Smuggler's Lady

by Jane Feather

  Here he handed the reins to Harry and alighted, reaching up a hand to Merrie, who, her curiosity running out of bounds, sprang lightly into the street. “Take them to the inn, Harry. I’ll send for you when I am ready to leave.”

  The tiger touched his forelock and led the team in the direction of the Bull and Bear.

  “Who lives here? It is quite the prettiest house.” Merrie went to the white wicket gate and pushed it open. Smiling, Damian followed as she skipped up the narrow garden path to the green-painted door framed by a late-blooming Albertine climbing over a wooden trellis.

  The door opened before she could knock. “I saw you from the front windows.” A pink-and-white young woman bobbed a curtsy. “Welcome, my lord, my lady. Is there anything I can get you?”

  “Not for the moment, thank you, Sally. My love, this is Sally, who will look after the house and will look after us when we visit,” he said to the now clear-sighted Meredith. “Come into the parlor.”

  Merrie went through the door held by Sally, who said she would be in the kitchen should they need her, bobbed another curtsy, and disappeared. “So this is your surprise,” Merrie murmured, looking around the cozy room where cheerful chintzes covered the furniture and hung at the small bow window. The scent of potpourri and beeswax filled the air.

  Damian went to a little desk, opened a drawer, and took out a document. This he handed to Merrie with a quizzical little smile. It was the lease to the cottage made out in her name. Slowly she raised her eyes to meet his. “We have a love nest, it would seem,” Merrie whispered as a warm glow spread from somewhere in the pit of her belly. She could never have imagined anything more perfect, more delicate than this romantic hideaway far from town, where they could be themselves, for the first time ever, away from all fears of observation, could create their own universe where there were no intruders, no distractions. At that moment, she loved him, if it were possible, more deeply than ever. It showed in her eyes as she came into his arms.

  “Let us go upstairs,” he said on a husky note, lifting her with his usual ease. “You must inspect the rest of your property.”

  “If that is a double entendre, my lord, it is not very subtle,” she chided, kissing his ear.

  “It is the best I can do in the circumstances,” he murmured, carrying her up a polished oak staircase to a small landing. “Unlatch the door, sweetheart, my hands are full.”

  Meredith reached for the latch, lifted it, and pushed open a door onto a country bedroom that in style and furnishing matched the parlor.

  “I love you,” Damian said, placing her on the patchwork coverlet of the posterbed.

  “And I you,” she replied.

  Much later, when the early October dusk filled the small window, Damian gently disentangled himself from Merrie’s warm, clinging limbs and slipped out of bed. He drew the curtains against the encroaching gloom, struck a flint, and bent to light the fire set ready in the hearth.

  “May we stay here all night?”

  “I thought you were still asleep.” He stood up as the logs crackled, coming back to the bed where he drew down the covers, drinking in the nakedness, warm and glowing, firm yet soft, thus revealed. “We cannot this time, love.” When she pulled a comical face of disappointment, he touched her lips. “I cannot leave Harry with my horses at the inn all night. Next time I will drive alone. If you remember, I had not intended our first visit to be unplanned.”

  A serious note had crept into his voice although his eyes remained soft and his fingers continued to trace the planes of her face.

  “Dinner, at least?” Meredith inquired. She knew that he was now asking for her willing compliance in the matter that had brought them here, but she was not quite ready.

  Damian nodded, accepting the delay, and drew the covers over her again. “Sally will have dinner prepared.” He pulled on britches and shirt to pad barefoot down to the kitchen from whence emanated the most enticing aromas.

  Sally was standing at the range, stirring a copper saucepan. She jumped at his lordship’s soft-footed arrival. “Oh, m’lord, you startled me.”

  “I beg pardon, Sally,” he apologized with a disarming smile. “We are exceeding sharp-set and something smells delicious.”

  The young woman beamed. “Will I lay the table in the parlor, m’lord? Or will you dine above stairs?”

  Thinking of that glorious body beneath the covers on the wide bed, Rutherford said that they would eat above stairs for today and offered to carry the dishes. Sally making no demur, he bore a laden tray upstairs, entering the chamber to find Merrie sitting naked on the rug before the fire.

  “Shameless creature,” he chided, setting the tray on a gate-legged table which he then pulled before the fire. “Supposing it had been Sally who entered?”

  “She would have knocked,” Merrie said unarguably, getting up to examine the contents of the tray with a hungry sniff.

  “That is not everything,” he told her, running a lazy hand over her bottom as she leant over the table. “I will fetch the second course afterward. Sit down before you give me other ideas.”

  Chuckling, she complied, taking cutlery and napkins from the table, arranging them in two place settings while Damian ladled creamy artichoke soup into deep bowls.

  He placed one bowl before Merrie, then very deliberately shook out the large linen napkin, tying it around her neck. “If you dribble soup, my dear, you might find yourself more than a little uncomfortable.” A long finger ran between her breasts, circled her nipples, slid over her abdomen, and danced across her bare thighs in emphatic demonstration of his point.

  The soup was followed by a duckling in a delicate orange sauce flavored with juniper berries, accompanied by fresh-picked green peas and roasted potatoes. A blackberry pie with heavy golden cream completed a simple but delectable dinner that seemed entirely in keeping with the charming simplicity of this perfect hideaway.

  Meredith took a sip of the ruby claret in her glass and stretched with a sigh of repletion. She had abandoned the napkin some minutes previously and her breasts lifted, rose-tipped in the firelight. “Why may I not stay here?” she asked quietly. “I will await you in this love nest and you will come to me whenever you can, whenever you feel the need.” A tender smile touched her lips, hovered in her eyes. “I would be most content, I promise. It is not so far from town that I may not visit to see the sights and, when you come to call upon me, then may we go out together also. It would be as I expected.”

  “But not as I intended,” he replied, cracking a walnut between long fingers. “Must I remind you again of our agreement? Your unconditional acceptance of my conditions?” He leant across the table to lay the shelled nut on her plate, his eyes meeting hers in steady affirmation of his determination.

  “No.” Merrie shook her head. “I need no reminding. But why should it suit you better to have me lodged with your sister? To see me enter this society that is your home, not mine?” She popped the walnut between her lips and propped her elbows on the table, waiting for his answer.

  Rutherford said nothing for a minute. So she still had not tumbled to his plan. The longer she remained in ignorance the better since he strongly suspected that, once she realized his fell intent, the fireworks he had seen so far would be damp squibs compared with her reaction then. He would not lie to her, though.

  “Since you are not at all dull-witted, Meredith, I will leave you to work that out for yourself. You will do so sooner or later, I am convinced.”

  “I do not find that particularly reassuring, sir,” she told him.

  “Come here.” Damian pushed back his chair, patting his knee in both invitation and demand.

  The tip of her thumb disappeared between her teeth. “So you can cozen me into agreeing to anything?”

  “Come.” An imperative finger beckoned.

  Meredith complied with a rueful little smile. The battle was already lost anyway.

  “I am going to give you a draft on my bank,” Rutherford explained, once
he had her safely captive. “If it is not sufficient to settle all your bills and for other necessities, then you will simply apply to me for more.”

  “That is so mortifying!” Meredith bit her lip angrily.

  “I fail to see how. It is just what I would do for my wife,” he replied evenly.

  “But I am not your wife.”

  “No,” he agreed drily. “You are not, are you?”

  “Is this in some sort a punishment?” Meredith struggled to sit up, pushing against his chest. “Because I will not marry you?”

  “Be still.” He held her tighter. “You have a very strange notion of the concept of punishment, my love. I wish only to please you with the gift of an adventure that you would not otherwise have. My purse is a fat one and will in no wise be diminished by the gift. Will you not accept it willingly?”

  “You are determined that I will accept it,” she said thoughtfully. “Willing or no?”

  His silence was confirmation enough and Meredith reluctantly accepted that she was at point non plus. She played with the buttons on his shirt for a few moments, then said. “Of course, my lord, you might regret your generosity. Supposing I should develop excessively expensive tastes? I have had to be so thrifty for so long that I may run wild. Secure in the knowledge that I may apply to you for further funds whenever necessary, I may set no restraints on my spending. Why, I might even discover a penchant for gaming. I am, after all, quite skilled at the cards.”

  “There is a risk in all enterprises,” Rutherford said solemnly. “I had already decided that that one was quite acceptable.”

  Meredith’s reaction to this provocation led them speedily back to the bed where Damian found some considerable effort was required to subdue the lean little body that twisted and wriggled, eluding his grasp like a greased pole. She was amazingly strong, as he had discovered before, and used her well-toned muscles to best advantage, levering herself skillfully against him to achieve her freedom.

  Even as she wondered why they were wrestling, why she was fighting so hard to elude the captivity that would bring only joy, Meredith knew that the mock battle was the physical expression of their conflict. Damian had won the latter with trickery, using her own weapons against her; he would win this one eventually with his greater strength, but, before he did so, she would use all her wiles, exhaust her skills and strength in battle so that at the end she would be drained of all resentment, all lingering hostility, ready to be filled anew with pure, untarnished delight.

  “I had not realized what a tigress I have taken into my bed,” Damian gasped, breathless with effort as much as with the heat of desire engendered by the lithe body, by her stubborn defiance of the odds. “Permit me to tell you, madam, that you are not playing fair!” With a monumental heave, he managed to roll her onto her stomach. “I am so afraid of hurting you that I dare not rely simply on brawn.”

  “Well, what is this then?” she demanded, equally breathless, jerking her hips against his weight as he sat on her bottom and clipped her wrists in the small of her back.

  “Brute strength, I admit.” He chuckled. “But the most delicate parts of you are safely cushioned by the mattress.” Merrie continue to jerk and heave, bringing up her heels to pummel his back until, finally exhausted, she lay still.

  “Now,” he whispered, leaning forward to nuzzle her neck. “Let us make an end of this business, my little adventuress, once and for all.”

  “Do you always understand?” Merrie whispered back, glowing through her exhaustion at the thought that he had known exactly what lay beneath the battle.

  “Not always, but I will promise always to try.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “A very pretty behaved young woman,” the Duchess of Keighley pronounced to her daughter. “I was most afraid that she would be farouche; it is so often the way with provincials.”

  “I do not think her exactly provincial,” Arabella said thoughtfully. “To tell the truth, Mama, sometimes it is I who feel the simpleton, the naive one. George says she is one of the most sensible women he has ever met.” She smiled, shrugged. “I should be jealous but am merely grateful. He has dined at home three times in the week since she came to us.”

  “And Rutherford?” the duchess inquired. “What interest does he have in the widow?”

  “Oh, friendly, ma’am,” Bella prevaricated, busying herself with the tea tray. “He felt some family obligation as Matthew’s sole heir. Apparently Lady Blake could justifiably have expected something in the will herself.”

  Her mother nodded. She had heard the same from her son and judged that he had acted in a perfectly correct manner. She had, however, been most curious to make the acquaintance of this distant Cornish connection. Something had roused Rutherford from his gloom and despondency on that Cornish excursion, and her grace had now decided that, if it were the widow, she would have no need to fall into strong convulsions. The match was hardly brilliant, but the girl looked quite charming in an uncommon way and was possessed of a handsome fortune. In fact, if Damian had any intentions in that quarter, he would do well to make them known, the duchess thought pragmatically. Once the girl was properly launched, she would have no shortage of suitors. It behooved the Keighleys to take a most particular interest in Lady Blake’s debut.

  “I will talk to Sally Jersey about vouchers for Almack’s,” she said briskly. “I daresay she will call within the week. We will both let it be known that you have a guest, but you must give a party as soon as may be. George will have no objections, I trust?”

  “None at all, ma’am,” Bella assured with a serene smile. “I have already mentioned it to him. I have prepared a guest list.” She handed her mother a paper, thinking it unnecessary to mention that the list had been compiled with Damian’s more-than-active assistance.

  “That will do very well,” the duchess approved. “Brummell may well attend to oblige your brother, and I will ask Keighley to promise to bring York, if only for half an hour.” She nodded in the manner her daughter recognized as denoting happy decision. “It would not surprise me at all if she were not to become all the rage if we play our cards right. Rutherford must be told that this dislike of his for dancing and parties must be overcome. He will be obliged to partner his cousin and most certainly to offer his escort when dear George must be in the House.”

  Lord Rutherford, favored with these instructions when next he called upon his mama, surprised that lady with his meek acquiescence. “I shall be most happy, ma’am, to do all in my power to assist Lady Blake. I see it in some way a duty since she is in London at my invitation.”

  The duchess regarded the son and heir over her lorgnette. “D’ye wish to fix your interest there, Rutherford?”

  He stroked his chin reflectively before answering, “If she will have me, ma’am.”

  The Duchess of Keighley was betrayed into a somewhat unladylike exclamation. “Why, of course she will have you. What woman in her right mind would not? You are the most eligible catch on the market.”

  “I beg you will not say such a thing to Meredith, ma’am. It will not make my suit any the easier.”

  His mother stared. “Is she mad?”

  “Proud, ma’am,” he replied succinctly. “And very much out of the common way. I would not have it otherwise.”

  The duchess absorbed this in silence before saying bluntly. “Y’re telling me not to take a hand in it, is that right?”

  “Yes, Mama. Quite right.”

  The duchess recognized the note in her son’s voice. Although never deficient in courtesy to his parent, or indeed to anyone, Rutherford could be alarmingly final when his mind was made up. “Hmph. Well, you know your own business best, I daresay. Arabella and George will bring her here for dinner tomorrow, and you may escort us to the play afterward.”

  Thus it was that Meredith found herself accepted into the Keighley family. The duke was perfectly pleasant although he appeared to take little notice of her, but, since this lack of attention seemed to extend uni
versally, she could not feel slighted. His wife was kind, and Meredith was left in little doubt as to who was the power behind the family throne. It became clear that the duchess had decided to interest herself most energetically in Merrie’s come-out, a fact that intrigued her ladyship. She understood Bella’s part, but why the Duchess of Keighley should be more than ordinarily interested in a distant connection from the wilds of Cornwall was a definite puzzle.

  Having bowed to necessity, Meredith typically wasted neither time nor energy in complaint. Throwing herself wholeheartedly into the enterprise after some initial hesitation, she rapidly lost her scruples about using Rutherford’s purse. The bank draft he had given her seemed enormous until Madame Bernice sent in her bill for the ball dress of ivory crape with velvet ribbons spangled with gold. The gown had been bought for her first appearance at Almack’s, and not even the undeniable vision reflected by her glass could reconcile Meredith to such a monstrous sum.

  Damian, waiting in the hall to escort his sister and Meredith to the ball, caught his breath as she came down the stairs. That glorious auburn hair had been cut, not too much at his express desire but enough to accommodate the fashionably classic styles. Tonight, it clustered in a myriad loose curls confined by a ribbon with a bow over her left eye. A magnificent pearl necklace was clasped around a throat that rose long and creamy from a low-cut bodice that made the most of a bosom that Rutherford privately considered to be perfection. Had he once actually told his sister that he did not consider Merrie to be a beauty?