopard to rush in, let out a relieved breath. In a few moments a servant, wearing powdered wig and livery, entered the chamber. She saw him eye her drawers.

  “I didn’t know you had a guest, milord.”

  “Someone the cat dragged in. By necessity, she’ll be staying a while. We’ll have dinner up here tonight, Mr. Burke.”

  Tory seized the opportunity. “Mr. Burke, my name is Victoria Carswell. Lord Hawkhurst thinks he can keep me captive here, but that is impossible. I live at the priory and I must return home. You can see it from the window—I’ll show you.”

  Victoria went to the north window of the tower and looked toward the town of Hawkhurst, but all she could see was forest. Her brows drew together. “I can’t see the priory, but you must know it. It’s on the edge of town, next to the parish church.”

  “Let’s humor her, Mr. Burke. Come up to the parapet, Tory; you’ll have an unimpeded view for miles.” Hawkhurst drew back a curtain, opened a door, and climbed steps that led to the tower roof. Tory and the servant followed him.

  She gazed out across the treetops, perplexed that no roads or buildings of the town were visible, not even the church spire. “Where is Hawkhurst?” she asked.

  “The village is over there. You can just make out the Oak and Ivy, half a mile this side of the village.”

  “The Oak and Ivy Inn? I read about that in my history book.” That’s where the smugglers used to meet. Tory walked to the crenellated wall and gazed out in every direction. “Good heavens, there’s a sailing ship moored in the river!”

  “It’s mine,” Hawkhurst said matter-of-factly.

  Tory had read about Lord Hawkhurst’s ship. It was a two-masted brigantine capable of great speed, and she remembered its name.

  This cannot be happening. She reached out to the wall to steady herself. She felt the rough stone beneath her fingers and knew it was real. “What is the name of your ship?”

  “The Seacock.”

  Tory’s hand went to her head and she felt herself slipping down into oblivion.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Where am I?” Tory felt strangely disoriented.

  “You’re in my bed.”

  She looked up into the bold black eyes of Falcon Hawkhurst and remembered everything. Somehow, I’ve gone back in time and there’s nothing I can do about it. Tory suddenly laughed. Perhaps there’s nothing I want to do about it!

  “Why are you laughing, wench?”

  “Because I’m your captive.” The air is charged with danger and excitement and I’ve never felt freer in my life! She reached out and traced her fingertips down his cheek. “You don’t have a birthmark.”

  He took hold of her fingers and removed them from his face. “If you touch me intimately, there will be consequences.”

  She changed the subject quickly. “Do I smell food?”

  “Mr. Burke brought our dinner. I suppose I must feed you.”

  The tip of her tongue licked her top lip in an unconscious, provocative gesture. “I’m starving,” she murmured.

  “Shall we dine in bed?”

  “Cheeky swine! Do you enjoy deluding yourself?”

  “Not as much as you enjoy being a cocktease.”

  Tory gasped at the shocking word he used. She had never heard it before in her life, but she knew it was wicked, and she knew exactly what it meant.

  “Victoria, you are actually blushing. Ladies of my acquaintance never blush.” Falcon was intrigued.

  “Do you even know any ladies?”

  His dark eyes searched her face. “I do now, it seems.”

  She threw back the covers. “Though it’s most unladylike to dine in my underlinen, ’tis entirely your fault.”

  “I don’t mind in the least. I find your undergarments quaint.”

  He led her to a small table, held a gilt chair for her, and then sat down opposite her. He lifted a heavy silver cover, carved the bird, and, without consulting her, piled her plate with food. He poured them wine and started to eat. “Now tell me who you really are and why you are here.”

  “I really am Victoria Carswell. My father, who was Reverend of the Hawkhurst parish church, died eighteen months ago. Bodiam has been empty for years and has fallen into sad disrepair.”

  Falcon listened without interrupting, fascinated by her tale.

  “A gentleman by the name of Sir Peregrine Palmer Fuller recently inherited the castle and invited me to dinner. He told me his intention was marriage. Because he knows how much I love Bodiam, he gave me permission to explore it. I have a great affinity with this castle and I was thoroughly enjoying myself, sensing the lingering impressions left behind by previous inhabitants. I was walking down a long passageway when I heard something padding behind me. I turned to look and saw a leopard! I was terrified and ran frantically up the spiral tower staircase trying to escape. I opened the door and there you were.”

  “And here we are.” He raised his glass in a mocking salute.

  She took a deep breath and plunged in. “I believe the leopard chased me into the past. I ran from Victorian times back into the Ge
orgian era, a distance of a hundred years.”

  “You speak as if you believe it with a passion.”

  Tory blushed again. “I feel everything with a passion, though I have learned to mask it.”

  “Why would you want to mask it?”

  “It’s not proper for a respectable lady to show emotion. It’s not even proper to have emotions, especially not passionate ones.”

  “Passion is the greatest and rarest emotion to experience.” His eyes examined her face. “The things I say keep you in a perpetual blush, and I find it intriguing. Perhaps we are from two different worlds.”

  She nodded. “You think me your captive, but I’m not sure I want to escape. My world is rather repressive. Your world is so much more stimulating than mine.”

  “How is it different?” he asked, bemused.

  “My world is morally strict and rigid. Everything enjoyable is considered a sin. My mother is so straitlaced, she worships at the altar of respectability. I am restricted to the point of suffocation.” Tory was struck by a sudden thought. “Did you give a party a few days ago, Lord Hawkhurst?”

  “I did,” he acknowledged.

  “I saw it! I watched from the minstrels’ gallery! I thought it was a masquerade because everyone was in Georgian dress! Oh, don’t you see, that night I came back in time for just a moment. I had a tantalizing taste of the banquet that was to come.”

  “Your metaphor has me half convinced,” he drawled. Falcon made no effort to hide his amusement. “Tell me more.”

  “I coveted the gorgeous gowns and the ladies’ jewels, but I was shocked at their licentious behavior and the bawdy atmosphere.”

  “I suppose through an innocent’s eyes it would seem rather ribald. Since you’ve come back in time, you might as well experience one of my affairs.”

  “You think I’m deranged.... You’re humoring me.”

  And enjoying every mad moment. “Then you must humor me.”

  “I’ve nothing to wear to one of your . . . affairs.” She felt her cheeks warming. She knew he’d used the word affair deliberately.

  “That’s easily remedied. There’s a wardrobe full of feminine attire in the chamber below this one. Belonged to my . . . sister.” He substituted the word sister for mistress. “The baggage prefers London to Sussex and slung her hook. That’s a sailors’ term.”

  I thought it was a pirates’ term.

  “That is most generous. May I get something to wear now?”

  “Absolutely not. I want you to strut about in your drawers and stays this evening. They fascinate me.” You fascinate me.

  The bold devil knows I’m at a disadvantage in my underclothes and thinks me easier to control. He still suspects I’m spying on him; therefore there must be something he is trying to conceal.

  They heard the scratching on the door at the same time. “That must be Pandora.” He walked to the door to open it.

  “Pandora?” she asked warily.

  “My leopard. Don’t fret, she’s gentle as a pussy, so long as I’m here, of course.”

  Tory ran back to the bed and climbed up on it. With her heart in her mouth, she watched Falcon open the door. In strolled the leopard, carrying something in its mouth.

  Falcon scratched the big cat behind her ear and she affectionately rubbed herself against his leg. “What’s this?” he asked, taking a small silk bag from the leopard’s mouth.

  “That’s mine,” Tory said breathlessly.

  “Pandora is perfectly safe.” He handed Tory the embroidered bag and held out his hand. “Come down and I’ll introduce you.”

  She clutched her bag with one hand and grasped his with the other. Never taking her eyes from the leopard, she allowed Falcon to help her climb down from the bed. She stood rigid while Pandora first sniffed at her, then licked her hand with a rough tongue. Some of her fear evaporated, but a healthy wariness remained. “How did you come to own a leopard?”

  “I was opening crates of tea, a cargo I acquired from an East Indiaman. I lifted the lid of a box, and there she was. She was only a kit at the time, young enough to train. It amused me to teach her to be a watchcat. The name Pandora suggested itself.”

  “Unbelievable,” she murmured.

  “Rather like your story,” he drawled.

  Tory watched the leopard stretch its length on the carpet and when it began to purr, her apprehension lessened. She opened the drawstrings of her bag and took out the folded note. “Here is my invitation from Sir Peregrine.”

  He took the paper and read it. It was dated 17 August 1837. It was addressed to the Honorable Victoria Carswell at the priory, Hawkhurst, Sussex. It extended an invitation for the lady to visit Bodiam and explore the castle in daylight. It was signed Sir Peregrine Palmer Fuller.

  “It’s a rather curious invitation. The day and month are correct, but the year is off by a hundred. There are other similarities—this is Bodiam Castle and my family name is Palmer.”

  “Your name is Peregrine Palmer? Then obviously you must be Sir Peregrine Palmer Fuller’s ancestor!”

  “Obviously,” he said dryly.

  She ignored his mocking tone. “Your resemblance is uncanny. He, too, is darkly handsome, with a strong face, powerful build and a compelling, dominant manner. Though you seem far more cynical.”

  Her description amused him. “Mea culpa—I am indeed a cynic. Is this Fuller your lover?”

  “Absolutely not!” She felt herself blushing. “I told you his intentions were honorable.”

  “Then we are not alike. We’re different as chalk from cheese.”

  Her blush deepened. “Yes, you are far coarser!”

  “Flattery, begod!”

  “You are a devil!”

  Hawkhurst grinned knowingly. “And that excites you, Mistress Prim and Proper.”

  Her chin went up in defiance. “I’m not so prim and proper. All summer I’ve swum naked at dawn in the River Rother.”

  His glittering eyes narrowed. “Females don’t swim.”

  “Perhaps they didn’t a hundred years ago. That was long before the Prince Regent popularized Brighton and bathing machines—things you wouldn’t know about,” she taunted.

  “If that thing you were wearing when you arrived is an example of how fashions have advanced, I’m thankful I’m a Georgian.”

  “You can mock all you want, Lord Bloody Hawkhurst, but the fact remains that I have come back in time one hundred years.”

  “If that is the game you wish to play, I will partner you.”

  She ignored his innuendo, then her eyes widened. “Oh, I just remembered. I think I have some coins in my bag.”

  “I’m quite a connoisseur of coins,” he drawled.

  Tory pulled out three pennies and inspected them. Two were William IV coins, but the third was new, minted for Victoria’s coronation. It bore the queen’s head and it was dated 1837. “There you are . . . proof positive!”

  Falcon took the coin she thrust at him and looked at it with amused skepticism. “It’s copper. Pennies are made of silver.”

  “Not in my day and age. Look at the date.”

  He read the date and gave her a quizzical glance. Then he tossed the coin into the air, caught it on the back of his hand, and covered it with his fingers. “Call it. Heads, you can have your way and I’ll believe everything you say.” He winked. “Tails, I’ll have my way.”

  “Georgians were—are obsessed with gambling.”

  “Among other things,” he said with a leer. “Call it.”

  “Heads,” she said decisively.

  “Heads it is,” he said ruefully, “and here’s me longing for tail.” When she neither laughed nor blushed, he realized the coarse jest was lost on her.

  “Speaking of swimming, Pandora likes to cool herself in the moat at dusk on these warm summer nights.”

  The large feline stretched and got to her feet.

  “She knows it’s that time. Would you like to come?”

  “She’s very beautiful....
I’d like to watch her.” Tory looked down at her underclothes and hesitated. Then the corners of her mouth lifted. “Since this is a lewd and licentious age, why should I let my dishabille stop me from enjoying myself?”

  His brow arched. “Is it exciting for a repressed female to step back in time to an age that is lewd and licentious?”

  She gave him a saucy glance. “Not quite as exciting as it must be for a lewd and licentious male to encounter a chaste female.”

  “That would be a novelty,” he drawled. Then he gave her an admiring glance. “Your rejoinders are clever. They show wit.”

  She felt inordinately pleased at the compliment. “I’ve never been allowed to say them out loud before.”

  “Feel free to indulge in whatever gives you pleasure—no matter how outrageous.” He grinned wickedly and took her hand. “Come.”

  When he opened the tower chamber door, the sleek feline silently slipped through and they followed her down the spiral stairs. Now that Tory was no longer blinded by fear, she saw through an open door that there was an elegant chamber below his, furnished for a lady, and she saw another room below that before they reached the ground floor.

  They went outside and walked along a stone balcony. Pandora’s leap was a graceful arc of supple sinew. The moment she plunged into the water, some waterfowl rose in alarm, flew toward the river, and were swallowed by the shadows of twilight. As Victoria watched the magnificent creature glide through the water, stained by the last glimmer of a wine sunset, the exquisite beauty of the scene touched her soul. I’ll remember this forever.

  Falcon covered her hand where it rested on the balustrade. “Will you let me see you swim sometime?”

  Victoria drew in a swift breath and looked up into his black eyes. The amusement was gone, replaced by a haunting intensity. “Yes, if it will give you pleasure, my lord.”

  “To be enjoyed to the full, pleasure must be shared.”

  She gazed up at him and realized the truth of his words. She felt the warmth of his powerful fingers seep into her hand and surge up her arm; she felt her pulse-beat merge with his. Perhaps that’s why I came here, so we could share pleasure. For the first time in her life, Tory felt the exquisite stirring of desire.