Julian looked at the assembled company. It appeared that Ravenscar was now to be the new battleground. The kettle would boil merrily here in his home, not at Hardcross Manor, where it more rightfully belonged.
Julian said, “Roxanne? Devlin? What would you like to drink?”
Once there was champagne and filled brandy snifters, each raised a glass, but there were no toasts. There was only tense silence, each eyeing the others, both gentlemen and ladies.
Oh, joy, Roxanne thought, as she sipped her brandy. It was excellent. “Julian, I don’t suppose this is smuggled French brandy?”
He stiffened, she saw it, only a second, no more, and then he was all easy and smiling again, but she was certain. What had bothered him? Smuggling? What was this? She saw Richard was nearly en pointe, and said quickly, smiling, “I always think my brandy must be smuggled, since it tastes so good. Now, Sophie, as you can all see, is a lover of champagne.”
Pouffer didn’t announce dinner for another fifteen minutes, which allowed the party to keep drinking.
Dinner passed off well, with Mrs. Coltrak hovering as Pouffer himself brought in her specialty, squab pie, as well as mutton. There was also pilchard and leek pie, stewed watercress served with boiled chicken, and black cake for dessert. Corinne said, after a bite, “I do adore the currants and the raisins and the almonds.” She didn’t want to remove with the ladies from the dining room, a dark-paneled room with a score of paintings showing dead animals strung up in a kitchen. It had forward-facing windows covered with golden draperies, and for all its heaviness, was nonetheless elegant and warm. She didn’t wish to leave the men alone. Only the heavenly father knew what would happen.
Pouffer asked Devlin as he poured port, “My lord, I understand your father is a leader in the House of Lords.”
The old man was quite the diplomat, Julian thought, and sat back to listen to Devlin talk about his father, Julian’s half-brother.
When silence fell again, Julian said, “I fear you and I will not be able to speak civilly to each other, Richard. Therefore, I suggest we join the ladies.” He added after a brief moment, “Richard, I daresay you know what you’re doing with Roxanne’s sister. She obviously does not wish to be here. Perhaps you wish to return to Hardcross Manor with her in tow?”
“Oh, no,” Richard said easily, stretched out in his chair, his hands clasped over his lean belly. “I fancy it amusing to see Leah’s sister and her niece try not to slap her.”
Devlin set down his port, leaned back in his chair, and swung his leg over the armchair. “Have you ever seen her unpleasant before?”
Richard was thoughtful, then shook his head. “I must make it a point to tell her to admire Ravenscar, not despise it, for I myself have always admired this vast pile of stone. Surely she would wish to be of one mind with me. Also, I will remind her she is to admire the water closets.”
Devlin said, “You can never count on ladies to do the expected thing. Do you know my mother?”
Richard shook his head.
“I have, needless to say, known her all my life. At home, I have never seen her agree with my father, not one single time, but in company she is so compliant, agreeing with everything that comes out his mouth, it makes me stare. I find myself wondering—are all ladies like this? Do none of them even like their husbands? Is their behavior in polite society a sham?”
Richard never looked away from Devlin’s face. He said slowly, “It appears I must think about this.”
When they joined the ladies a scant ten minutes later, Leah was seated, silent and docile as a lamb, next to the dowager duchess, admiring her needlework. Roxanne and Sophie were off by themselves, obviously arguing about something.
What was it? Julian wondered.
38
Ravenscar
THE FOLLOWING MORNING
Julian wasn’t surprised when he heard Sophie’s light footsteps behind him. He sighed as he turned to her. “I had hoped you would not notice my leaving. It did not enter my mind that you would follow me.” Well, it had, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
She smiled at him as she stepped into the low-hanging cave entrance. “You were clever, asking Pouffer to say you were riding to Ravenscar Village to hire men to clean up the Dower House and begin the rebuilding. However, Cannon was still in his stall. Then I saw you walking this way, looking shifty and secretive, so I followed you.”
There was a touch of humor in his voice as he said, “I should have waited until midnight.”
“I am a light sleeper. I would have heard you pass by my bedchamber and followed.” She paused, then stepped in farther and stared. He was standing not six feet away from her, holding a lit lantern. “Goodness, this is amazing. Where is the ceiling? How big is the cave? Oh, my, look at all those formations. What are they called?”
He grinned at her, couldn’t help it. She’d outwitted him. “Come on in, I’ll show you everything.”
He pointed out a formation of stalactites that looked like a pipe organ in a church, raised the lantern high so she could see the cave ceiling. “And look over here, I swear it looks like Oliver. One of his ears is longer than the other.” He found himself telling her boyhood stories of when he’d protected his cave from the French. “I remember fighting to the death many times.”
“You always won?”
“Naturally.”
“Do you know, I’ve only been in one cave before—Roxanne’s small cave in Yorkshire. It was quite paltry, really; you had to bend nearly double to walk inside. But this one is grand, indeed. And now . . .” She walked right up to him, came onto her tiptoes, and said an inch from his nose, “Why are you here, Julian?”
Lie. No, give it up. “I’m a smuggler, have been for a very long time. My favorite landing beach and cave are near Chichester, at Saint Osyth. The last time I brought in smuggled goods, I knew someone was watching. It didn’t take me long to figure out it was Richard.”
“When was this?”
“Not long ago. But I knew I wanted one final run before I retired. I decided it would be safe here, even though Richard lives only a couple of miles away. When I was here yesterday—”
“That’s all right. I knew you were lying when you spoke of walking in the home wood. Listen, there is no way Richard could find out.”
She gave him a blazing smile, clasped his hands in hers. “It will be our secret. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, including Roxanne. Does Devlin know about your . . . hobby?”
“Hobby? That makes it sound like a lad collecting seashells. Actually, it is illegal, Sophie, and dangerous. Excisemen are out to catch smugglers. They’re a ruthless lot.”
“But you’re right, no one will know—particularly, Richard.”
“I hope you’re right. I actually think of smuggling as a service to my fellow countrymen. I make goods available that don’t carry the heavy import duties. Ah, but the truth is—it is a lot of fun.”
She lightly touched her fingertips to his cheek. “It is also something that is yours, isn’t it, Julian? Just yours.”
He said, “You asked about Devlin. I took him along with me some five years ago, after he’d come down from Oxford. I told him no more, since the future Duke of Brabante couldn’t very well take the chance of being deported to Botany Bay if caught. He’s argued with me, but I’ve held firm. He quite liked landing the boats, trading midnight jests with my men, and unloading the goods.” Julian didn’t mention the profits, which were usually quite substantial.
Sophie said, “Do you know, Devlin is particularly well suited to smuggling, since it always happens in the middle of the night. Add a full moon, and he’d be in heaven. But wait, you wouldn’t want a full moon; the darker the better.”
He laughed. She joined him, their laughter echoing all around them. She thought she sounded like a braying donkey and quickly shut her mouth. Julian thought it a shame he could no longer hear the sweet sparkling bells. He said, “It isn’t a lark, Sophie; one must be very careful. I never brib
ed any of the excisemen before. Why let them dip their hands in my pockets?”
“I shouldn’t want them in my pockets, either,” she said. “It sounds very exciting, but I will tell you I am relieved this is your final time.”
He watched her. He was coming to know her so well, since now he knew exactly what she was thinking. He lightly tapped his fingers to her nose. “No, you may not come with me. I mean it, Sophie, it is simply too dangerous. No.”
She looked like she would argue with him, then, suddenly, she gave him a fat smile. “Very well, Julian, whatever you say. Can we explore?”
“There isn’t anything more, only this one huge room.”
“When is your last shipment coming in?”
“I must contact my man in Portsmouth, give him instructions. I’m thinking ten days from now. There will be no moon, and given we are in Cornwall, it is likely to be very overcast. No, my girl, you will not even consider trying to sneak here.”
Sophie gave him a beatific smile, rubbed her hands together. “Of course not. Now, I know smuggling is dishonest, but goodness, Julian, what adventures you’ve had.”
“Usually, everything goes very smoothly. The goods are moved days later to London, and my man Harlan Whittaker sells to our particular buyers.” He studied her face. “You’re lying to me, Sophie. I can see that clever brain of yours working out how to sneak to the beach.”
“Do you know, I’ve never had a single full-bodied adventure before in my life? I am twenty years old, Julian. Think of all the adventures you had before you were my age. You were in the battle at Waterloo! Come, one time, that’s all I ask. There won’t be any danger, you said so yourself. One real adventure for me and I shall be content for the rest of my days. It will be safe. No excisemen know about this cave. Richard won’t find out about any of it.”
She saw he was wavering.
“I am so tired of reading about other people’s adventures. Just one for me.”
He didn’t believe it, but he actually nodded.
“Yes! You are wonderful; nothing will happen.” She threw her arms around him.
Julian remained frozen to the spot. He felt her warm and soft against the length of him. “No,” he said, and took a step back, but Sophie didn’t release him, she simply stepped with him. She looked up at him, smiled. “You are not my uncle, Julian. You are my partner.”
Partner? Well, that sounded better than—what? Lover? Husband?
“A partner, Sophie?” he asked carefully.
“Yes, I will help direct in the boats, perhaps help unload contraband. Or if you prefer, I could keep a watch for excisemen. I can do it all, Julian; you will see how very useful I am.”
She still hadn’t released him. He felt the excitement in her. She was so young, so protected. She was a lady; she wasn’t meant to have dangerous adventures like men—well, maybe men weren’t, either. He took her arms in his hands, intending to set her away from him, but his hands didn’t obey him. His hands, attached to his arms, went around her and drew her in close, too close, so close, in fact, he could feel her heart pounding against him. She was tall, and that was quite fine, every bit of her against every bit of him, a perfect fit.
He lowered his head, but not all that far. “No,” he said, even as he lightly touched his mouth to hers. “No, I can’t do this. It isn’t right. You are far too young, you—”
“Be quiet, Julian,” Sophie said against his mouth, and this time she kissed him, her warm breath feathering over him. His mouth opened, something he hadn’t planned, but she didn’t jump back, horrified, as surely an innocent maid should do. No, Sophie let out a little sound of surprise, then opened her own mouth. Not all that wide, but a little bit, enough to make him forget he should be running out of this cave as fast as he could. But he said the words, and they actually hurt. “Listen to me, Sophie, this will stop now. Keep your tongue in your mouth. Move back three steps. Maybe four.”
She drew back three inches, stared at him. “My heart is pounding rather loudly. Can you hear it? Can you feel it?” And she moved back in, nearly as close as his shirt.
He could both hear and feel her heart. He lowered his forehead to hers. “Keep your tongue in your mouth.” He made the mistake of looking down at her mouth, her lips slightly parted, soft.
She said, “If your tongue doesn’t stay in your mouth, then why should mine? Shouldn’t our tongues be together? I mean, I’ve never thought about tongues before—doing this—I suppose it is considered a magical addition to a regular kiss?”
Magical? She didn’t know the half of it.
“You know, Julian, I think I would like to do it again. Can we perhaps try a little bit?”
“Be quiet. It is not a good idea. No, obey me on this.” And he raised a finger and placed it over her mouth. “Don’t argue with me about this tongue business. It is always a prelude to other sorts of things—”
“Like what?”
“Be quiet.”
“But how will I learn anything if these other sorts of things aren’t explained to me?”
“It will be up to your future husband to explain other things to you. It is time we left here.”
He sounded like a pompous disapproving parent. Disappointment bloomed in her, and a dollop of nice cold anger. She wanted to kick him, then she wanted to throw herself at him and take him down to the sandy cave floor. Then she didn’t know what she wanted to do, but she did know she’d make sure tongues were involved. What other sorts of things?
But it was not to be. Julian held firm. He took her hand and dragged her to the cave entrance. When they walked out into the overcast morning, rain hovering over the next rise, Sophie said, “The cave is fairly well hidden, and only a dozen feet from the river shore. I believe its destiny was to be a smuggling cave.”
He was a moron to let her be a part of his final hoorah. Her first and last adventure. She’d be safe enough, he’d make sure of that. No one knew about this cave, no one—well, Richard did, but there was no way Richard would find out what he planned. He nodded and led her to the edge of the River Horvath. “A boat can swing into the river and be here in fifteen minutes.” He looked back at the cave. If one wasn’t really looking for it, it couldn’t be seen, what with the vines hanging over the entrance and the bushes growing wildly around it. One last time, he thought, one last time.
But what if something did go wrong? No, nothing could happen. Nothing.
39
Roxanne walked into the drawing room to find Sophie seated in a wing chair, smiling. “Whatever are you so pleased about, Sophie?”
Sophie, who had Cletus and Oliver on her lap, stroking their silky, long ears, looked up. “Pleased? Well, it is a lovely day, now, isn’t it? It hasn’t begun raining yet.”
“I know you. You were humming. You’ve been humming since this morning. And now that I really look at you, I realize you look different. I can’t tell what it is about you, exactly, but—”
Sophie lifted Cletus under one arm, Oliver under the other, and rose. “Do you know, I fancy I like Ravenscar.” And its master, the prince. She gave Roxanne a brilliant smile and walked from the drawing room.
“Are you going to feed them?”
Sophie shook her head. “It’s a walk for these cute fellows. I’ve got to go to the estate room and fetch Beatrice and Hortense, unless they’re with Julian, then I shall have to find him. Have you seen him?”
Roxanne frowned at her niece. Something was going on here, but what? “I believe both Devlin and Julian left to see to the Dower House.”
“What are Leah and Richard Langworth doing?”
“I fear to know.”
Not a half-hour later, when Sophie was standing near the cliff in the spaniel run, watching the spaniels chase one another around, she felt him. She didn’t actually hear him over the wind, but she somehow felt him near. How very odd that was, this knowing when another was present. It occurred to her then: ten days until her first foray into smuggling. Would they spend the next ten
days at Ravenscar, or would everyone wish to return to London? How would Julian manage coming back? With her?
She turned slowly, the four spaniels racing away from her to Julian. He went down on his haunches and gathered all four of them into his arms and talked to them even as they licked every bit of skin their tongues could reach. He laughed, trying to duck his head, but it was no use. Slowly, even as he continued petting them, he looked up at her.
What he saw was a woman with her back to the channel, the wind whipping her skirts about, jerking her hair out of its heavy plaits.
No, he thought, no, she was too young, too innocent, she had no experience with men. Ah, his ridiculous litany. But he knew he had to keep that litany in the front of his brain—a score of years between him and Sophie. He pictured himself a doddering old man with few teeth in his mouth and little hair on his head—my father, my bloody father—and he was kissing a girl even younger than Sophie. His mother, he knew.
Their marriage had been a travesty, even though Julian wouldn’t have ever drawn breath if they hadn’t married. Then he heard Baron Purley’s words about his father clear in his head, and his image of the doddering old man fell out of his mind to be replaced by a strong, vigorous man, fierce and proud, with a mouthful of teeth and abundant hair. But he had no face. Were there portraits of his father at Mount Burney?
“What are you thinking, Julian?”
He rose to his feet. Again, the words simply poured out of his mouth. “Baron Purley told me about my father when he was a younger man. He told me things I’d never before heard. He told me my father had great physical strength. He was known for his fairness, and he loved”—Julian swallowed—“he loved me, the baron said, loved me more than Constantine, his first son and heir. He said I would do great things. The baron said my father knew his life couldn’t simply continue on forever, and it saddened him that he would never know me as a man. So he died, and I never knew him.”
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