Smuggler's Lair

by Virginia Henley

  * * *

  Late the following afternoon, Victoria sat Falcon at her dressing table to examine his wound. “I don’t dare remove your stitches. It’s too soon—the last thing we want is blood everywhere. I’ll cover it with maquillage.”

  He cocked his left eyebrow. “Aren’t you the wench who objects to men wearing powder?”

  “Guilty as charged, but a masquerade is an exception.” With gentle fingers she applied a liberal amount of tinted paste over the stitched wound. When she was satisfied that both cheeks looked almost the same, she stuck the curling iron into the fire. “I’m going to do your hair. We won’t need the services of Claude. I’ve read all about Charles Stuart’s lovelocks.”

  She had to heat the iron more than once. When she was done, Falcon stared at his reflection. “Good God, even Claude wouldn’t give me ringlets!”

  “Lovelocks,” she corrected. “Don’t complain about them being uneven; the right side is supposed to be longer than the left.” Tory took a pair of scissors and cut a long strand from her own black hair. “This is for your mustache, but I won’t attach it until just before you go down tonight. Do you have your costume?”

  “I have a lace shirt, black satin knee breeches, tall leather boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. I have many brocade coats and vests; since you’re the expert, what color do you suggest?”

  “Charles preferred dark colors to add to his majesty. Now I must see to my own costume. I need silver ribbon and I believe there’s a hideous gown in the wardrobe that will supply my needs.”

  Two hours later, Victoria went up to Falcon’s chamber, wearing her jade silk gown that draped across one shoulder. She had crisscrossed silver ribbon about her breasts and waist à la Grecian style. With the curling iron she had fashioned her dark hair into a myriad of curls and tendrils and allowed them to cascade over silver ribbon. She had sewn an eye mask from the green silk material and she was wearing her carved jade earbobs.

  “You look regal as a goddess and ethereal as a wood nymph at the same time, my beauty. The way your toga clings to your curves will guarantee you the center of attention. I wish I could have supplied you with a silver bow and arrow to perfect your costume.”

  Tory smiled her secret smile. “I have an accessory that will draw every eye. Let me help you with your coat, Your Gracious Majesty, then I shall glue on your mustache.”

  “It’s bloody cruel to try to make me laugh.” Falcon had chosen black brocade embroidered with gold.

  Tory touched up his scar and painstakingly affixed the thin mustache that stretched across his top lip and partway across his cheeks. With the black silk eye mask in place, he looked convincingly saturnine. When he donned his cavalier hat she declared him perfect.

  Falcon bowed and held out his arm. “Shall we go down, my beauty?”

  They began to descend the stairs, then Tory drew him into her chamber. “One final touch.” She pulled his black curls forward to conceal his scar. Then she took a royal purple ostrich feather from a powdered wig, pinned it to his hat, and curved it down across his right cheek. Their eyes met and they knew they were playing for high stakes. Fortune favors the bold.

  Tory stepped back and blew Falcon a kiss. “Go down and greet your guests, my love. I intend to make a grand entrance.”

  * * *

  Hawkhurst arrived at the same time as his four earliest guests. As he had predicted, Lord Sackville and elderly Lord Firle were both dressed as King George, complete with white wigs, powdered faces, and star-and-garter decorations draped across their chests. Not much of a stretch.

  The ladies’ costumes, however, were quite out of character. Lavinia was masquerading as a shepherdess and Joan a nun. Falcon murmured to Lady Firle, “You have a sly humor, Joan.”

  “Charles, darling, if you’d like a religious experience, join me in the confessional!”

  “Washing away my sins would take all night, my dear.”

  Lord and Lady Goodwood arrived next. She was gowned as Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, complete with crown, and Lavinia and Joan both seethed that she was royalty while they were mere commoners.

  Hawkhurst was amused that his noble guests were early, proving their eagerness to role-play. The government officials, including the customs officer and the magistrate, were late arrivals, revealing their lack of enthusiasm for frivolity. Falcon’s tension mounted as he awaited Drudge. The first few minutes would be a test. He must allay any suspicion the captain might harbor.

  The large chamber was filled and many were dancing to show off their costumes when Drudge arrived. He was dressed as a sea captain and Hawkhurst felt his neck prickle a warning. “Captain, let me see if I can rustle up some navy grog.”

  Drudge’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized King Charles Stuart. “Two nights ago, I set a trap aboard the Boulogne for the marauding devils who are fast becoming the scourge of the Sussex coast. I believe I wounded their leader.”

  “You shot one of them? Good work, captain. What about their ship? Did you sink it? I thought I heard cannon fire that night.”

  “We sighted no ship, my lord.”

  “Marauders without a ship?”

  “They rowed out from shore in a boat.”

  “You fired cannon at a fishing boat and missed?”

  “The crew of the Boulogne fired the cannon, Lord Hawkhurst. I was armed with only my sword.”

  Suddenly, a female screamed and others gasped with alarm. Then a hush descended as all eyes turned toward the arched doorway. The goddess of the hunt made her grand entrance into the chamber. A leopard on a long, silver ribbon stalked before her.

  All the guests, of course, had heard rumors of Pandora, Hawkhurst’s pet leopard, but none had expected to come face-to-face with the beast. They backed away as Victoria slowly walked around the perimeter of the room. She made a deep curtsy to King Charles and then without a word she arose and departed. A babble of excited voices filled the chamber, drowning out the music.

  “I’ll take that drink now, my lord,” Drudge declared. His voice revealed his inner agitation. “Make it a double.”

  Tory deliberately made herself the center of attention. She did it for me . . . and just at the right moment.

  By the time the captain of the militia had finished his drink, Victoria returned without her hunting companion. She walked directly up to Drudge and gave him a radiant smile. “Captain, I cannot resist a man in a uniform. How would you like to play with me tonight? Cards or dice . . . whatever you desire.” Her glance lowered to his breeches and she smiled her secret smile.

  At that moment Thomas Carswell came up, removed his black hood, and asked her to dance. She saw the look of rivalry that the militia captain and the customs officer exchanged and decided to intensify the enmity. “Captain, I so love to dance. I’m sure you won’t mind waiting for me. Save me a seat at the gaming table.”

  Carswell led Tory onto the dance floor. “You are an extremely courageous young lady to handle a leopard.”

  Tory saw that Carswell was dressed as a hangman. She wondered if it was a veiled threat and decided to issue one of her own. “Pandora is quite gentle, but only with family members, of course. She guards us fiercely and would attack if either Falcon or I were ever threatened.”

  When the dance ended, Tory invited Carswell to the card table. She sat between the two rivals, who were now openly scowling at each other. “I shouldn’t play. . . . I’ve overspent my allowance and my brother will be furious if I lose any more of his money.”

  “It would be my pleasure to cover your losses, Mistress Palmer.”

  “How very gallant of you, Captain Drudge.” Tory picked up her cards and gave her attention to Thomas Carswell. “I warrant your job as customs officer was far more lucrative when the export of wool was illegal. I understand that port officials were offered bribes. Now that the French can get their wool from Ireland without problems, bribery has become rare.”

  Carswell stiffened. “Bribery is nonexistent, Mistress Palmer, now that I am in
charge.”

  You mean the smugglers are so well organized, they don’t need to grease your palm. “Such authority—it makes a lady weak just thinking about it. I feel very protected sitting between two upright pillars of law and order whose morals are incorruptible.”

  Tory lost an ample amount of Carswell’s money and then, to be scrupulously fair, she began to lose Drudge’s silver.

  When the party was over, Falcon slipped a possessive arm around Tory and drew her close as they ascended the tower staircase to their chamber. “I hereby declare your suggestion of a masquerade a resounding success. You came down from Olympus to mingle with mere mortals tonight, my love, and kept my enemies well occupied.”

  She gave him a seductive glance. “I serve at the pleasure of His Majesty the King.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “How would you like to go for a sail aboard the Seacock?”

  “Falcon, I’d love it above all things!” Tory then had second thoughts. What if he’s going roving? She had just removed the stitches from his cheek and applied tormentil.

  He placed his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face. “Banish that look of anxiety, sweetheart; we sail for pleasure, not business, and sea air helps to heal wounds.”

  Tory smiled. “Where will we go?”

  “The Strait of Dover is most pleasant for sailing, providing we go before the autumn gales start to blow.”

  “It sounds wonderful! When shall we leave?”

  One of the things he found so exciting about her was how ready and eager she was for adventure on a moment’s notice. “Tomorrow, if you can be packed and ready. You’ll need warm garments, no diaphanous gowns. It can be brisk on the sunniest days. I’ll lend you one of my wool cloaks to wrap up in.”

  Tory opened his wardrobe. “May I have this dark blue one? I’d better shorten it and take up the hem or I’ll be tripping and falling overboard.”

  “I would dive in and rescue you, my love. You must know I couldn’t live without you.”

  Victoria sighed. “I love you, Falcon Hawkhurst.”

  * * *

  The following day, Tory stood at the rail of the Seacock as it glided down the River Rother toward the coast. She was filled with excitement as the breeze ruffled her hair and she breathed in the salt tang of the sea air as if it were the elixir of life.

  When the ship reached the sea and moved into the strait, Falcon beckoned her to come up to the forecastle, where he stood at the Seacock’s wheel. “Look back, Tory. Those are the chalk cliffs of Dover that give the strait its name.”

  “I’ve been atop the cliffs, looking out to sea, but I’ve never seen them from this vista. They are quite breathtaking.”

  “It’s comforting to know they still stand sentinel a hundred years hence.” He grinned. “Do you suffer from mal de mer?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never sailed before.”

  “If you start to feel queasy, I have ginger wine in my cabin.”

  Tory let her head fall back so she could watch the sailors in the rigging as they unfurled the sails. Her hair flew about in wild disarray. Terns and gulls screamed and dipped around the tall mast and the sound of the ship’s bow cutting through the waves set up a rhythm she could feel in her blood.

  Falcon turned the wheel over to his first mate and took Tory on a walk around the deck. “You have to get your sea legs. It’s a matter of balance; match your gait to the ship’s roll.” They laughed together. “You stagger like a drunken sailor.”

  They enjoyed a lunch of prawns and curried rice and, to be on the safe side, Tory tried the ginger wine. “I like spicy things.”

  Falcon stole a kiss and rolled his eyes. “Me, too.”

  In the afternoon, they went back up to the forecastle and Falcon took over the ship’s wheel. “How would you like to sail the Seacock?”

  “Will you show me how?” Excitement glittered in her eyes.

  “Such a willing pupil!” he teased. “Come, take the wheel.” His strong brown hands covered hers. “To keep a ship on a steady course is not difficult once you learn the secret. You must feel the wind on the back of your head. Never let it come past your right or left cheek.”

  Tory did as he instructed and glanced up at him over her shoulder. “Is that all?” she asked in disbelief.

  He whispered in her ear, “As simple as making love, once someone has taught you its secrets.”

  She felt his hard body brush against her buttocks and desire flared up in her and raced through her blood like wildfire. When he pulled her back against him, he shuddered with need and pressed his lips to the nape of her neck.

  Falcon summoned his first mate to take over the wheel and he swept Tory into his arms and carried her below to his cabin. The next two hours were filled with delicious, potent lovemaking as they unleashed the fierce desire that had been building all day.

  He wrapped her in the warm wool cloak before they went back up on deck. He found her a seat facing west on a great coil of ship’s rope. “There should be a magnificent sunset. You’ll have a front-row seat. In the next two hours you’ll see the clouds turn fuchsia, edged with brilliant gold. Then the sky will be washed with magenta as the sun starts to slowly sink. When it touches the water, it will disappear rapidly as if the sea is swallowing it.”

  She turned to look at him and something caught her eye. “Is that land I see in the distance?”

  “Mmm, I warrant it’s the coastline of France.” He changed the subject. “I’d better go and take my turn at the wheel.”

  In two hours, when the sea had swallowed the ball of fire, the sky was completely dark. The wind seemed to have lessened and Tory carefully made her way to the forecastle. “Ahoy there, mate!”

  “Come on up and watch the stars come out, sweetheart.”

  She climbed the stairs and Falcon slipped an arm around her. She raised her eyes to the heavens and gazed in awe. The sky had turned to black velvet with a million sparkling diamonds scattered across it. It was the sort of night that made her believe in the reality of intangible realms, when she knew that nothing was impossible. Tory sighed happily. “I’ll remember this always.”

  “Down anchor!” Falcon’s order shattered her reverie. “Since the wind has dropped we might as well ride out the night in this sheltered cove. We’ll join the crew in the galley for dinner.”

  Before they went belowdecks she saw a light on the shore. “Is that a French village?”

  “Cap Griz Nez, not really a village, just a few farmhouses.”

  “You’ve been here before.”

  “It’s the closest point to England and a safe haven.”

  In the galley Falcon and Tory sat at a long table for a very informal meal. The crewmen were more than a little rough around the edges, but Tory never stopped laughing at the jibes they tossed at one another. She tasted rum for the first time and was quite tipsy by the time Falcon put her to bed.

  Just before midnight, when he was sure his companion was sound asleep, Hawkhurst slipped from the berth and silently quit the cabin. Within minutes the longboat was lowered and in just over an hour it was being rowed back to the Seacock with a cargo of a dozen crates wrapped in oilskins.

  Tory was roused from sleep by the movement of the ship. She opened her eyes, saw that it was morning, and knew they were under way. Falcon opened the cabin door and sat down on the berth.

  “The rum had its way with you. How’s your head this morning?”

  “Was I very drunk?”

  “Legless!” He grinned.

  “I must have slept it off. Amazingly, I feel fine. What on earth is that divine smell? The air is thick with it. Oh, I know, it’s chocolate!”

  Falcon gave her a quizzical glance. “You’re familiar with it?”

  “It’s one of my favorite things to drink.”

  His brows drew together in consternation, then he banished the frown. “So much for my surprise.”

  Tory put her head on one side to study him, then realization dawned. “Surprise,
my arse! You think well on your feet, Lord Bloody Hawkhurst. You came for a contraband cargo of chocolate and intend to smuggle it past the customs officials.”

  He looked outraged at her suspicion. “I have no such intention.” Then he winked. “We have to ditch it before we let the customs officer come aboard the Seahawk.”

  Tory gasped. “But what about the smell of chocolate?”

  His arms swept around her and he drew her close. “Your first instinct is to protect me and my ship, in spite of the fact that I tried to deceive you. You are my dearest coconspirator. Don’t worry about the smell. The Seacock is prepared.”

  “I only overlook your deceit because I adore chocolate.”

  “Nay, you accept me with all my flaws because it’s me you adore, not chocolate.”

  “Cocksure devil!”

  “Did you know chocolate comes from the seedpods of the cacao tree in Portuguese Guinea near the equator? They must be fermented, then shipped to Portugal, where they are dried and roasted. I have a standing order every year with a Cap Griz Nez merchant for a dozen sacks of cacao beans.”

  “Their journey from the equator to Bodiam is as exotic and miraculous as mine from Victorian times.”

  “’Tis for exactly the same purpose—to give pleasure.”

  “Let me look at your scar.” She brushed his hair back. “The angry redness has faded. It will be invisible on a dark and moonless night,” she teased.

  “I suggest dry biscuits and ginger wine to keep your stomach on an even keel. If you come on deck, wear the warm cloak. There’s been a sea change; the wind’s brisk and the swells are high.”

  It was dusk before the Dover cliffs came into view and Hawkhurst took advantage of the northeast wind to carry the ship southwest. The crew dropped the cargo near Romney, where the crates would be carried into the salt marsh on the tide. He then took the Seahawk back out to sea and once more let the wind take her. Then he turned so his ship could sail into Rye from the opposite direction.

  Down in the hold, his first mate opened a heated barrel of tar. The acrid odor obliterated any trace of the chocolate fragrance. Falcon dropped anchor at the Rye Bay Customs House, swung over the rail, and hailed one of Carswell’s men. He followed Hawkhurst aboard and they took a lantern below for a cursory inspection of the hold. When they emerged, Carswell was standing on the deck.