The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2)

by Alicia Quigley

  Not spotting her quarry at the tables, she drifted back to the Green Salon, stopping to converse with an acquaintance here and there. When she reached the tall French doors, flung open to allow the summer breeze to cool the dancers, she slipped out onto the terrace, slowly strolling across it to the ornamental balustrade.

  The long summer twilight was just slipping into true darkness, and the scent of roses from the garden beyond hung on the warm summer air. Two large urns, filled with enormous, night-blooming moonflowers, which seemed to glow in the faint light of the stars flung across the moonless sky, marked the stairs leading from the terrace to the garden. Helena paused as though to admire their beauty, while glancing around the terrace to make sure she would not be seen leaving the party. She put a hand on the rail, meaning to run down the stairs and dash around to the servant’s entrance, when someone emerged from the shadows, grabbing her from behind and covering her mouth with one hand. She struggled, but her captor was taller and far stronger than she, and pushed her up against the urn with his body.

  “Did you notice that this urn is filled with moonflowers?” she heard Denby’s detestable voice whisper in her ear. She could not make a reply, but none was needed, for he continued. “I picked a handful of them just now, and if you scream, I will stuff them in your mouth and force you to swallow them. I can do it before you can be rescued, you know. It is not a pleasant poison, and can easily be lethal, as I’m sure you realize. Nod if you understand me.”

  Infuriated, and heavy-hearted for putting Wroxton and the others in jeopardy, Helena nodded. Denby held her against the urn with one hand, and she felt him pull something out of his pocket. A second later, he had tied a gag over her mouth, and soon after, had also tied her hands behind her back. He gripped one of her arms and pushed her forward to the stairs.

  “You’re coming with me,” he grunted. “Bulkeley got wind that there was something afoot; it seems that a great many additional excisemen were suddenly in Folkestone this afternoon. But with a hostage like you in my hands, I don’t think the preventives will be willing to do much to stop me from moving my cargo tonight.”

  Helena heard the smirk in his voice, but could not deliver the shattering insult that hovered on her tongue, so she contented herself with making their progress as difficult as possible, lurching and tripping her way across the terrace. Her captor shook her roughly. “You clumsy fool, make haste; if you continue so, I will sling you over my shoulder instead.”

  Being forced into such intimate contact with her enemy seemed unbearable, so Helena ceased her efforts to force him to stumble, settling for slowing their progress as much as she could get away with. Her long skirts and thin, leather-soled slippers made progress truly difficult as Denby dragged her through the garden and around the edge of the lawn. Behind the thick branches of the pleached allée one of his men stood, holding two horses.

  “You have two choices my dear,” said Denby with a coarse laugh. “Since I cannot trust you not to attempt an escape if you ride pillion in comfort, I can either tie you over the rump of my horse, or you can ride before me, with your hands bound.” He untied the gag as he spoke, so she could answer, but retained a tight grip on her upper arm.

  Helena was mortified by the thought of either option. Allowing him to tie her over the back of the horse would be humiliating and exceedingly uncomfortable. Having her head down so long might also leave her weak and dizzy, and unable to escape if the opportunity arose. However, riding before Denby would subject her to close contact with him, a thought that made her shudder. But she would arrive at the meeting site fully conscious, and in the best position to be, if not of assistance to her friends, at least no more of a liability than necessary.

  “I will ride before you,” she finally said. “But you must tie my hands in front of me, so I can grasp the mane to balance myself.”

  Denby snickered. “Very well. Though you might enjoy leaving them as they are; I could hold you tight against me, and you might find yourself with a pleasant surprise. You may find I compare favorably with Wroxton.”

  Helena blanched, but said nothing, and Denby made a signal to his servant, who held the horse as the baron re-tied Helena’s hands in front of her and gagged her once again, then lifted her onto the front of the saddle. She shuddered as his fingers lingered on her calf as he positioned one of her legs over the pommel, and she quickly moved to grasp the horse’s mane so he would have no excuse to touch her again. He laughed again as he mounted and leaned up against her back.

  “Unfortunately for your delicate sensibilities, there is no way to avoid this,” he whispered in her ear. “You are being repaid for all the slights to which you have subjected me.”

  Helena swallowed her anger as best she might; fury might make one strong, but it was not conducive to clear thinking and she needed to keep her wits about her.

  Denby directed his horse onto the gravel drive, and started at a trot towards the road, his man following. Behind them, the bright lights of Wroxton Hall lit the dark night, and the music of the ball could be heard drifting towards them on the night breeze.

  Chapter 42

  A brisk wind blew over rolling pastureland bordering the ancient oak and beech woods on the edge of Arlingby land. It stood on high ground, and what little light was cast by the darkened moon and the blanket of stars strewn across the black velvet of the sky lit the expanse of fields below with a dim, milky glow. Six horses, their tack and hooves muffled with rags, stood in the shadows of the trees, the sound of their impatient stamping and snorting borne away on the night breeze.

  “We’re in luck,” Brayleigh observed. “We are hard to see, and, with this wind, hard to hear as well.“

  “Aye,” said Malcolm. “Macklin knows the land for miles around, and assures me that there are only two unoccupied structures on Denby’s estate that are close to the London road. Once they are a bit further northeast of here, we will be able to tell which is their destination and reach it before they arrive.”

  Macklin grunted an assent, but said nothing.

  Lieutenant Smithton shifted in his saddle. “I have fifteen men waiting on the edge of his lands, close to the road. Once we are sure of where Denby plans to meet the smugglers, I will bring them around.”

  Wroxton gave him a hard look. “Do it quietly. Stay away from any house or hamlet. I don’t need to tell you that many of the folk here are either in sympathy with the free trade, or fear for their life if they seem to oppose it. None of us have any patience with the duties, and all of us keep French brandy of questionable provenance in our cellars.”

  “Then why are you helping tonight?” the lieutenant demanded.

  “Because you are useful to me, Lieutenant,” said Malcolm crisply. “My aim is to make England very uncomfortable for Denby. So uncomfortable, in fact, that he finds it necessary to leave the country. It’s either that or kill him, and as I have experienced discomfort enough to last a lifetime, forcing him into exile will have to suffice. Exposing his career as smuggler is the most convenient means of accomplishing that.”

  “Rowena is delighted you are wreaking Miss Keighley’s revenge on him. She has hated him ever since that episode in London,” Brayleigh said. “It’s a pleasure to assist you.”

  “I am always happy to please a lady,” Malcolm murmured.

  Stephen nudged him, pointing toward the cliffs. “Look to the south, Mal. They’re coming.”

  The men turned their heads as one, gazing out across the dark, open fields. Very dimly, the hazy outlines of a pony train could be descried. The bobbing of covered lanterns, shaded so that their light shone down to show the lay of the ground, was dim, but still distinguishable.

  “We have them.” Malcolm’s voice was full of satisfaction. “Speak as little as possible; the wind is in our favor, but sound can still carry and we can’t have our plans overset now.” He nudged his horse almost imperceptibly with his knee, and it turned, walking northward, parallel with the ponies far across the fields. The others fo
llowed him, not taking their eyes from their quarry. It was slow going, for the ponies were heavily laden, and plodded along in the darkness.

  They drifted slightly to the east as they tried to maintain their distance from the smugglers’ train. After a time, Macklin pulled his horse up next to Malcolm’s.

  “My lord, they have taken the path that leads through the long forty acre pasture,” he muttered. “They must either continue over Arlingby land to reach Denby’s property and find the road near the old gamekeeper’s cottage, or turn off onto the Keighley estate and go up through the sheepfold. The most likely meeting place then will be one of the sheds in the paddock near the road.”

  “How much farther will it be before we know?”

  “A matter of a mile or so. We’d do best to hang back as far as possible, for the track heads east away from the trees, so we will lose some cover. It is clouding over, as well as being moonless, but we must be very careful.”

  “We must hope they pick the old gamekeeper’s cottage,” offered Arthur. “That will allow us to stay along the woods, and come up close behind them, preventing an escape when it’s time to spring the trap. It will be much harder if they go through the sheep fold; there’s more room there for them to scatter in the open field.”

  “With six of us, and a dozen or more excisemen, it will be hard for men on foot to scatter,” Brayleigh observed.

  “I don’t mind if the locals get away,” Malcolm responded carelessly. “But I want Denby caught red-handed. He must be forced to leave for the Continent, or be tried in the House of Lords. Or we could just truss him up, drug him and then deliver him to one of the Navy’s ships, and let them press him.”

  “It would be best to have it all tied up quietly with a little flight to Calais, Mal,” Stephen inserted.

  “To be sure, it would. I care very little how my end is achieved, provided he never troubles Miss Keighley again,” Wroxton replied.

  They had been moving slowly, keeping the ponies just within sight, and now Macklin interrupted impatiently. “My lord, it seems we are in luck, they are going down the long forty acre as we hoped.”

  “I’ll head through the woods now, and make sure my men are there when you arrive at the gamekeeper’s cottage,” Lieutenant Smithton said.

  Malcolm looked at him coolly. “Hold your fire a bit, Lieutenant,” he ordered. “It’s not impossible that one of your men has divided loyalties. If you tell them now the free traders are on the way with the goods, one of them may try to give warning.”

  “Very well, my lord,” Smithton agreed.

  “Don’t reveal where you are taking them. Just tell them to follow you,” Brayleigh added. “Men who know nothing cannot betray us.”

  “We are nearing the meadow,” Macklin said. “They’ll hear or see us if we move away from the trees. We will have to duck into the woods, and find our way to the end of meadow, and wait for them to pass us. Once they cross onto Denby’s land, we can follow them at a distance, as they make their way into his woods.”

  “When should Smithton round up his men?” Brayleigh asked.

  “As soon as Denby’s crew reaches the end of the meadow. By then it will be too late for an informer among his men to get back down through the woods to warn them.”

  They moved onward slowly. After a time, Smithton peeled off to strike out for the rendezvous with his men. The remaining five waited, hidden in the woods as the pony train passed them by less than twenty yards, and then fanned out to follow at a safe distance as they headed for the abandoned cottage.

  For some time all was silent save for the sound of the horses’ muffled hooves and soft breathing, and only the dim gleam of the last lanterns lighting the path for the smugglers ahead of them showed the way. Finally, the glow of a fire burning outside the old cottage could be seen, and they watched as the ponies ahead of them were drawn up into several rows.

  “Arthur, you and Macklin remain here to guard against any attempts they may make to escape back the way they came,” ordered Malcolm. “Del, Brayleigh and I will go up to meet the lieutenant and his men. One way or another, I will make sure tonight that Denby does not return to trouble us further.”

  The men urged their horses forward silently until they were just a few yards behind the ranks of ponies drawn up before the fire outside the crumbling cottage. The flames leapt in the darkness, and a trail of sparks twisted as they rose above it, to vanish among the summer leaves trembling on the branches of the gnarled trees. As they did so, Lord Denby, accompanied by two men, walked from behind the cottage into the light of the fire.

  “I’ll just check the load, Harris,” Denby said to one of them. “I need to be sure I’m getting what I paid for before you and Megyss leave.”

  “Aye, my lord,” the other man agreed, turning away to talk to his compatriot.

  A rustle was heard in the darkness, and Lieutenant Smithton and his excisemen appeared, surrounding the circle of men and ponies, their weapons trained on Denby and his compatriots. Some of the local folk, startled, turned flee, but Wroxton and Brayleigh moved forward as well, and they halted.

  “Arrest them,” Smithton ordered, and three of his men dismounted, moving to tie the ringleaders’ hands behind their backs. They seemed reluctant to restrain a nobleman however, and Denby darted away from them, making a break for the cottage. Cursing, Malcolm leapt from his horse and ran after him.

  He reached the door of the building seconds after Denby, Brayleigh and Stephen hard on his heels. He stopped short, however, and gestured the other men back, when he saw that Denby held Helena in front of him, one arm firmly around her waist, a long knife to her throat. Her hands were bound in front of her, her elegant ball gown was streaked with dirt, and she wore an expression of extreme annoyance on her face.

  “Bulkeley thought you might be up to something, so I brought some insurance,” gloated Denby. “You think you’re clever, Wroxton, but I’m not to be trifled with.”

  Malcolm surveyed him calmly. “Are you hurt?” he asked Helena, ignoring Denby.

  “I am uninjured,” replied Helena in a low voice. “But I am very, very angry.”

  “I imagine you are. I think his lordship will learn he has made a grave mistake in provoking you. I will have you out of here in a moment,” Malcolm assured her.

  “If you don’t mind, I must interrupt this tete-a-tete,” growled Denby. “You will supply me with a horse and allow me to leave unmolested, or I will slit your paramour’s throat.”

  Malcolm took a step closer, but stopped when Denby tightened his grip on Helena. “You seem to think that Miss Keighley has some special meaning to me. I’d not count on my being sentimental in this case.”

  “You’re a cold-blooded one, I know that. But I don’t think you want her death on your conscience,” sneered Denby.

  “There’s one death I’d not mind facilitating,” observed Malcolm. He shook his head. “What good does escaping do now, Denby? We’ve caught you in the act. Running, or killing Miss Keighley, will not help you. Indeed, her death would only mean that you would hang for it.”

  “You’ve no proof against me. The word of your friends and a woman who has always hated me? Thieves and locals who can be bribed? I will claim I was never here, and that you and Miss Keighley are seeking revenge on me.”

  “Weak stuff, Denby,” said Malcolm. “It won’t stand.”

  “I’m not without friends myself,” sneered Denby. “I’ll take my chances.”

  “You already have. You’ve lost again.”

  Denby pressed the knife against Helena’s throat and a drop of blood appeared on her creamy skin. Malcolm watched it with narrowed eyes, and then dropped into a rickety chair. “Very well. But it will do you no good. Del, have Smithton bring a horse around.”

  Stephen exited quietly, and a few moments later there was the sound of muffled voices, and the clop of horse hooves approaching. Stephen came back into the cottage and nodded silently at Malcolm.

  “Your horse awaits,”
said Malcolm.

  “I’ll take Miss Keighley with me, and leave her down the road,” said Denby.

  “If any harm comes to her, I’ll see that you pay,” Malcolm pledged grimly.

  “Your affection for this woman makes you weak,” sneered Denby. He inched toward the door, holding Helena in front of him. “Tell your friends to move.”

  Malcolm waved one hand, and Alaric and Stephen stepped out of the doorway. Denby dragged Helena with him as he moved, and she looked up, her eyes meeting Malcolm’s. He nodded briefly.

  “I—I feel faint,” she murmured, and sagged in Denby’s arms, causing him to stagger briefly under her dead weight. Immediately Malcolm was on his feet, closing the distance between him and the baron in two strides. His right fist shot forward, missing Helena by inches, and striking Denby with a punishing uppercut, that sent him falling backwards.

  Brayleigh walked over and looked down at Denby with surprise. “Good lord, Mal,” he exclaimed. “He’s out cold. Where did you learn to fight like that?”

  “I ran a boxing saloon in Rome,” Malcolm replied. “But I found it hard on my hands, and didn’t want to ruin them for card playing. So I joined forces with a lovely widow who had a discreet gambling establishment, and needed a gentleman about the place to make sure the clients kept the peace. The bed and board part of it was fairly attractive as well.”

  “I should have known better than to ask,” sighed Alaric.

  Malcolm turned to Helena, who was staring down at Denby, triumph in her eyes. He turned her toward him. “Did he harm you in any way?” he demanded, quickly loosening the bonds on her wrists. He ran his fingers gently over the red marks they left. “Because if he did, by God I will kill him now.”

  Helena smiled shakily. “I’m fine. He didn’t—didn’t do anything but tie me up and insult me.”

  “I’ll kill him for that, if you want me to.”

  “No, it would not do at all. I’ll not have you branded a murderer again.”

  “It wouldn’t be murder,” replied Malcolm. “I’d be doing the country a service.”