An Adventurous Lady

by Valerie King

  “I like how you speak my name.”

  “This is truly dreadful.”

  “So it is,” he responded with a new smile.

  Again he kissed her and held her, his arms a vise. Of all the situations she had imagined arising this evening, the possibility of again kissing Rotherstone had never once crossed her mind. Yet, in a world that had thus far been unpredictable, she suddenly felt incomprehensibly safe.

  Other gentlemen had kissed her over the years, usually because she had been considering the acceptance of a proposal of marriage. She did not like admitting as much to herself, but she had refused three offers because the ensuing kisses had been so . . . well . . . paltry. How could she have wed a man who did not even know how to kiss her?

  There was nothing paltry in the kiss that followed, for his tongue was soon searching out the depths of her mouth. She was shocked and quite wickedly delighted.

  Oh dear, oh dear, her mind said. What devilment was this that she must find so much pleasure in the kiss of a man she otherwise did not trust and even had an inclination to dislike? She had previously wondered if Rotherstone was addled. Now she wondered if she was.

  Regardless of the reason for the kiss, she held him close, treasuring the feel of his strong shoulders beneath her arms.

  He drew back slightly. “You should have been wed long before this,” he murmured, teasing her lips anew.

  “I rejected enough suitors, I suppose,” she said. “Had I been sensible, I would have been married ten years by now.”

  “Particular, eh?” he asked, searching her eyes.

  “Very. I have two sisters wed, as you already know.”

  “Happily?”

  “Exceedingly.”

  “Will you kiss me again?”

  She lifted her chin defiantly, but her heart leaned toward him. “Only because you said you would consider listening to my supplications.”

  “Of course,” he said. He smiled at her, a tender expression that reached to his eyes. How was it, she wondered, as he pressed his lips against hers, that he was considered so villainous among his neighbors when he could appear so very loving?

  Finally, she withdrew from his arms, and he allowed her to go. She stared at him, striving to catch her breath. His expression was warm, even affectionate. Good God, she had kissed Rotherstone again. She was breathless, and her brain seemed not to be functioning very well at all. How was it she had come to allow another kiss? What was the reason that seemed to escape her? Oh, yes, he had promised to listen to her arguments.

  After a moment, she swallowed hard. “As to the former subject,” she began, arranging her thoughts as best as she could. She then regaled him with all the facts, the general belief that the map was genuine, all the legends that pointed to his land as being the location of the treasure, the long history of smuggling throughout the southerly coastal counties, the desire of the neighborhood to pursue the hunt and her own belief that she had been given this task by some dictate of fate. “Will you not please allow it? We would of course abide by any restrictions you might require.”

  He appeared to be pondering all that she had said, but she could not like the deep furrowing of his brow. He seemed almost angry, something she did not understand in the least. How could he be in the smallest degree overset when she had allowed him a kiss because he had promised to hear her reasonings?

  * * * * * * * * *

  Rotherstone had listened to her arguments just as he had promised, but the intensity of her present expression disturbed him and her apparent indifference to his kisses he found quite appalling. After having shared so passionate a kiss, how could she launch so easily into her speech? Had she no feelings at all? Again, he became convinced that she was in the mold of most of the ladies he knew: determined on their own ends, their hearts inaccessible.

  He smiled to himself. What Lady Evelina could not know however, was that he had already decided to allow his neighbors access to Blacklands, but for reasons that had nothing to do with her arguments.

  As he faced her now, however, he felt she ought to be punished a little. He decided that since he was to allow an invasion of his property, she ought to pay for it

  “I will allow your use of my land,” he said, “but I have a condition.”

  “Yes?” she asked, her green eyes brightening.

  “I want the right to claim three things of you, at any time I desire, one or all of them, and with no stipulations as to what these three things may be. I will only assure you that you will prize what I take from you quite deeply.”

  A scowl quickly descended over her face. “I believe this to be completely unfair,” she complained.

  “And so that we do not misunderstand one another, let me say that I do not give a flying fig whether you think it unfair or not.Tis what I wish if I am to allow my neighbors onto my land.”

  “Will you give me any hint as to what I will be required to relinquish?”

  “No,” he responded coolly.

  She shook her head as one bewildered. “I do not understand you. Why are you being such a brute?”

  He shrugged. “Again, I do not give a fig for how you might feel about what I require.”

  “You would not hurt my family, would you?”

  He ground his teeth. What sort of monster did she believe him to be? “I suppose you must now ask yourself whether you trust me enough, upon our short acquaintance, to be reasonably decent. You have heard the gossip about me, you have been in my arms, you have been in my home, you have seen me with your family, you have heard my justifications for ejecting two families from their homes and now you must decide for yourself just how well or how ill I would use you.”

  He could see that she was distressed. He continued, “You do not have to give me your answer now. And if I do not much mistake the matter, we should return to the apple orchard. As you said before, Cook will not like to have her food grow cold before it can be served.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  Evelina regarded the man before her and did not know which she felt more, anger or disgust. She knew Rotherstone to be a gamester, to be harsh, even ruthless. He took what he wanted. So how was she ever to trust him? “You are asking me how much I wish for this hunt to proceed.”

  “I suppose you may view it in that manner.”

  “I can view it in no other.”

  “This is my only offer,” he stated.

  She had not the smallest doubt that he meant precisely what he said.

  She held his gaze steadily. No, she did not trust him. At the same time, there seemed to be no alternative before her but to acquiesce. Swallowing hard, she said, “I do not need to wait. I agree to your condition.”

  “Excellent,” he said, smiling, but there was nothing warm in his expression. “And now we should return lest we offend Cook.”

  * * * * * * * * *

  That night, long after Evelina had bid her guests farewell, she reflected on just what a terrible thing she had done by agreeing to Rotherstone’s condition. Climbing into bed and blowing out her bedside candle, she stared into the shadows of her chamber. Moonlight shone in a dim patch through muslin draperies. Had she truly agreed to permit the earl to demand three things of value of her without the smallest foreknowledge on her part as to what, or when such things would be required? She could not credit she had done so. What idiocy had so taken possession of her that she would agree to such an arrangement? She knew little of Rotherstone that would give her even the smallest hope that he would be generous or even kind in his demands.

  She trembled in her bed. What manner of mischief had she set into motion by submitting to his desires in the situation? She should have been stronger with him. She should have been willing to relinquish her quest the moment he proposed so high a price. And then he had even had the audacity to say that she must determine for herself if she could trust him. This from a gamester.

  Good God, what on earth had she been thinking? She felt as featherheaded as Annabelle Rewell.


  Well, her die was cast. She had made her decision. She had accepted his terms. There was only one thing to do now. She must abide by her word.

  With that, as she stared up into the canopy covering her bed, she ordered her troubled mind to cease thinking. And after a mere two hours of tossing about, and more than once becoming tangled in the bedcovers, she fell asleep.

  * * * * * * * * *

  On the following morning, as Evelina reclined in bed and sipped a steaming cup of hot chocolate, a missive arrived for her from Blacklands. She broke the red wax seal, read the message and felt a swift blush climb her cheeks.

  Rotherstone had written,

  Dear Lady Evelina,

  Thank you for dinner, I must say I enjoyed myself prodigiously last night, particularly our enlightening tete-a-tete at the grotto. I should be happy to accompany you there any time you are wishful for a little “adventure.”

  “What a dreadful man,” she said aloud, then continued reading.

  Concerning our agreement, I beg you will meet with my bailiff at two o’clock this afternoon. He has information of great value to impart to you, and I wish as well that he might have a look at your map. I will join you when I am able. Yours, etc., Rotherstone. P.S. I am having a great deal of fun pondering just what I shall demand of you.

  “A dreadful, horrid, odious man, indeed,” she again said aloud.

  ***

  Chapter Six

  As requested, Evelina met with Rotherstone’s bailiff in the morning room of Blacklands at two o’clock.

  Mr. Creed proved to be a surprise. Evelina had not been five minutes in his company when she realized she was conversing with an extraordinary man.

  He was short in stature, but what he lacked in height he made up for in understanding. He was a curious creature with blue eyes that seemed in her opinion to be lit with wisdom. His penetrating expression at first unnerved her until she realized there was nothing but kindness in his heart. His hair was white and his complexion dark from many years traveling about Blacklands on the back of a horse. He knew all the tenants and their respective families by name. He was humble but not obsequious, which gave her the impression that once he formed an opinion, he could easily dig in his heels.

  “So, you have found a map, have you?”

  “Yes, Mr. Creed,” she responded, smiling. She liked him very much indeed.

  “And you have cause to believe ’tis real?”

  “Aye.”

  He smiled. “And will you be showing me this map?”

  She laughed and opened the satchel at her feet, withdrawing the map still wrapped in blue velvet. She would have displayed it on the table, but he stopped her.

  “Not here, I think,” he said. “Bring it to the sideboard, and I shall light some candles.”

  Evelina did as he instructed. The sideboard was higher than the table and afforded both of them a much easier posture by which to peruse the document. With the candles lit, Mr. Creed began a silent investigation of the map and the five riddles.

  Once or twice he grunted. Beyond these guttural sounds, he did not open his mouth. He reviewed every portion of the drawing, read and reread the riddles and traced each river and stream.

  “And where did you propose starting your search?” he asked at last.

  Evelina pointed to Devil’s Gate.

  “Aye, there is some logic to your choice, and that one ought to be investigated. ‘Black the land will be,’ seems clear enough.”

  Evelina saw no other possibility for the location of the treasure. “Do you recommend another?” she asked, wondering just what he would say. In her opinion, the map was quite straightforward. The treasure had to be somewhere in the southwest portion of Blacklands property.

  He thumbed his jaw, scratching a little at his chin and wrinkling up his brow. “I suppose it is as good as any.”

  “You must have another thought. Pray tell me what it is you see that I may not.”

  “Tis an instinct only. I do not hesitate to say that I am very much surprised, but I do believe the map to be genuine. The smuggler’s treasure has been such a large part of our local legends that it would be quite a significant event to have it discovered at last. With that said, you may want to be careful, m’lady.” A small smile played at his lips.

  “How is that?” she asked, a little shiver coursing through her.

  “What he means,” Rotherstone said, “is that there may be some who desire to possess the treasure.”

  Evelina turned sharply and saw that the earl was standing in the doorway and must have been for some time, since he was leaning negligently against the doorjamb.

  He left his post and entered the chamber.

  “How do you go on, Lady Evelina?” he asked, drawing close to the sideboard.

  “Until this moment, quite well. Now, however, I do believe you and Mr. Creed have quite filled me with dread.” Turning to the bailiff, she queried, “And do you believe I am in danger?”

  “Any that look for the treasure, I would think, or have you not heard of the curse?” Mr. Creed asked solemnly.

  Oddly enough, Evelina’s heart began to thrum with excitement. “A curse, indeed? No, I have not.” she said. “Oh, but this is too wonderful. A treasure and a curse.”

  Mr. Creed scowled and grimaced. He appeared at his most foreboding, no doubt exclusively for her benefit. He was not, however, all that convincing, since his blue eyes twinkled with laughter. “Madness, murder and mayhem,” he said. “Nothing less.”

  “Oh dear,” she whispered, but she could not repress her smiles.

  “Her ladyship is not convinced,” Rotherstone said in a very low tone.

  “I can see that she is not, but m’lady, I shall whisper a name to you that I believe not a single person in Maybridge may know.”

  Evelina listened intently.

  “Jack Stub.”

  She frowned. “You are right. I have never heard his name spoken before.”

  Mr. Creed nodded slowly. “That is because ’twas a great secret passed down through my family. A secret told and kept, until now.”

  Evelina wondered if she was being humbugged, but she did not care. The name, Jack Stub, was far too intriguing to be dismissed. “If this is true, Mr. Creed, why do you break now with your tradition?”

  He met her gaze and smiled, if sadly. “For the simple reason there is nought of my family left. I am the last. I had thought to marry, but ’twas not my good fortune. I had therefore supposed the telling of these tales would have died with me, but when my master told me that you had found a map, I knew there would be at least one more recounting.”

  “I feel honored,” Evelina said sincerely. “Thank you.”

  “And now, shall I tell you of Jack Stub?”

  “Indeed, of the moment I wish for nothing else. But first, do you believe he created this map?”

  Mr. Creed nodded again.

  Evelina shivered. “But how wonderful to think that the smuggler legend would involve a man with such an evocative name.” She shifted her gaze momentarily to the earl. “Is it not extraordinary?”

  “Quite,” Rotherstone returned, but there was nothing but amusement in his face.

  “To the unbeliever,” Mr. Creed continued, “the curse doubles in strength.” He paused for effect.

  “Do go on,” Evelina said. “Or can you not see that I am in the worst suspense to hear all that you have to say?”

  Mr. Creed laughed heartily. “Very well. The legend has it that in 1650, a band of smugglers worked the coastline betwixt Kent and France. Up and down both coasts they traded in forbidden goods but eventually took to piracy as well, taking life where they pleased and stealing what they could find. The worst of smugglers they were, blackguards and thieves to the last man.

  “There was not a maidenly soul that could sleep in safety while these bands ruled the coasts and several miles inland. Doors and windows were barred shut at night and bloodhounds sent to patrol every hamlet, farm and empty country lane. But so
fierce and cruel were these villains that nothing could stop them. Nothing, that is, that was allowed by the King’s law.

  “In due course, good and honest men, some of low birth, some of high and a score in between, formed an army to be rid of the legion of brigands that had seized control of the coastline. One by one, the dastardly fellows were found and hanged, not through the process of any court, but by the natural law of a tree branch, as has been done since the beginning of time.

  “Fear began to penetrate the hearts of the smugglers. Many disappeared with their fortunes, never to be seen again, perhaps setting up honest lives in ports unknown, others perhaps to perish when caught by those they had robbed. The numbers diminished slowly as booty was seized and given to the poor, and order returned to the vales of Kent and Sussex.

  “But there was one notorious band called the Seven Brothers, a villainous collection of thieves and murderers feared by even the worst of the smugglers, for they killed anyone thought to be a traitor to their own. The leader was a vile fellow by the name of Jack Stub, so called because he had lost his hand as a lad stealing from a butcher who took his vengeance in a gruesome manner. The band operated from the coast directly east of Maybridge, though some miles distant, of course.

  “It was this fellow, when the army of honest folk was preparing to blow up this vile nest of villains, who was said to have buried his treasure somewhere within a ten mile reach of Maybridge.

  “These legends I heard first from my great-grandfather, and now that I look at this map I can tell you ’tis a true one, because do you see this mark, a seven with a sword crossing over it?”

  “Indeed,” Evelina said. She thought she knew precisely what it meant. “The Seven Brothers.”

  “You’ve the right of it. Brothers of the sword and no less.”

  A shudder of pure exhilaration went through her. “And you truly believe this map was created by Jack Stub?”

  “None other.”

  “Do you actually think he was able to write?”