Treasure Her Heart

by Marin McGinnis

  “Would you rather go back to the house, Lord Caxton?” He hadn’t realized he’d stopped. She was gazing up at him with those deep green eyes, and all thoughts of propriety flew out of his head.

  “No. I’d much rather be here with you. Unless, of course, you’re having second thoughts.”

  She smiled at him. “No.”

  “Very well. Let’s proceed.” He still held her hand in his, gently squeezed. It was smooth, soft, and she was tall enough that he didn’t need to reach down to hold it. He remembered their last kiss, remembered how they’d fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. He wanted to kiss her again but had promised his godmother he would be a gentleman.

  Gentlemanly behavior was highly overrated.

  He turned her to face him, stroked her cheek with his other hand. Her lips parted, and she drew in a sharp, expectant breath.

  He couldn’t resist.

  He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She tasted of apples from the tart they’d had for dessert. Sweet, spicy with cinnamon. He did love apple tarts.

  His tongue explored her lips, gently pushed to enter her mouth. She moaned and pressed against him, and he found again that they fit perfectly. He cupped the back of her head with one hand, placed the other at the small of her back. Even through layers of clothing he could feel her heart race under his palm. His tongue went deeper, dancing with her own. His cock strained against his trousers, but he ignored it—stealing a kiss was one thing, but anything more would be quite another.

  He pulled away from her with difficulty, cupped her cheek in his hand. Tendrils of auburn hair hugged her cheeks, making her look deliciously tousled. “You are so beautiful, Judith. I could kiss you the rest of my days and never weary of it.”

  She licked her lips again and leaned back against the cool stone wall. “I wish that were an option for us, my lord.” She let out a long breath, her expression rather sad.

  “I will make it happen, if you’ll have me.”

  Her eyes widened. “But how?”

  “Have you ever been to Gretna Green?” He kissed her neck, placed a hand on her waist.

  She gasped. “Elope? Cassandra will be ruined, and we’ll never be able to show our faces in society again.”

  He moved the hand to her breast, gently squeezed, wishing she weren’t wearing a corset. “Would that trouble you?” he whispered against her neck.

  She leaned into his touch, then groaned and pushed him away. “Stop, please.”

  He stopped, dropping his hands to his sides. Her expression was distant, definitely sad now.

  “Yes, it would trouble me. I don’t care a fig for society, but my mother does, and I do care about her. She’d be mortified, humiliated. And although I don’t like Cassandra in the least, I shouldn’t like to embarrass her in such a manner.” Her expression softened. She cupped his cheek with her soft palm. “Lord help me, I am desperately in love with you, Peter Tenwick. But we must find another way.”

  His heart soared.

  She loved him.

  Armed with that knowledge, he would figure out something. He leaned forward until his forehead touched hers. “And I you. I will find a way, I promise.”

  He kissed her again, sealing the promise. They resumed their walk, hands clasped. The path did indeed begin to slant downhill, and it wasn’t long before it opened into another room. The light from the opening in the wall was dim. They had been in the corridor for far longer than Peter realized, and the sun was on its way down.

  “It’s getting dark,” Judith said, worry tinging her tone. “Perhaps we should go back to the house.”

  “You don’t want to take a romantic stroll on the beach at sunset?”

  “When you put it that way…” Judith tugged his hand toward the cave entrance.

  The sky was streaked with yellow, orange, and pink, the sun a glowing gold ball hovering over the horizon. “Look how beautiful,” Judith said, stopping suddenly, her eyes wide to take it all in.

  “Yes,” Peter said, watching Judith.

  She smacked him lightly on the arm. “I meant the sunset, silly.”

  “That’s beautiful, too.”

  They started walking down the beach, Peter making note of the landmarks so they could easily find the right cave again. The only sounds were the swoosh of their feet in the sand and the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore. It was possibly the most peaceful Peter had ever felt. For a moment, he forgot he had quite a few problems to solve before he could share his life with the woman who strolled quietly beside him, her hand in his.

  “What’s that?” Judith asked, pointing at a spot ahead on the beach. It was difficult to see in the dimming light, but it appeared to be a small boat. Men hovered around it, loading something onto a cart.

  Before he could register the fact that there might smugglers on the beach, something cold and hard pressed against his back. He stopped and slowly turned.

  “Bad night for a stroll, guv.”

  Judith gasped, gripping his arm. “Peter?”

  The smuggler was short and stout, as round as he was tall, but the gun in his hand did not waver, aimed now at Peter’s head.

  “We won’t tell anyone you’re here,” Judith said. Her voice was unusually small and quavering.

  “We can’t take the risk, can we, boys?” the man called. Three other men approached, pushing a wooden cart laden with large barrels.

  “What have we here, then?” the tallest of the men asked. “Caught yourself some sightseers?”

  The short man gestured with his gun. “What do you want to do with them, Tunno?”

  The tall man, Tunno, whapped the short one on the side of the head with an open palm. “No names, idiot! We’ll have to kill them now!”

  Judith trembled, her fingernails digging into Peter’s arm. Not willing to show just how terrified he was, he held his hands in front of him.

  “Let’s not be hasty. We won’t tell a soul. We’re not even supposed to be out here, or alone together. She’ll be ruined socially were anyone to find out.”

  “Oh, no, ruined! We can’t have that, can we?” Tunno said in a falsetto with an accompanying foppish prance.

  The smugglers laughed heartily. Peter exchanged a glance with Judith, who now seemed less afraid and more irritated.

  The tall man sobered. “Fine, we won’t kill ya, but we can’t have you running loose until we’re well clear. Haven’t seen the Waterguard yet, but they bound to be about somewhere.”

  “The Waterguard?” Judith asked.

  “Revenue men,” the short one said, waving his gun. “Fancy uniforms.”

  “Enough talk! They’ll be passing by here in one of their cutters soon as it gets dark. Let’s get this inside,” Tunno said.

  The short one prodded Peter in front of him, Judith at his side. He ought to do something, but he didn’t know what. He sensed these men truly didn’t intend to harm them. Though their purpose was serious, they weren’t, particularly. The two youngest ones joked and laughed. They were strictly muscle, decidedly not employed for their intellectual prowess. They so resembled the tall man called Tunno, Peter suspected they were related.

  “Boys! Stop messing about,” Tunno said.

  “Sorry, Pap,” they chorused. The older man rolled his eyes.

  “What are we going to do?” Judith’s warm breath tickled Peter’s ear.

  “I don’t think they’ll hurt us,” he whispered back. “We’ll just have to wait for an opportunity to get away.”

  She nodded, expression resolute. She was no longer trembling, and if she was afraid, she didn’t show it.

  There was no way he was letting this woman go, whatever it took.

  ****

  Judith swallowed her fear. Peter’s solid presence was comforting, and despite his unsuccessful attempts to convince the smugglers they were no threat she knew he would protect her, if it came to that.

  But Judith hadn’t grown up with brothers for nothing, and was certainly capable of saving herself,
if need be. She studied each of the smugglers. The tall one, Tunno, was obviously the leader. The two boys, obviously his sons, were stronger than they were smart, and goofy besides. The short man with the gun at their backs was harder to read. He hadn’t said much since their first encounter. She risked a glance over her shoulder, and his expression was hard. She didn’t think Tunno would allow him to hurt them, but she knew he was capable of it.

  At the entrance to the cave, Tunno directed the boys to start unloading and scanned the horizon, presumably for the Waterguard. The short one kept his gun trained on them, saying nothing.

  The casks unloaded, the boys covered them with tarps the same color as the stone walls. In the increasing dark, they were undetectable.

  “Stash the cart, and let’s go.”

  “What about these two?” Shorty pointed with his pistol.

  Tunno put his hands on his hips and studied them for a moment. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Tunno waved his hand. “I don’t want to hear it, toff. Bring ’em with us,” he said to Shorty.

  “There ain’t room for both of ’em,” one of the boys said, then pointed at Peter. “Specially him. He’s huge.”

  Tunno cocked his head. “Huh. You’re right, boy, rare as that is.”

  He started to walk away, gestured behind his back. “Bring her, leave him.”

  “What do you mean, ‘leave him’?” Judith’s stomach clenched.

  “This.” In a surprisingly fast movement, Shorty reached up and slammed his pistol against Peter’s head. The big man crumpled to the ground, a ribbon of blood trickling from his temple.

  “No!” Judith screamed. Shorty grabbed her arm and began dragging her toward the boat. She fought against him, but he was far stronger than he looked. Peter remained unnaturally still upon the sand. “Peter!”

  Shorty clapped a hand over her mouth and gripped her tighter with the other hand. “Shut it, or I’ll do the same to you.”

  She tried to keep an eye on Peter, but it was full dark now, and after a few minutes, she couldn’t see him.

  When they reached the boat, Shorty dumped her into it. She landed on her arse, her skirts tangled around her feet, her hair fully loose from its pins and covering her face. Before she could right herself, the boat was in the water and the two boys were rowing them away from shore.

  Peter must be all right. She couldn’t risk thinking otherwise. She couldn’t live in a world in which he did not draw breath.

  She simply couldn’t.

  Chapter 13

  “Oi! Wake up.” Peter woke to the sound of a deep voice and a poke in the ribs.

  “Stop! I’m not sleeping.” He sat up, nearly swooned with the change in altitude. He closed his eyes for a moment until the world stopped spinning, then gingerly pressed the knot on his head. His finger came back sticky.

  The day was breaking, the sun just beginning to peek above the water. He pressed his fingers to his forehead and his thumbs to his temples, hoping to ease the ache that started to pulse in his head.

  The man who had roused him poked again with his boot. He wore the uniform of the Waterguard.

  “Drunk, were you?” the man said. “Left here by your mates?”

  Peter glared at him. “No, I was not drunk, and I was not left here by my mates.”

  The events of the evening flooded back into his brain. The cave, the kisses, the walk on the beach. The smugglers. And Judith.

  Oh, God, Judith.

  He tried to rise, but his knees buckled and he slid back to the sand. “I was knocked out. There were smugglers on the beach, and they took Judith. My Judith.”

  The guard sniffed. “There’s no sign of smugglers here, so I’ve only your word for it. You sound like a toff, but you don’t look like one.”

  “Trust me, I’m a toff. I’m Viscount Caxton, heir to the Earl of Longley, and godson to Lady Howley, who lives up there.” He pointed up toward his godmother’s house, perched somewhere on the cliffs above.

  “Lady Howley, eh? Not sure that helps you, lad.” He sniffed again, spat a wad of tobacco on the beach at Peter’s feet.

  “What do you mean?” Realization dawned. “No. You think Lady Howley is a smuggler?” He leaned back, stared at the man openmouthed. “That is the most ridiculous notion I’ve ever heard. How dare you insult a lady of her rank.”

  The man shrugged. “We’ve had our eye on her for some time but haven’t been able to prove it. Doesn’t mean she’s not a smuggler—she’s just good.” The guard put his hands on his hips and studied Peter for a moment, seemingly to judge his credibility.

  Finally, he reached out to pull Peter to his feet. “Now what did you see? Could you identify any of the smugglers?”

  “One was named Tunno, and he had two sons. There was another shorter man with them. They stored a number of barrels in the cave over there.”

  “We looked in there. Didn’t see anything.”

  “They were against the wall. Under a tarp.”

  The guardsman spit into the sand, narrowly missing Peter’s shoe. “Do you take me for a fool? There’s nothing in that cave but sand.”

  Peter shook his head, setting off a series of shooting pains. He closed his eyes for a moment. “That’s not possible. How long have I been out?”

  “I can’t tell you that unless you tell me when they hit you.”

  “It was after sunset.”

  The guard waved at the water. “It’s sunrise now, obviously. You were out all night.”

  “They must have come back.”

  “No, they never do. Someone on the ground collected the goods.”

  “But that would mean…” He stopped. If his godmother was working with the smugglers, he had no wish to set the Waterguard after her. “No. I must have been mistaken. Maybe it was a different cave.” He rubbed the back of his head. “They did hit me hard.”

  The guardsman narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. Come on then, toff. We’ll get you back to Howley House.”

  “Wait—what about Miss Leslie?”

  “Who?”

  “The woman I told you about. Judith Leslie. She’s been kidnapped.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t imagine that as well?”

  “Of course not!” Peter snapped. “We have to find her.”

  “Let’s take you back to the house. Perhaps she’s there, sound asleep in her bed. Perhaps she’s in league with the smugglers as well.”

  “Don’t be absurd. She’s never even been to Kent before this.”

  “If she’s not there, we’ll send out a search party. The smugglers, assuming there were any…” Peter bristled, but the guard held up a finger to silence him, “…won’t have gone far. They would wait for the morning tide to return to France.”

  “They can’t have taken that little rowboat to France. They must have met a ship offshore. They were Englishmen, from Sussex, perhaps, or Hampshire?”

  “You didn’t share that detail before.” The guard frowned. “What did you say his name was?”

  “Tunno. And he had two sons. Strong but rather stupid.”

  The guard nodded. “Very well. We’ll be on the lookout for them. Now, come. Best get that head seen to.”

  ****

  Judith huddled in the old fishing boat, pretending to cower but in reality studying her captors. Tunno, the obvious leader, sat in the rear of the boat and told everyone else what to do. Shorty was, as far as Judith could tell, a hired hand of some sort. It would not take much encouragement for him to turn violent, but so far he did seem to take his orders from Tunno. The two boys—Judith decided to call them Muscle and Bones—were obviously related to Tunno, most likely children. Clearly useful only for their strength. Even Bones, the skinny one, was strong—Judith had seen him lift the heavy casks in the cave with surprising ease. Muscle was older, heavier, more solid, with very little neck.

  None of them paid her much mind once they’d cast off, but Bones did glance in her direction from time to time, a wistful expression on his face. She suspected he w
as the kindest, most vulnerable to suggestion, although what she might suggest she really couldn’t say.

  She wondered if they were planning to rendezvous with a larger ship and head farther out to sea—a situation Judith did not relish in the least—but the boat kept fairly close to shore and there were no other vessels in evidence, as far as she could see. Admittedly, given how dark it was, that wasn’t terribly far.

  Judith slept fitfully, fatigue overwhelming her despite an urge to keep one eye on the men. Her dreams were populated by a continuous loop of Peter crashing to the sand like a felled tree, blood gushing from a wound that grew larger with each viewing. She woke with a start after a particularly violent rendition, her stomach so tight she had to quash the urge to vomit.

  The sky had lightened with streaks of pink and blue, and her captors were putting the boat into a small cove. It looked like any other small cove dotting the southeastern English coast, but she wondered if somehow they’d made it all the way to France.

  Surely not. These men were English, through and through. But they had to get their goods from somewhere. What if they were planning to leave her here? Her heart slammed in her chest as she thought about what she’d do if they abandoned her here, wherever ‘here’ was. Or worse. Kill her here. How long would it be before someone found her? Assuming he was still alive—and she couldn’t assume anything else—would Peter search for her?

  The men had beached the boat and were pulling it ashore. Her stomach growled, allowing her to focus on something besides panic. She hadn’t eaten for hours, and she was suddenly starving.

  “Get ’er out of there. The boat is heavier with ’er in it,” Tunno said, gesturing to the boys.

  Muscle plodded over to her, nearly slipping in the sand, and plucked her out with one arm.

  He lowered her to the ground but kept a firm hand on her shoulder, pushing her bottom into the sand. “Where do you want ’er, Pa?”

  “Tie her hands and stow ’er in the cave.”

  Muscle pulled a piece of rope out of the boat and loosely tied her hands.

  “What do you plan to do with me?” Judith called out. Her voice was clearer, stronger, than she felt.