Smuggler's Lair

by Virginia Henley

  Pandora emerged from the moat unnoticed until a shower of water droplets cascaded over them as the leopard shook herself. Their laughter broke the spell of the intimate moment they shared, and Falcon led the way back up to the chamber atop the round tower.

  He lit the candles in the wall brackets, bathing the room in a warm glow. “Alas, my time is promised elsewhere tonight. You may take my bed until a chamber can be plenished for you tomorrow. That is, of course, if you decide to stay.”

  She searched his face. “I thought I was your captive.”

  “It would be difficult to keep a captive who wished to return to her own time.” He took an iron key from the drawer of a bedside table and offered it to her. “If you choose to stay, lock the door when I leave for your own protection.”

  Tory stared at the key on his open palm, then raised her eyes to his, trying to discern his thoughts. In the fathomless depths she saw secrets, never to be told, but she also saw desire. She reached out and took the key.

  Once she was alone, Tory explored the chamber. She sniffed the glass decanters on a side table. Two held wine, but the third she suspected was forbidden French brandy. In the bedside table she discovered aromatic tobacco, a pipe, and flints. She connected the smell with the memory of her father, yet she had never seen him smoke. Hidden knowledge floating from the past made her smile. Mother forbade the pleasure, so he indulged in secret.

  She looked at the items on his desk. It held sheets of paper, a silver inkwell, several feather quills, red wax, and a gold seal ring carved to stamp the imprint of a peregrine falcon. Tory was almost sure she had seen it on Falcon’s little finger earlier. She tried on the ring, traced the raptor’s outline with her fingertip, and felt a frisson of yearning for she knew not what.

  She opened the desk drawer and saw a long leather box. She lifted the lid and saw that it was a case designed to hold a pair of pistols. She touched the velvet indentations and realized Falcon must have the pistols with him. The other item in the desk was a book. Tory sat down, opened it, and turned the pages. It was a ledger with a list of names that were common in Sussex. The symbols and numbers after each name were a cipher of some sort that she didn’t understand. There was a section at the back of the ledger that listed more noble-sounding names along with their titles.

  Victoria put the book back and yawned. She longed to explore the chamber beneath this one, but the thought of a prowling Pandora stopped her. The wide bed beckoned, so she snuffed all the candles save one, removed her shoes and stockings, loosened the strings of her corset, and slipped between the sheets.

  Though she lay still, her mind began to race. She relived everything that had happened to her in this incredible day. Thoughts and emotions she had never before experienced chased each other in ever-widening circles, producing a myriad of questions that could only be answered by drawing one conclusion: She had traveled back in time one hundred years.

  Tory finally realized she was far too restless to sleep. She threw aside the covers and climbed from the bed. She was filled with a compelling urge to go outside in the cool night air, and felt an irresistible force drawing her up on the roof.

  There was no moon tonight and the sky was like black velvet. She walked slowly around the crenellated wall, breathing deeply. She could smell the sea, but could see nothing in the vast blackness. Suddenly, she saw a light through the trees. It was gone in an instant, like a lamp being shuttered. She listened intently, but all she heard was the faint hoot of an owl.

  When another owl answered, the hairs on the nape of her neck stood up and she shivered with excitement. She had read about it in the history book about Sussex only this morning. “Owling is the signal device used by smugglers!”

  Victoria stood still as a statue, watching for the least glimmer of another light, listening for any noise that disturbed the still night air. The hoots of the owls gradually became fainter, then stopped altogether. After an hour she became aware of the cold stone beneath her bare feet and, chilled, she sought the warmth of the bed below.

  Soon, she drifted into a dream. She felt powerful arms slide around her and was drawn to a man’s chest, hard with muscle. She stiffened instinctively and whispered, “No!”

  She felt his arms tighten, felt his lips brush her ear.

  “You decided to stay.”

  “Yes.”

  “You left the door unlocked.”

  “Falcon.” She sighed with pleasure and clung to the dream.

  * * *

  When morning light filtered into the chamber, Victoria stirred in the lovely warm cocoon. She did not need to open her eyes to know where she was. She was filled with a delicious, languorous feeling from her toes to her fingertips. Her mouth curved into a smile and with a slight sense of reluctance she lifted her lashes.

  Her eyes widened in shock. Her back was cushioned against a hard male body. Her full ripe breast, freed from the confines of her corset, rested in a man’s cupped hand. He was wearing a gold seal ring on his finger. His forearm bore the tattoo of a raptor in flight.

  “Lord Hawkhurst!”

  Victoria felt the male body stir.

  “That would be me.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Tory removed his hand from her breast and turned to confront him.

  He gathered her close and held her fast to prevent her escaping from the bed. “I like it better when you call me Falcon.”

  “Raptor!”

  “Never! Well, hardly ever,” he amended. “I’d much rather woo you to a giving mood.” His glance surveyed her breasts with appreciation, then he slowly raised his eyes to her mouth. “How can I resist your deliberate temptation?”

  “Deliberate?” Her breasts rose and fell with her indignation.

  “Did I not give you the key?”

  Tory could not deny it.

  “Do you recall my warning?”

  She remembered his words exactly. If you choose to stay, lock the door when I leave for your own protection.

  “Exactly,” he said softly. “You have a sweetness about you that I’ve never encountered before.” His eyes caressed her face. “I hazard a guess that it is a result of chaste innocence.”

  “All unwed females are chaste,” she protested.

  “Perhaps in your time, Victoria; certainly not in mine. I thirst to taste your sweetness; hunger to awaken you.” He brushed a dark tendril from her temple and it curled about his fingers.

  His touch is gentle and . . . seductive. She realized he was no longer holding her captive, yet she made no move to escape. She had the same thought she’d had last night when he touched her. Perhaps that’s why I came here—

  He finished the thought for her. “So we could share pleasure.”

  “Falcon.” She knew he would kiss her and she lifted her mouth and opened her lips in breathless anticipation. When his mouth touched hers, she wanted the contact to last forever. The first slow, melting kiss led to another and then to a dozen; all were achingly perfect. When his lips touched the corners of her mouth and moved down against her throat, whispering seductive words against her skin, desire lit a forbidden fire in her blood.

  He withdrew his hungry mouth so he could look at her and savor her first arousal. When she became aware that he was naked, he sensed her yearning. Slowly, he pulled the laces from her corset and removed it, and then he undid her drawers and slid them off. He dipped his head to her breast and felt the delicious thrust of her nipple against his tongue.

  Tory entwined her arms about his neck and arched her breast into his teasing mouth, loving the sensations he aroused in her body. When his tongue feathered over her skin, kissing the soft, satiny flesh beneath her breasts, she cried out with pleasure.

  He moved over her, captured her naked thighs between his knees, and gazed down at her with eyes that were black with passion. He dipped his head and the tip of his tongue circled her navel, then he went lower, pursed his lips, and blew on the dark tendrils that covered her mons. The vibrations were so titillating, T
ory wanted to scream. When he thrust his tongue into her honeyed sheath, she did scream. She threaded her fingers into his long black hair, holding him captive while he devoured her. She thrashed her head from side to side on the feather pillow. “Falcon! Falcon!” Gauging her climax exactly, he thrust deep and she dissolved in liquid tremors.

  He stretched himself beside her, gazing at her intently, watching her eyes turn dreamy, her body become languid and soft with surfeit. Initiating her in the first delicate mysteries of her own sexuality gave him infinite pleasure. Falcon smiled. He knew there was more to come. So much more.

  Tory floated back to awareness and lifted her lashes. She had suddenly developed a curiosity about the body of the male who shared her bed. She drew the sheet down and gazed at his nakedness. Her cheeks blushed pink at her own boldness. She reached out her hand and traced the muscles of his wide shoulders and broad chest. She felt the crisp black hairs that covered his upper torso and marveled at his sun-bronzed skin. Her eyes moved lower and she watched avidly as his shaft lengthened and hardened and stood out rigidly from his body. With great daring she reached out with tentative fingers.

  “Don’t touch my cock!” He tried to smile to soften his words, but his face was hard with need. “If you touched me now, I would ravish you and you would hate me.” He drew in a deep breath to gain control. “For a little while, I want to keep you the way you are, virgin, innocent, only half awakened, and yearning for fulfillment. Victoria, you are every man’s dream.”

  * * *

  This chamber is every woman’s dream. Victoria, sitting in a slipper bath decorated with hand-painted roses, glanced around the room. Its walls were hung with tapestries depicting medieval ladies and mythical beasts in wooded settings. There was a wide, velvet-curtained bed, a deep-piled carpet, an elaborate dressing table, and, best of all, a huge mirrored wardrobe, filled with feminine garments.

  An hour before, Falcon had carried her to the chamber below his, where breakfast and a bath awaited, and left her with the words, I’ll be gone for a couple of days on business. If there’s anything you need, Mr. Burke will be happy to oblige.

  He didn’t need to ask if I’d be here when he got back—the cocksure devil knows I want to stay. Tory laughed with delight. I never would have dared think such a word before I met Falcon. He has freed me from all my constraints. She thought of her corset and wiped away a tear of mirth.

  Victoria climbed from the bath, wrapped herself in a thirsty towel, and opened the wardrobe. The colors and textures were a feast for the eyes and she couldn’t resist touching the infinite variety of fabrics. She selected a pair of pink stays and was amazed to see that they lifted her breasts, but were not designed to cover them. Though she searched, there were no drawers to be found. Is it possible that Georgian ladies wore nothing beneath their skirts? How frightful. The corners of her mouth lifted. How delightful! She pulled on a pair of flesh-pink stockings and fastened them with ribbon garters adorned with rosebuds. Tory surveyed her reflection in the mirror. She knew the undergarment that left her breasts and bum bare was purposely designed to titillate the male of the species, and she also knew she had never looked nor felt more alluring in her life.

  She took quite a while to pick a dress because they were all impractical. The frivolous concoctions were more suited to evening than daytime, but finally she chose a pink and green striped taffeta with ruffled sleeves tied with ribbons. Its full skirt, nipped waist, and low-cut neckline made her feel deliciously feminine. She sat down at the dressing table and examined the array of face creams, rouge, and maquillage. She put on pink lip-rouge, darkened her brows, and could not resist a black silk beauty spot in the shape of a half-moon that she placed at the tip of her right cheekbone. Then she picked up a dainty fan and posed like a practiced coquette, trained in the use of artifice.

  “Why on earth did women allow respectability to become the mode? It took all the fun out of our lives!”

  Tory looked from the window and saw that Lord Hawkhurst’s ship was gone. She wished with all her heart that she was sailing with him and vowed that the next time he boarded the Seacock, she would join him. She heard a knock and opened the door to find a pair of young male servants in livery who had come to empty and clean her bath. She surmised that Pandora was not roaming about loose and decided this was a good time to explore. This is my golden opportunity to see Bodiam Castle as it was a hundred years back in time.

  As she walked the passages and wandered through the high-vaulted chambers, her admiration for Hawkhurst grew by leaps and bounds. He had lavished love and devotion on Bodiam by restoring and maintaining the medieval castle as it was originally designed. Though the furniture in the rooms of his own tower was Georgian, the rest of the castle furnishings and fixtures were from the 14th century to match the architecture.

  Tory walked into the vast kitchen, where heat radiated from its enormous fireplaces. The flagstone floors and long wooden worktables were scrubbed spotless, and scores of cooking utensils hung from iron racks. The air was redolent with roasting meat and piquant, exotic spices. She spotted Mr. Burke, who was addressing the kitchen staff. “I’ve been exploring the castle. It’s the most fascinating place I’ve ever seen.”

  Burke introduced her to the cooks, scullery maids, and kitchen boys. The females bobbed her curtsies and called her “milady.” The young males simply stared.

  “Come, I’ll show you the rest of it,” Burke offered. “I was just giving them the menu for Thursday’s entertainment.”

  Excitement and anticipation bubbled up inside her. “Does Lord Hawkhurst entertain every Thursday?”

  “Nay, only as the mood takes him. He’s not a man of rigid habits—more influenced by the moon and the tides than the calendar, milady.”

  Victoria sighed, knowing the romanticism only added to her infatuation. They entered a large chamber with a polished stone floor and dozens of elaborate brackets holding scores of unlit candles. There was a dais at one end and gaming tables at the other. She knew she’d seen this room before and glanced up at the minstrels’ gallery. “This is where he entertains.”

  Burke nodded and led her through an archway and down a narrow stone passage. “This leads to the oldest section of the castle. It originally housed soldiers garrisoned at Bodiam to defend the coast from French attack. Now it houses the crew of the Seacock.”

  She sighed inwardly. They’re all off on an adventure.

  There was a round tower at the next corner, but its heavy oaken door was padlocked. A few yards farther along, however, were open steps that led down. “Does Bodiam have dungeons?” Tory asked.

  “Nay, those are water stairs. In times past, boats from the Rother were rowed right under the castle.”

  “Oh, just like the Tower of London. Prisoners were taken through the Traitors’ Gate that way.” She shuddered, imagining haunted spirits from a lot further back than a mere hundred years.

  A half hour later, as they entered one of the square towers, Victoria gasped with delight as she found herself surrounded by books. “Falcon has a library! You may leave me here Mr. Burke, these books will keep me amused for a month or more.”

  “Very good, milady, though I’m amazed you can read.”

  It was brought home to her how blessed she was to have had a modern education. She found a book about Sir Francis Drake. A seaman like Hawkhurst would be drawn to Drake, but I love the parts about Queen Elizabeth. She found a few volumes of Shakespeare and chose Othello; her father had a copy of Macbeth that she’d read in secret. Tory picked out a book that chronicled diary excerpts by Samuel Pepys, written in the time of Charles II. It described the plague and the Great Fire of London in vivid detail. She gathered up the books and took them to her chamber. Reading would make the evenings go faster while Falcon was away.

  * * *

  Something awoke Victoria from a dream. Her chamber was shrouded in darkness and she could see nothing, but her ears were alert for sounds. There it is again—I didn’t imagine it. The
heavy thudding came from a distant part of the castle. She sat up in bed and when she swung her feet to the floor it almost felt like she could feel vibrations. She doubted that the thick stone walls of a castle could tremble and realized it was an echo that reverberated on the still night air. She went to the north window and looked out into the darkness. There was no moon and she sensed that it was long past midnight. She crossed to the south window and drew in a swift breath. There’s a light in the tower! That’s the one I passed yesterday that had a padlock on the door.

  She stood at the window for the better part of an hour hearing the echo of low thuds and when the tower went dark she remained where she was. She saw nothing but blackness, but soon she heard the sound of waves lapping against stone. She looked down into the moat and knew something unseen moved through the water.

  When all was silent, her imagination began to paint vivid, dramatic pictures in her head. I wager when dawn lights the sky, I’ll see that the Seacock is back. She crossed to the door and listened. Only silence met her ears, but somehow she sensed the moment when Falcon Hawkhurst stole past to his chamber above.

  * * *

  “Will you stay abed all day, wench?”

  Tory looked up into bold black eyes. “Ah, the Master of Bodiam has returned. Perhaps I should have fled while I had my chance.”

  He cocked a dark, mocking brow. “And miss my entertainment tonight? Not bloody likely. Wild horses couldn’t drag you away.”

  You look remarkably well rested for a man who was stowing contraband all night. “You’re right, of course. I’m looking forward to tonight’s affair.”

  “Good. Chastity is its own punishment,” he teased.

  Her cheeks bloomed rosy. “I didn’t mean—”

  Pandora stalked in, picked up Tory’s slipper, and turned to leave.

  “Come back, you sneak thief,” Falcon ordered.