“Could’ve fooled me. Never seen anybody get so drunk on two pints.”
“I was not that drunk.”
“That’s what you said every time you asked me to—” He broke off abruptly and scowled. “Anyway, for a woman who wasn’t ‘that drunk,’ you were quite…friendly.”
“Thank you for reminding me,” she bit out. She certainly didn’t need any reminders. Every minute was burned into her memory—the kisses, the caresses, the wild, scandalous excitement he’d made her feel. Oh, no, she remembered it all with astonishing clarity.
She merely felt a trifle embarrassed about it this morning. And he seemed to feel the same, for after he hovered there a moment looking awkward, he pointed to the basin and mumbled, “Are you done being sick from not being drunk?”
She nodded.
“Then I’ll get rid of that before it spoils our appetites.”
“Mine is beyond spoiling,” she grumbled, “but I’d hate to ruin your breakfast.”
That seemed to restore his good humor, if not hers. Chuckling, he picked up the basin and headed for the door. “Somebody’s a mite testy this morning.”
She scowled at his back. He was obviously fine. No doubt he could outdrink a hundred smugglers and still feel splendid the next day. Why, he even looked splendid. His buff trousers and sage-green coat were hardly wrinkled, his hair was nicely combed, and he’d even managed to shave.
While she sat here, grimy and frumpy and perspiring. How utterly mortifying!
He set the basin outside for the servant to take away, then closed the door and gestured to her cane. “Shall I help you stand?”
“I can do it.” She snatched up her cane. Why must she always appear so weak in front of him? For once, she’d like to see him laid low by something—a cold, a sore throat…a stubbed toe. She snorted. That would never happen. Apparently the great ox possessed not only a bottom of iron, but a hard head and an unassailable constitution.
She waited until he’d returned to laying out their breakfast before she grasped her cane with both hands, then shoved to her feet. She teetered there for a moment, but noted with grim satisfaction that her few hours of sleep seemed to have restored her former mobility, such as it was.
“Why don’t you come try to eat something?” he coaxed. “We’ve important matters to discuss.”
The very thought of food made her belly churn. “Must I eat? Or talk? My head aches, and there’s a war going on in my stomach.”
“What a surprise,” he teased, but when he caught her frowning at him, he added gently, “You’ll feel worse if you don’t at least drink some tea. And since we can’t get on the road yet—it’s storming like the devil out there—we might as well talk.”
“Oh, very well, if you insist.” Wrapping the sheet more securely about her body, she limped to the table. For a moment, she thought she’d be sick again. It held enough food for a regiment—rashers of bacon, a mound of toast, pots of jam and butter, four boiled eggs at least, not to mention the sausages and scones and Lord knew what else.
“Do you eat like this at every meal?” she asked peevishly as she dropped into a chair.
“You ought to be grateful that I do. How else can I keep up my strength for lugging you about?” He glanced up with a grin, but it died as his gaze met hers.
She could see he was thinking of what had happened the last time he’d lugged her about. Her stomach did flip-flops, only this time it had nothing to do with last night’s ale. “I’ll try not to make it a necessity again.” Her hand trembled as she reached for the cup of tea he’d poured.
“I don’t mind it so much.”
With just those words he revived all her yearnings from last night. Oh, how were she and he to go on? Every time she looked at him, she remembered his head buried between…Lord, she shouldn’t even think of that.
Yet she couldn’t help it. No matter how much she chided herself for last night’s shameless behavior, she kept replaying every glorious minute. Which was ludicrous. Though she might never have a chance to marry, she certainly didn’t want to become Daniel’s latest light-o’-love. Not that it was all that likely to happen. He did not de sire her as he desired other women. Or at least not enough to act on it.
The realization still rankled so much that she spoke before thinking. “Daniel, about last night and what we did…”
“What about it?”
She could tell from his suddenly wary expression that she should not have brought it up, yet she couldn’t help but press on. “Why did you…well…”
“Touch you?” With stiff, controlled movements, he began ladling food onto a plate. “Take advantage of you? Behave like a randy—”
“No. Why did you stop?”
His gaze shot to hers, as astonished as if someone had just crowned him with an anvil. “Why did I what?”
“Stop.” She ducked her head, embarrassed by her own bluntness. Lord, she was becoming as brazen as Rosalind, and that was not a good thing. “You…you could have…well…you know…”
Carefully setting down the platter, he leaned back against his chair to eye her intently. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, lass. Because I can’t believe you’re saying what I think you are.”
She swallowed and forced herself to meet his gaze. “Why didn’t you…um…‘dance the mattress jig’ with me?”
He blinked. “The mattress jig? Where the devil did you get that bit of cant?” His eyes clouded. “No, don’t tell me. I can guess. Our friendly Mr. Wallace. I s’pose the bloody arse suggested that you dance it with him.”
“Actually he thought that you and I might have…that the reason we married…I mean, supposedly married…Well, why didn’t you? You could have.” Her tone grew self-mocking. “I clearly wouldn’t have minded it in the least last night.”
“Yes, but you would’ve minded it this morning, I expect.” With a snort of disgust, he snatched up a platter of sausages, then began forking them onto his plate. “Well, I’m not such a blackguard as to seduce a drunk virgin, no matter what you think of me.”
His answer quickened her pulse. Was he saying he’d been trying not to take advantage of her? That it had nothing to do with her…inadequacies?
She pretended not to understand him, wanting to know the truth but too proud to ask. “No, I don’t suppose a drunk virgin would be adept enough at seduction to please a man of your…experience.”
A harsh laugh boiled out of him as he dropped the platter onto the table. “Drunk or no, you were plenty adept at seduction, trust me. It took all my will to leave that bed last night without deflowering you. If you’d been any more adept, you’d have driven me stark raving mad.”
Such a frank admission shattered her composure. She stared at him, unable to speak, unsure what to say.
His eyes blazed at her, hot as fired steel. “So now you know. You can make me lust after you with hardly any effort. That should please you: another way to torture me for my arrogance.”
“I wasn’t trying to torture you,” she-whispered. Despite the chilly room and her inadequate attire, her skin heated beneath his gaze.
“If that’s what you’re capable of when you’re not trying, then God help me if you ever make an effort.” He searched her face, eyes narrowing. “Why d’you want to know why I stopped? Isn’t it enough for you that I did?”
“I merely wondered…it seemed surprising that you…well…”
“You’re not trying to tell me you’re disappointed that I didn’t make love to you, are you?”
“Certainly not!”
Frustration flared briefly in his face before he masked it. “I didn’t think so, even if you did seem to find the idea appealing last night. In the cold light of the sober morn, I expect it doesn’t seem so appealing.” He swept her with a gaze so intimate, she felt it whisper over her skin, “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“I…yes, of course.” What else could she say? I’m so shameless I want to join the legions of strumpets clamoring for yo
ur attention?
She feared it might actually be true. Sober or not, when he looked at her with those smoldering gray eyes, all she wanted was to feel his hands and his mouth on her again. He wasn’t the only one going stark raving mad.
Thankfully he was wise enough not to act on her madness or his, and she would make good use of her reprieve. “I do want you to know that I appreciate your not taking advantage of me when I was…inebriated.”
“You’re welcome,” he said tightly. He settled back in his chair, but his gaze continued to drift over her with that dark hunger that made her ache. “Still, I suggest you be more careful in the future. Last night stretched the bounds of my control. Next time I won’t let you go so easy.” His gaze rested briefly on her parted lips, then lifted to lock with hers. “But I promise you this—when I make love to you, you’ll be stone-cold sober and willing, or I’ll have none of you. D’you understand?”
She sucked in a ragged breath. He had not said “if,” but “when.” When I make love to you. A slip of the tongue? She didn’t think so. He was warning her that if she wanted to behave like a tart, he wouldn’t hesitate to oblige her. And to her shame, the idea made her blood run hot with anticipation.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I understand.” She only hoped she had the good sense to heed his warning.
“Good.” He stared a moment longer, making her all too conscious of how awful she looked, what a sight she must be with her hair unkempt and her face pale as death.
Self-consciously, she dropped her gaze and busied herself with buttering a piece of toast. “You said we had…other matters to discuss?”
Silence. Then he picked up his fork. “Yes. We need to talk about your sister and Pryce.”
That caught her off guard. “What do you mean? We know where they’re going now, so all we do is follow them to Hastings, then convince her to leave him before they sail off to Scotland.”
“It’s not so simple anymore.” He served himself some bacon, but just sat staring at it. “Do you remember Wallace speaking of Jolly Roger Crouch last night?”
“Yes.” She sipped some tea.
“Crouch and his men are situated in Hastings.”
After last night, she wasn’t entirely surprised to discover he knew so much about this man Crouch. Clearly, he’d dealt with hundreds of free traders in his youth. “What does that have to do with Juliet and Mr. Pryce?”
He scowled. “I told you—they’re going to Hastings.”
“Yes. Because he has friends there—this Crouch person he works for—who will help him take a ship to Scotland.”
“No, damn it, not because of any ship.” He picked up a piece of bacon, then tossed it down. “When I thought Pryce was an independent free trader, it made sense for him to be a fortune hunter, too. Often as not, free traders have regular professions and only do the smuggling on the side. They’re as liable to marry for money as anybody. But he’s with Crouch. And that changes things.”
“Why?”
“Because Crouch’s men are smugglers by profession rather than necessity. And notwithstanding your pretty tale about how we met last night, smuggling and marriage to gentry don’t mix.”
“What are you saying?”
His gaze met hers, cold, fearless. “I think this is a kidnapping, Helena.”
She caught her breath. As she set her cup back down, it rattled in the saucer. “K-kidnapping? Juliet?” Her nausea returned full force, and she had to fight to keep her gorge from rising. “That can’t be! Pryce…courted her. He—”
“He probably thought it would make it easier to get her to Hastings. I doubt he told Juliet he was kidnapping her.”
Her heart beat unsteadily in her chest. “But I never received a request for ransom. Papa would have notified me in London if a letter had come to Swan Park.”
“It’s not you or your father they want the money from—I’m sure Pryce learned that your family isn’t rich. No, they want money from Griff. He’s her brother-in-law and he’s wealthy—who better to pay a ransom? So any ransom note would have gone to him.” With a sigh, he raked his fingers through his hair. “I think it might already have.”
“What do you mean?”
He glanced away, his jaw rigid. “Two days before you arrived in London, Griff’s clerk mentioned that a man had come to Knighton Trading and insisted on having a letter sent personally to Griff on the Continent. The clerk tried to convince the man to broach his business with me, but the man refused. I didn’t think much of it at the time—some men would rather deal with Griff than me. Then you came to London and all this happened, and I forgot about it.” His gaze swung back to her. “But with this new information, I have to wonder. The timing was right. It could easily have been Pryce.”
“So you think Mr. Pryce kidnapped her, then sent a ransom note off to Griff on the Continent before carrying her the rest of the way to Hastings?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “For all his wicked reputation, Crouch isn’t the sort to engineer a kidnapping. He’s limited himself to smuggling to date, which is a fairly innocuous criminal profession.”
“Innocuous? The Hawkhurst Gang tortured and murdered people!”
“True, but that was years ago, and they were a very bad lot. Your average smuggler is only trying to make a living in a part of the country where times have been hard. But kidnapping…” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have thought it, that’s all. Still, it’s the only thing that makes sense. Otherwise, why would Pryce take a false name? And you said yourself he could’ve sailed to Scotland quicker from Warwickshire. You said he’d been seen with other free traders before he went to Stratford, too. They must’ve been Crouch’s men.”
“Merciful heavens.” Everything fit. It fit far too well. “There’s also the fact that he tried to court me first. If he’d merely been looking for a fortune, he would have seized on her first because she’s younger and prettier.”
“Younger maybe, but not prettier,” he corrected with a faint smile.
She waved off his compliment. “Yes, but he chose me first. And why? Because I’m lame. He probably thought I would fall in with his plans more easily.”
“Thank God for your suspicious mind that made you see right through him.” His voice was fierce, protective.
“I wish I hadn’t. I could have held my own with the scoundrel, but Juliet—” She broke off, pressing her hand to her mouth as she thought of the horrors her little sister must be suffering.
He reached across the table to clasp her hand. “He won’t hurt her.”
“How do you know?” she cried.
“If Jolly Roger’s behind this, you’ve naught to fear. It’s not in his interests to hurt her. He’s too canny for that.”
“So you know him personally?”
He blinked, then glanced away. “No…that’s just what I’ve heard about him, is all. And I’m thinking like a smuggler.” His gaze shot back to hers. “That’s why you wanted me to help you, isn’t it?”
She nodded warily, not entirely satisfied with his answer.
“Any smuggler would realize that Griff would gladly pay a ransom to get Juliet back. They’d also assume he wouldn’t involve the authorities after she’s restored to him. They’d figure that Griff wouldn’t want people looking into his old connections to free trading.” He fingered her bare hand absently. “But they’d know that if she’s harmed, Griff would no longer have a reason to be circumspect. If they hurt her, he’ll see them hanged, no matter what it does to Knighton Trading. So she’ll be safe with them. I’m sure of it.”
His explanation made sense, but left her uneasy all the same. Daniel seemed very adept at “thinking like a smuggler.” And no matter how much he sat there stroking her fingers to soothe her, she could feel the tension in him.
He was hiding something. She was sure of it. “Is that why they chose her? Because of our family’s connection to Griff? Because Griff has a shady past they can use to their advantage that will keep them from being pursu
ed?”
Abruptly, he dropped her hand, a shadow passing over his face. “Yes, I expect so.” He busied himself with cutting his sausages, making sharp, downward stabs at them. “And because Griff is rich.”
Aha! He was hiding something. “But that’s so much trouble to go to. Why not just choose some rich man’s daughter from Hastings?”
“Well, for one thing, their friendly townsfolk wouldn’t be so friendly anymore if the smugglers preyed on their own.” His gaze met hers, so remorseful and concerned that she forgot her suspicions. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, that it came to this. I hate that it had to happen, especially to her. But I do believe she’ll be all right. So far, everything I’ve learnt since we left has confirmed that Pryce is treating her carefully. He’s taken separate rooms for her at the few inns where they’ve stayed, and she’s appeared to be content. The innkeeper here says the man behaved like a perfect gentleman. He and Crouch both know just how far to push Griff. They’ll treat her like a queen, I expect.”
She wished she felt as confident as he did. “But the longer she stays among those men, the more chance—”
“Yes.”
His curt answer sent fear curling about her heart.
“And that’s why,” he went on, “she needs to be spirited out of there as soon as possible. It might be weeks before Griff can pay them off. I don’t like to think of her with them for that long.”
“You have a plan to get her out?”
He sighed. “I wish we could just alert the revenue officers, but if I know free traders, they’ve bribed the excisemen to look the other way. And we don’t know where he’s got her. Besides, if Crouch feels cornered, there’s no telling what he’ll do. What if he flees to France and takes her with him? He can still demand a ransom from Griff, but then he mightn’t be so eager to keep her safe.”
He shook his head. “No, the best approach is a furtive one. I wish we hadn’t revealed our interest in her and Pryce last night, but that can’t be helped now. We can only hope Wallace won’t speak of it to Crouch’s men. They are rival gangs, from what I understand.”
A Notorious Love Page 16
