A WICKED WEDDING

by Laura Trentham

  “Let me introduce you. Cole, Lord Linley, this is Mr. Gray Masterson, an old school chum of mine.” Abbott indicated an empty chair. “Please, join us.”

  Cole and Masterson shook hands, and Cole took a seat. “Linley House resides close to the cliffs, does it not, my lord?” Masterson asked.

  “Indeed it does. I spent my childhood playing pirate along the cliffs,” Cole said, debating whether to take the opening Masterson had conveniently offered him. Perhaps he could take an oblique tact. He leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “I’ve often wondered if smugglers have used the cliffs for their business.”

  Abbott cast an inscrutable look toward Masterson, who didn’t break eye contact with Cole. Although he hid his interest better than Abbott. Something in his demeanor radiated danger. “Did something happen to make you wonder this?”

  A pang of caution had Cole stepping carefully. Masterson and Abbott were a little too interested. Diana was right about one thing. The smugglers could be greasing anyone’s palm. What if Masterson was the head of the ring, and Abbott was profiting under the table?

  “Nothing in particular. Just a fancy I’ve carried since boyhood when I was fed stories by my nursemaid.” He rose and made a small bow, leaving his ale half finished. “If you’ll excuse me. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Masterson. You must come to the Christmas fete at Linley House tomorrow.”

  Masterson inclined his head, his smile calculating and thoughtful. “It would be my honor, my lord.”

  Cole left the tavern more conflicted than ever about a path forward. If he couldn’t trust Lord Abbott, Cole didn’t have much confidence in the head of the guard. He made his way toward the edge of the village and the churchyard.

  The black iron gate creaked open, and Cole whipped his hat off. His father and brothers had been interred in the family crypts below the Linley chapel, but Cole wished they were buried here where the salty sea air could touch their graves. Instead, they moldered in the dark, shut away from life.

  His father would never see him marry or have children. While he was beset by sadness, a singular anger welled up. His father had given up when his two oldest sons died. Why hadn’t Cole been enough for his father to live? He swallowed down a lump.

  Familiar laughter brought him around. Piers and Liam and their tutor, Mr. Martin, walked along the lane, and Cole left the graveyard to offer a greeting.

  “Didn’t expect to see you in town today, Cole. Thought you’d be elbows deep in planning tomorrow’s fete,” Liam said.

  “I’m the last person you want planning a fete. Lettie and Cook have it well in hand.” Cole inclined his head. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Martin.”

  “And you, Master Cole. Or should I say, Lord Linley.” Mr. Martin’s voice held only an echo of his French heritage. His parents had sensed the rising tide of discontent well before Madame Guillotine had reigned its terror over France, and they’d settled in Ottery Saint Mary when Mr. Martin was a lad.

  “Mr. Martin is leaving Ottery Saint Mary soon,” Piers said with a sad half smile. “In fact, he’s leaving before Christmastide ends.”

  The Christmastide season ended on Twelfth Night, less than two weeks hence. “That’s a shame. We’ll miss you. What is your destination?” Cole asked.

  “London. When the war is finally over, I’d like to see my homeland once more and perhaps settle there.” Mr. Martin gave a shake of his head. “If the war ever ends.”

  Cole had known Mr. Martin for many years. The learned man had stitched himself into the fabric of the town and their lives and was well respected. But he was also French. A fact Cole had always been aware of but only now examined the implications of.

  “Mrs. Hambridge mentioned you came into an unexpected inheritance, Mr. Martin.” Although Cole posed it as a statement, he hoped one of the men would elaborate.

  “Yes, an English cousin,” Mr. Martin said. “My mother was half-English, you know.”

  “I didn’t know,” Cole said. The information would be easy enough to verify given time. Time Cole did not have. Was Mr. Martin the leader of the smuggling ring? Was the shipment tucked away in the caves the last he would oversee? Were illegal goods really the source of his inheritance?

  “And now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to packing up my years in Ottery Saint Mary. I’ll miss the village and all the students I taught.” Mr. Martin shook each of their hands in turn, giving Liam and Piers a fond pat on the shoulder.

  “I’m going to miss the old chap,” Liam said as Mr. Martin turned down the lane toward his cottage.

  “Is he telling the truth about this inheritance, do you think?” Cole asked.

  “Why on earth would he lie?” Piers snagged Cole’s attention by grabbing his arm. “What’s going on?”

  Did Cole dare confide in the brothers? Yes, Cole trusted them, but they were on the cusp of huge changes, and involving them would put them in danger. This wasn’t a childhood lark.

  “Nothing is going on. I don’t know Mr. Martin as well as you two. I just wondered at his French ancestry.”

  “He hates what Bonaparte has done to France,” Piers said.

  Cole spotted a lady in dark green moving with a sly purpose down a narrow alley between a sundry shop and the baker’s. What the devil was Diana about? The smile Cole put on his face wasn’t genuine, but it seemed to satisfy the Grambling brothers.

  “Will you excuse me? I have some business to attend to. I’ll see you tomorrow at the fete, if not before.” Cole caught the glance the two brothers exchanged but didn’t have time to allay their worries as he carried enough of his own.

  Cole strode down the lane, then turned decisively down the alley, expecting Liam or Piers to stop him any moment. But no hand fell on his shoulder, and when he looked behind him, he was alone. The alley opened into a track with grooves worn deep by the wheels of carts making or taking deliveries. Beyond was a stone wall and a bramble of grasses and weeds.

  Cole stepped into the lane. A cart to his left was waiting, the man sitting on the bench seat and flirting with a young, pretty shopkeeper’s assistant. Neither paid him any mind. Neither did they seem to notice the green-wool-covered backside of the woman leaning around the corner at the other end of the lane.

  He stepped with hunter’s feet on his approach to Diana. He curved his body over hers, careful not to touch her, and whispered close to her ear, “What sort of trouble are you seeking, Miss Grambling?”

  She gasped and jerked into him instead of away. Barely avoiding a bashed nose, he braced his legs farther apart at the sudden shift and wrapped his arm around her waist to steady them both.

  “Cole, you blackguard. What are you doing sneaking around?”

  “I was wondering the same thing about you.” Cole peered over her shoulder but saw nothing untoward. “What are you doing?”

  She was silent for a moment but didn’t pull away from his pseudo embrace. “Avoiding Hamish, if you must know.”

  “Was he trying to whisper sweet nothings in your ear?”

  “Something like that,” she said darkly.

  Cole drew her into the lane that was now deserted and put her back against the timbered wall, bracketing her in with his arms. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s none of your business, my lord.” She imbued the respectful form of address with a scorn that pulled a smile to his lips.

  “You ran off before we could speak this morning.” He leaned closer to her, the brim of her bonnet blocking him from seeing her eyes.

  “I didn’t run off. I strolled. It was a lovely brisk morning. Quite invigorating.”

  “As was the library last night.”

  Nothing could hide the pink flushing her cheeks. “Cole. I thought we agreed never to speak of last night.”

  “Did we? I don’t recall making any such promise.”

  She tipped her head back, her cheeks blazing with embarrassment, but her eyes were unwavering and cutting. “A gentleman would fo
rget the encounter.”

  “I’m a man. And I will never forget the way your body responded to my touch, nor the taste of you. Or the feel of you clamping my cock.” Did she think he would leave her ruined and uncared for? Even now, she might carry his babe.

  “Cole, you mustn’t speak like that.” Contrary to her breathy words, her arms twined around his neck, her back arched, and her breasts pressed into his chest in a bid to get closer.

  “And why not? I want to be able to speak freely with you about everything.”

  “But… but…” She clamped her lips shut and shook her head. “You don’t understand my position.”

  Her position? He knew she cared for him and would surely prefer marriage to him when her other option was Hamish. At a loss for words, he utilized a different sort of persuasive argument.

  Cole slipped a finger under her chin, tangled in the ribbon bow of her bonnet, tilted her face up, and kissed her. His intention to keep the kiss chaste crumbled when her lips parted and her tongue touched his bottom lip.

  He groaned and slanted his mouth across hers. Their tongues danced, their hot breath mingling in the cold air as puffs of white. Now that he was intimately acquainted with her supple curves and soft skin, he cursed the fabric and lacing and ties encasing her like the impenetrable defenses of a castle.

  He skated his hand down to cup her arse and fit her closer to him. With a breathy moan, she melted into him and cradled his hardness, but the moment ended with an abruptness that left him reeling. She shoved him away. He stumbled backward, putting several feet between them.

  “You risk too much,” she said hoarsely.

  “I would risk everything for you, Diana.”

  “You have less to lose, my lord.” Her voice had taken on a harsh, mocking edge. “If you’ll excuse me, I must finish my errands and return home.”

  She disappeared around the corner before he could cool his ardor and give chase. When he reached the lane, she was gone, and he felt lost.

  Chapter 6

  Diana paced in front of the window of the room she shared with Rose. The evening had been full of laughter as they decorated with evergreen, the scent on her hands even after her ablutions. The start of Christmastide should have been joyful. With Piers marrying and Liam sailing halfway around the world, it might be the last time they were all together for some time.

  Yet Diana couldn’t shake her worries. Liam seemed distracted even as he laughed and entertained them with songs. Would the smugglers move their cache tonight? Was Liam planning on joining them? Or was her overactive imagination taking root?

  With the candles flickering behind her, Diana could only see her wavering reflection in the glass, the darkness beyond absolute. She touched her lips, casting back to the kiss with Cole in the village. The past few days had brought changes she’d never anticipated, yet she looked no different on the surface.

  “What is the matter with you, Diana?” Rose’s hair was braided and her mob cap in place. She was in her night rail and under the covers already, looking as neat as a pin.

  “Nothing. Nothing has happened.” Diana tried and failed to keep her voice nonchalant.

  Rose settled farther into the pillow with a yawn. “Are you coming to bed?”

  “The night is clear. I may stargaze a bit.”

  Rose turned over and closed her eyes. “Try not to wake me when you climb in bed.”

  Diana wanted to ask her sister’s advice on what to do about Cole and the feelings she couldn’t control. She wanted to share her fears about Liam and the smuggling ring. She wanted to confess her distaste about being forced into a marriage with Hamish, and she wondered if Rose felt the same about the gentlemen being thrown in her path.

  She said nothing.

  Instead, she sat on the window seat and waited for her sister to doze off. A snuffling snore came from the bed, and Diana smiled. Was it her sister’s only foible? It only made her sister more dear in Diana’s eyes.

  With nary a plan circulating in her head, Diana pulled on an old dark brown worsted dress that was too short and too tight but would offer her camouflage in the darkness. Tiptoeing down the stairs, she retrieved her cloak and half boots and slipped out the door, stopping on the stoop to lace them. The night was quiet, wispy clouds doing little to dim the moon. While it wasn’t raining, the rising mists left fine droplets in her uncovered hair.

  A rustling in the direction of the stables stilled her. She drew herself as close as possible to the house. Her fears manifested themselves into reality when Liam led his horse from the stables, obviously doing his best to sneak away.

  It was the perfect night for nefarious activities. Activities she feared would get him in trouble or worse. She had no choice but to follow him. Lifting her skirts, she scampered after him, staying as low to the ground as possible. It seemed he was headed not toward the cliffs but into the woods.

  The creak of leather carried to her, then the soft clop of hooves. He’d mounted. She would never be able to keep up with him now. She stopped on the cusp of the woods. If he was part of the smuggling ring, he would wind his way around to the cliffs eventually. If he wasn’t, then her nighttime foray would prove blessedly fruitless.

  She turned in the other direction, toward the cliff path. The moon was bright enough to keep her from falling over the edge but not bright enough to keep her from stubbed toes and scraped palms. Still, she felt safer in the night from prying eyes even though she sensed none about.

  Within sight of the path to the cave she’d found earlier, she made her way to an outcropping of rocks she could hide behind while keeping an eye out for Liam. Crouching behind the rocks, she settled in for a long, uncomfortable wait.

  A hand came over her mouth and a hard arm around her waist. The shock held her immobile for a moment. But only a moment. She had two older brothers after all, and she’d endured countless pranks and teasing. She opened her mouth, not to scream but to take a bite out of the man’s hand, glove and all, while she bucked against his hold. If she could get twisted around, she knew exactly where to jab him to incapacitate him.

  “You hellion.” The outraged whisper in her ear sent a flurry of awareness through her.

  “Cole. What are you doing?” she asked. Or tried to ask. The words were muffled against his hand.

  “I’m watching for our smugglers. You promised to stay abed this night.” His hand fell away from her mouth, but his arm around her waist pulled her closer, and she didn’t fight him. His body was warm and comforting in a way that made her feel safe.

  “I didn’t exactly promise.” She was glad not to have to look him in the eye.

  “Blast it, Diana. This business is dangerous.”

  “I could say the same thing. Were you planning to break up a smuggling ring alone?”

  “I hoped to identify the leaders. I fear it might be someone we know.” His somber pronouncement ignited a tremble she couldn’t control. Cole knew or at least suspected. Relief to share her burden mingled with fear. He wasn’t just Liam’s friend. He was the earl and responsible for his lands and maintaining justice.

  “If Liam is part of this business, I’m sure he has his reasons,” she said.

  Silence bloomed between them like stinkweed. “What the devil are you talking about? Do you suspect Liam is part of this foul business?”

  “I thought…” She bit the inside of her mouth. Why hadn’t she waited for him to show his hand before she flaunted hers?

  “Tell me, Diana.” He sounded more like an earl than the boy she’d known all her life.

  “Wh-what will you do to him?” She hated the quaver in her voice.

  “Are you absolutely sure Liam is involved?”

  “Of course I’m not.” Her voice sailed high, and he shushed her. She forced herself to whisper. “That’s why I’m here. He’s been sneaking out of the house.”

  “Like you?” he asked dryly.

  Her cutting look lacked bite in the darkness. “Tonight he led his horse into the woods bef
ore mounting and riding away.”

  “How do you know he was coming here?”

  “I don’t, but if he does, I plan on dragging him home before anything untoward can happen.”

  “Untoward? That’s a quaint way of putting it. I would call it highly illegal.”

  “Yes, that too.” Diana glanced around the rock. Would a lantern even be visible?

  “I can’t imagine Liam as a smuggler,” Cole mused. “What would he have to gain? His job with the East India Company will provide him with a good living and all the adventure he could possibly desire.”

  “Perhaps this is his last hurrah, so to speak. He’s always been keen to take risks.”

  Cole shook his head, his voice full of doubt. “Adventurous, yes, but he’s never been selfish, and engaging in something so dangerous as smuggling puts your entire family in danger if he’s caught.”

  Was Cole correct? Diana hoped so, but she didn’t want her hope to blind her to the possibility her brother was involved. She would do her best to protect him.

  Cole pressed closer to her in order to peer around the rock. Was he trying to be deliberately evocative? His clean, masculine scent mingled with the aroma of damp earth and the sea to form a heady mixture. A bare inch separated her lips from making contact with his skin.

  “I should send you home,” he said.

  She jerked back, grabbed his shoulder, and pulled him around until they were face-to-face. “I should like to see you attempt it.”

  “I shan’t even try. You’d only sneak behind a different rock.”

  “How well you know me,” she said.

  His sigh was deep, and his smile held a sweet melancholy. “You give me too much credit. You’re a mystery, m’dear. One I’d like to spend the rest of my life figuring out.”

  If she was a mystery, then he was a puzzle she had no clue how to solve. “Last night—”

  A yell cut through the night. Cole tensed, and Diana tightened her hold on his coat. Her stomach attempted to crawl up her throat. While the mist had left her feeling damp and clammy, she didn’t think the chill had anything to do with her sudden shivers. The voices grew louder, and Diana shifted to squint at the dark gash in the cliff where the path began.