Smuggler's Lair

by Virginia Henley

  Tory laughed. “I warrant it runs in the family.”

  He ignored the innuendo and retrieved the slipper. He noted the book on her bedside table. “Reading in bed is far too passive for a lively lady like you. I’ll see what I can do to change your habits.” He winked. “Wear something spectacular tonight.”

  * * *

  Sitting at her dressing table, Victoria turned at the sound of her chamber door opening. Her eyes widened at the satin-clad figure. “I would never have recognized you—your elegance borders on foppery, milord.”

  An attendant followed him into the room, carrying a box and a bag of flour. The young man flourished a muslin cape, and at a nod from Hawkhurst, draped it about Tory’s shoulders.

  “Claude is my coiffeur; he’s here to powder your hair.”

  “Put flour on my hair? I think not!”

  Falcon’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I didn’t think so. Then it will have to be a wig. You cannot go down naked. Brunettes are decidedly démodé.”

  Tory looked at the wigs that adorned her dressing table. “I’ll wear this one with the curl that falls over the shoulder.”

  Claude brushed her long hair into a topknot and pinned it. Then he dropped the wig into the box, drenched it with flour, gave it a good shake, and fitted it over her dark tresses. He opened a drawer in the table, selected a bejeweled feather ornament, and fastened it into the white curls. “Voilà!”

  “Claude can help you with your makeup,” Falcon suggested.

  Tory eyed him critically. “Did he help you with yours? I’ve never seen a man wear powder before. I’ll do my own, thank you.” She touched her eyelids with kohl, rouged her cheeks, and painted her lips. She took a large puff and powdered her face and her breasts. Then she chose a heart-shaped black silk patch and placed it beside her mouth. Victoria threw off the muslin cape and stood up. “What do you think?”

  The amusement left Falcon’s eyes as he stared at the vision before him. Her stays pushed her curves up and out. The bodice of the lavender silk confection did not quite cover her pink nipples. “I think your breasts are exposed.”

  “Oh, good. I’ve decided to take the girls out for an airing.”

  “I think I prefer Mistress Prim and Proper.”

  She picked up a fan and made a moue with her lips. “I’m willing to wager I can change your mind before the night’s over, my lord.”

  “I have no doubt of it.” He held out his arm and escorted her down to the entertainment.

  Their arrival caused a stir among the guests and Tory surmised that people always reacted this way to Lord Hawkhurst, no matter who was on his arm. All the candles were lighted and her gaze traveled from the musicians on the dais to the gaming tables already in use by the habitual gamblers.

  “Allow me to introduce you to our venerable customs officer, Thomas Carswell.”

  Tory was jolted out of her excited reverie. Hawkhurst has deliberately led me to this man to gauge our reactions.

  “Carswell, this is Victoria . . . Palmer, my young sister.”

  The man eyed her breasts avidly. “Such a pleasure, my dear lady. I would be honored if you’d save me the first galliard.”

  Hawkhurst thumped the customs officer on the back. “Damned good job you’re doing, Carswell. Bringing thieving scum to justice is a crucial task, though often thankless. Be assured that I and everyone here owes you a debt of gratitude.”

  “I try to do my duty, your lordship.” Carswell, a brutish looking man, tried to appear humble and failed.

  Falcon led Tory across the room to a table filled with refreshments. “My suspicion was wrong. The customs officer is clearly not your father. Swine though he is, Carswell would hardly be sexually attracted to his own daughter.”

  “You were testing me, you devil! Everything I’ve told you is the absolute truth.”

  He grinned down at her. “I believe you; thousands wouldn’t.”

  Three females, all insatiably curious, hurried to join them.

  “Lady Goodwood, Lady Firle, Lady Sackville . . . m’sister, Tory,” he said negligently.

  Tory immediately recognized the noble names from the journal.

  Lady Firle stroked her fan along Falcon’s arm. “Darling, are you sure you have no French wine hidden away?”

  He took her fingers to his lips. “If I had, I’d keep it for myself, Joan. Try the gin, I’m told it provokes lust.”

  “I’ll gladly share a glass of blue ruin with you, darling. Just keep it away from Lord Firle,” she cautioned dryly.

  Lady Sackville narrowed her eyes. “I warrant gin’s not the only thing you’d gladly share with Falcon.”

  Joan laughed. “What makes you think I haven’t, Lavinia?”

  “If you had, your look would be more content and less rabid.”

  “You should know, Lavinia,” Lady Goodwood drawled.

  They’re having a catfight over him. Tory accepted a glass of cider from a footman and almost choked on its powerful effect.

  “Careful, m’dear, it’s as potent as your brother,” Joan warned.

  Carswell came to claim his dance. The galliard was a favorite and all the ladies eagerly sought partners. The laughter became raucous and it didn’t matter that Tory missed a few steps. She was breathless when the dance ended. The musicians played a slow pavane, and she was glad that everyone left the floor. Carswell returned her to her “brother.”

  “Your eyes followed me all around the room. Were you afraid I’d disgrace myself?”

  “Yes, I thought your titties would fall out of your bodice.”

  “In this crowd I’d have lots of help putting them back in.”

  “They wouldn’t dream of touching the precious objects without a formal introduction, so come and meet them.”

  Victoria met government officials, a magistrate, and various lords from Rye and Hastings. Some of the nobles she met were from the next county of Kent. The guests were far more interested in drink, cards, and gossip than they were in dancing. The one exception was the captain of the Sussex Militia.

  “Any arrests this week, Captain Drudge?”

  “There was another sighting of the phantom ship two nights back prowling the coast for prey, your lordship.”

  “Superstition is rife in coastal villages. If you had a crown for every phantom ship reported, you’d be a wealthy man, captain.”

  “She’s no phantom, she’s just familiar with these waters. I’ll be ready for her at the next dark of the moon.”

  “Excellent! Keep your sword to hand, Drudge.”

  Falcon led Tory to the card tables and handed her a couple of gold crowns. “Here, go mad.”

  Tory had never gambled in her life, but now that she had money she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to indulge. She didn’t dare throw dice; she chose a card game instead. Eventually she lost everything, but she resolutely pushed away the feeling of guilt that seemed bound and determined to have its way with her.

  It must have been around midnight when she saw Mr. Burke at the chamber’s entrance. She saw him nod once at Falcon, then quietly leave. Victoria knew it was a signal. Thoughts chased through her mind as she pondered the things that went on at Bodiam. Though her conclusions seemed far-fetched, she felt as if some sixth sense revealed the castle’s secrets to her. It wasn’t long after that the party broke up and the guests began to depart.

  She stood beside Lord Hawkhurst at Bodiam’s front entrance, as they watched the drivers bring the carriages from the grass quadrangle to pick up their noble masters.

  When the last coach went beneath the portcullis, Falcon took Tory’s hand. “Are you ready to collect your wager?”

  CHAPTER 5

  Victoria’s provocative words from earlier in the evening flew back to her and suddenly she felt shy.

  Falcon toyed with the curl on her bare shoulder. “I cannot wait to rid you of such artifice. You have a natural beauty transcending that of any lady of my acquaintance.”

  “Brunettes are
démodé, my lord.”

  “I have superlative taste.”

  “Your red high heels attest to it.”

  Falcon’s mouth twitched. Tory used humor as a shield when she felt vulnerable. He drew her arm through his and led her through the castle to the foot of the round tower. He bent his head and murmured, “I think I’ll tan your arse for that remark, wench. I’ll give you five second’s head start.”

  Tory whooped and was off in a flash, her shyness forgotten. Falcon soon caught up, but he stayed one step behind. He slipped a bold hand beneath her petticoat. His questing fingers slid up her leg and stole a garter. She felt her stocking slide to her ankle. This only made her run faster. She did not stop at her chamber, but ran up to his and burst through the door, laughing with triumph.

  He bowed in defeat. “You win! I concede I am a figure of fun.”

  “Ha! I have you beat hands down. Take a look at this—I’m wearing a bloody birdcage!” Tory hoisted up her skirt and petticoat to reveal the short hooped pannier made of reed, which did indeed cage her hips. She had forgotten, however, that she was not wearing drawers and that one stocking pooled about her ankle.

  Falcon shook his head gravely. “It’s enough to frighten the pigeons from Bodiam’s eaves.”

  “Cheeky devil!” She kicked her foot and the slipper and stocking flew off. She turned and ran, intending to put the bed between them. She didn’t make it. He caught her and tumbled her to the bed. Her wig came off and her dark hair spilled over her bare shoulders as they rolled together, laughing like children.

  “Let me relieve you of your misery.” Falcon removed her gown and petticoat, unfastened the hooped panniers and then her stays. “I’ll let you keep on the stocking and garter to preserve your modesty.” As he gazed down at her, the amusement left his eyes and was replaced by a look of tender possessiveness.

  “But how will you preserve yours?”

  “I have no modesty.”

  “Good. I shall enjoy watching you undress.” She gathered up her strewn-about clothes and put them on a chair, then she sat down cross-legged on the bed.

  Falcon removed his wig, washed the powder from his face, and combed his fingers through his long, black hair. He took off his satin brocade jacket and vest, then stripped off his silk shirt. He kicked off his shoes, removed his white stockings, and divested himself of the satin knee breeches. “We are slaves to fashion. I take little pleasure in looking like an effete popinjay.”

  “Enjoy it while you can. A hundred years from now you will be garbed in black, or, if you’re particularly frivolous, dark gray.”

  “Will I?” he asked quizzically. As he approached the bed, she lowered her eyes shyly. “Look at me, Tory.”

  She raised her lashes and felt her pulse begin to race. His body was lithe and lean, his muscular torso powerful. He joined her on the bed and ranged himself over her in the dominant position, bracing himself on his palms. When she saw the falcon tattoos on his forearms, a frisson of excitement rippled from her breasts to her belly. He worshipped her with his eyes, his glance roaming over her possessively like a hot flame. His overt maleness made her feel seductively feminine. She entwined her arms about his neck and lifted her mouth to his. She opened her lips for his ravishing and the deep thrust of his tongue made her arch her body against his in wanton invitation.

  Falcon kept an iron control on his desire. His erection was hard and throbbing, but he knew Tory was not yet ready. He wanted her at the peak of arousal, so that her pleasure would vanquish any pain. His lips hovered at the corner of her mouth above the beauty spot. “Guard your heart, my beauty, I am about to steal it.” He plunged his tongue into her honey-drenched mouth, imitating what he longed to do with his cock. When she arched restlessly against him, he slipped his hand between her legs to stroke and play among the silken curls. He slid a finger into her tight sheath and caressed her tiny bud until she became wet and gasped in a fever of need. “Falcon, please!”

  He placed the head of his phallus against her cleft and, bracing his weight on his arms, thrust firmly until he was buried deep within. She cried out and clung to him fiercely. She was so hot and tight, he felt scalded. Though it was silken torment, he held perfectly still until she became used to the fullness inside her. When he was sure she was ready, he began to thrust slowly. The hot, sliding friction made her close sleekly around him. She was sweet as wild honey and the brush of her thighs against his inflamed his dark, erotic passion until he was reeling with need.

  Tory savored his fullness inside her and longed to feel the weight of his body. His masculine smell coupled with the sensual rhythm of his thrusts sent her arousal soaring. He was the Falcon and she let him take her higher and higher. She reached a peak of pleasure so intense she did not think she could bear more and she bit his shoulder in a frenzy of passion.

  Falcon felt a surging wave of desire he could not control. He went taut, then suddenly the night exploded into a million fragments, fusing the couple together in love, bathing them in liquid tremors; they floated together on a sea of bliss. She clung to him sweetly, limp from the loving. He rolled with her until she lay on top, languid, replete, and deliciously warm. He feathered his fingers through her wildly disheveled hair and felt her lips against his chest. Then his arms enfolded her possessively.

  After a long, quiet time, Tory raised her head, looked into his eyes, and whispered, “Now I am ready to collect my wager.” He had made a woman of her and she was imbued with confidence. She believed they had reached a level of intimacy where it would be difficult for him to refuse her anything.

  He cocked a dark, indulgent brow. “What do you desire?”

  “Take me with you on your next smuggling run!”

  A denial sprang to his lips, but he did not utter it. Instead, he looked incredulous. “Tory, your imagination soars without boundaries. I am a staunch advocate of law and order. Among my guests tonight were a customs officer, a magistrate, various government officials, and the captain of the militia.”

  “And right under their noses you passed contraband to your noble guests. When all was safely stowed in the carriages, Mr. Burke signaled you.”

  He pulled her down to him. “Violet-eyed witch. Now I shall have to kill you.” He kissed her instead.

  “Take me on a run!”

  His arms tightened. “I would not expose you to danger.”

  “If the danger is so great, why do you do it?”

  “Danger excites me.”

  “Then we are two of a kind.” Her eyes glittered. “If you won’t take me, I may as well go back to my own time.”

  “Blackmail won’t work, sweetheart, but I’m particularly vulnerable to bribery.”

  “You black-eyed devil.” She slid both her hands down between their bodies. “Then bribery it is, milord.” She rolled his hardening cock between her palms.

  * * *

  As they finished breakfast, Falcon asked, “Do you ride?”

  “Father taught me to ride when I was a child, but all we have now at the priory is a carriage horse.”

  “Pandora likes to hunt in Ashdown Forest. If you ride astride, you can come with us. Mr. Burke will find you some britches.”

  Within the hour an excited Tory stood in front of the mirror dressed as a boy. The britches and jacket must have belonged to a young servant, but she didn’t care. She tucked in the shirt, tied her hair back with a ribbon, and shouted up the stairs, “Ready!”

  The leopard paced outside the stable while Falcon saddled two mounts. His own was a black mare with a deep chest and sturdy legs; hers was a dark brown pony. Tory mounted without his help. “I thought you would ride a more showy animal.”

  “You think me vain!” He flashed white teeth. “I don’t deny it, but I put expedience before vanity. Bess has endurance and speed; your pony is sure-footed.”

  The moment they emerged from the stable, Pandora loped off toward the forest. The leopard spotted a hare and disappeared into the trees. Falcon did not follow her; he tr
otted beneath the thick green canopy for more than a mile until he came to a well-hidden path. “Do you think you could ride through here in the dark, my love?”

  He’s testing me for a smuggling run! “I know I could.”

  He winked at her. “Try to keep up with me.” He took off without warning, taking the twists and turns with practiced ease. Tory gripped the reins and touched her heels to the pony’s flanks. In truth all she had to do was keep her seat and keep her head low; her mount knew the way.

  When she caught up, he asked, “Which way is the castle?”

  She hesitated, unsure.

  “Then how would you get to the safety of Bodiam?”

  “If I were lost, I’d give the pony its head.”

  His grin was a leer. “Beauty and brains, a heady combination.”

  Tory heard the distant cry of an animal, quickly cut off. She guessed what it was and went pale. “I don’t enjoy blood sport.”

  “Make no mistake, smuggling is a blood sport.”

  “Men’s blood I can stomach.”

  “Spoken with bravado.”

  Falcon gave a trilling whistle and shortly Pandora joined them. They returned to Bodiam at a leisurely pace and as they climbed the stairs of the tower, he asked, “Did your mount suit you?”

  “Yes. I wish he were mine.”

  “Wish granted. Keep those clothes handy if you want to come on the run tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Her pulse began to race.

  “It has to be at the dark of the moon. Are you game?”

  Tory nodded eagerly.

  “Good, I’ll get you a slouch hat. Have a rest this afternoon.”

  * * *

  Everything was different at night. Black shadows loomed everywhere in the darkness, exaggerating the size and distorting the shape of trees and dwellings. As she trotted beside Falcon, she was thankful her pony did not shy. The very air felt eerie and charged with peril. She became aware that, one by one, other riders fell in behind them. She copied Falcon and did not turn to look. I wonder if he has his pistols with him? Of course he does—everyone will be armed. Tory shivered.

  They rode in silence at a slow, steady pace, the muffled hooves of their mounts making little sound. Tory sensed they rode west and she knew by the sound and the smell when they reached the sea. A mile or so farther brought them to a vast marsh. Without hesitation their mounts trotted into the reedy saltwater and were soon up to their hocks.