Smuggler's Lady Read online

  But those would just be irritations if she could judge the man with calm objectivity. How could she be objective about someone who turned her insides to a blanc-manger? It was quite ridiculous! Merrie kicked irritably at the sand and only succeeded in filling her shoe with the damp, scratchy stuff. She was far too wise and experienced to respond like some star-struck debutante to an interesting new face. Except that she wasn’t reacting like a star-struck debutante, she was responding with all the maturity and experience of a woman who had known a disillusioning marriage, who knew what it was to wrestle with an unkind fate until some peace and acceptance could be gained, who had a set of goals and a clear plan to achieve those goals, and who had three dependents to care and provide for. Damnation! Merrie swore aloud at the night sky as her arms crossed themselves over her breast, hugging her shoulders. She wanted Damian, Lord Rutherford, with all the aching maturity of her twenty-three years. Her neglected body throbbed at the thought, and a mutinous spirit demanded to know why she could not have him. It was a thoroughly shocking thought, of course. Or, at least, it would be to anyone but Merrie Trelawney, who seemed to have been forgotten when notions of propriety and decorum had been handed out.

  Picking up a small, round pebble, she sent it skimming across the dark water. Furthering her acquaintance with Lord Rutherford was undoubtedly a dangerous prospect. His eyes were too sharp for comfort; he already knew more than he should about her double life; he had seen her on the cliff road. So he didn’t know that he had, but he had made no bones about his interest in the youth who led the smugglers. Her only safety lay in avoiding him whether she wanted to or not. Of course, if Rutherford refused to be avoided, as seemed highly likely ... ? But since when had a little danger been anything but exciting? And this was, after all, self-limiting. Whatever he might say about the tedium of London pleasures, he would find out soon enough that the capital was a whirl of excitement compared to the daily social round of this quiet little backwater. The depression caused by his premature furlough would lift in the fullness of time, and he would see matters clearly again. In the meantime, if she kept her wits about her, surely she could enjoy the spice of a flirtation that he seemed determined to pursue? No more than that, of course, and that discreetly, she told herself, turning back to the path leading to the cliff top. Lord Rutherford’s kindly interest in her brothers would provide ample excuse for her neighbors. When she was with him in company, the widow’s mask would be firmly in place.

  Those blithe plans suffered something of a setback the following morning when Meredith was honored with a visit from Lady Barrat, Miss Elizabeth Ansby and her mama, and Lady Collier.

  “My dear Meredith.” Lady Barrat clasped her hostess’s hands in a firm squeeze. “You poor girl! What an unfortunate thing to have happened! So dreadfully embarrassing for you, and to be obliged to enter the house quite unchaperoned!” Meredith’s hands, much to her relief, were released in order for Lady Barrat to throw her own into the air in a gesture of inarticulate horror.

  “Could you not have sent Hugo, my dear Lady Blake?” Miss Ansby inquired. “Mama was so deeply shocked when she heard, I was afraid she would have one of her turns, and I was about to send for Dr. Higgins, but fortunately a little hartshorn in water . . .”

  “Please,” Meredith begged. “You must think me very stupid, but I am afraid that I have no idea what has caused you this alarm. Will you take some lemonade to refresh you after your journey? It is such a hot morning.”

  “Meredith, you must know what we mean. We refer of course to the visit you paid to Lord Rutherford’s house yesterday,” Patience explained. “A single lady alone in a bachelor’s establishments. What can you have been thinking of, dear?”

  So the crows have come home to roost, Merrie thought wearily. “I was hardly alone,” she said, ringing the bell for Seecombe. “Both Rob and Hugo were there. Rob had an accident and injured his arm.”

  “Oh, yes. We heard all about that,” Mrs. Ansby of the delicate sensibilities put in, dabbing at her forehead with her handkerchief. “And we are all of the opinion that something must be done about that boy.”

  “Seecombe, would you bring lemonade for my guests?” Merrie requested as the manservant appeared, giving her a few seconds to control her rising temper.

  “You are all too kind,” she whispered, wringing her hands as she turned back to her visitors. “It was, of course, most uncomfortable for me, but his lordship was all consideration.”

  “And escorted you home,” Lady Collier announced in damning accents. “Hardly necessary if you had your brothers’ escort.”

  “No, but Lord Rutherford was most kind. Rob was in great pain, you understand. And his lordship was a most calming influence.”

  “Meredith, pray do not distress yourself,” Patience said soothingly, patting Merrie’s hand. “It is quite understandable that you forgot the proprieties in your anxiety over your brother, and, if Hugo was with you, then it was not so very dreadful. But, my dear, do consider. Is it wise to encourage Lord Rutherford’s visits to your house? I understand he was here two days ago, and you were seen talking to him in a most friendly fashion outside Mallory House yesterday morning.”

  “Oh, dear,” Merrie murmured, quite overcome. “I did not think there was anything wrong in it—oh, Seecombe, thank you.” She smiled as Seecombe placed a tray on the table. With an impassive countenance, he poured lemonade from the pitcher, handing round the glasses before stationing himself at the door as if prepared to wait on the ladies. It was all too clear to him what was going on in the parlor. Lady Merrie was under attack from the village cats, something that wasn’t going to continue if he could help it.

  Meredith, realizing his intention of remaining in the room and recognizing, with an internal smile, the reasons for it, said quietly, “Thank you, Seecombe. I’ll ring if I need you again.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” With a stiff bow, he left the parlor. Merrie resigned herself to some hurt sniffs ad reproachful glances from her self-appointed protector once the visitors had left.

  “You would surely not expect me to cut Lord Rutherford?” she asked innocently. “He has been so kind as to take an interest in the boys. Hugo, you know, so needs a man to talk to. He wishes to take holy orders, you see. It is such a big decision, but he will not take the advice of a mere sister. And Theo and Rob look up so to Lord Rutherford. He has promised to take them under his wing.” The fibs appeared with disgraceful ease, but their perpetrator cared not a jot. “I, myself, barely know Lord Rutherford, but I understand from Rob that he was with Wellington in the Peninsula until a shoulder wound forced him to take his furlough and now he needs some occupation.” She smiled with pathetic helplessness. “His lordship appears to wish to occupy himself with my brothers and I can only be grateful.”

  “Sir Algernon would willingly help you in this,” Patience said with a degree of severity. “I do not know how many times he has offered his advice.”

  “And I am always most grateful,” Merrie assured her hastily. “But you know how difficult boys can be? They are not always willing to be advised by those who are willing to advise them.” It was the nearest to a barb that she dared allow herself; fortunately it appeared to pass without notice.

  The parlor door opened abruptly. “Lord Rutherford, my lady,” Seecombe announced, standing aside to allow the subject of discussion to stride into the sudden hush. Merrie’s expression for the barest instant was one of guilt and consternation before her face was wiped clean of all vibrancy and her hands fluttered like the wings of a dismayed bird.

  Little wretch! Lord Rutherford thought. What had she been up to to cause her to look at him like a child caught in mischief?

  She was fluttering around him, stammering an inarticulate greeting, introducing him to her guests, then recollecting that he must already know them and smiling in self-denigration as she scolded herself for being such a silly goose. Damian wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her. He strongly suspected that she derived
considerable amusement from this game, but he found it annoying in the extreme. In particular, he found irritating the patronizing, compassionate attitude of Lady Barrat; yet, looking at Meredith, twittering like a half-witted maiden, he could hardly blame Patience.

  “I am come to inquire after that young scamp, Rob, ma’am,” he said, brusquely interrupting her in the middle of some interminable apologia that had no apparent substance. “He has taken no great harm, I trust.”

  “Oh, you are too kind, sir. Did I not say how kind his lordship has been?” Merrie’s hands worked, her head bobbed as she addressed the ladies. “So—so kind in you, sir, to take such an interest—”

  “How is the lad, ma’am?” he interrupted again, little realizing how reassuring was his curtness to Meredith’s well-wishers, how splendidly it reinforced her tissue of half-truths.

  “He does indeed appear to have taken little harm, sir. I did, of course, suggest that he keep to his bed with a little gruel to avert any excitation of the nerves—That was wise, do you not think, Lady Collier? You have so much experience in these matters—Will you take a glass of lemonade, my lord?” She turned to his lordship, a brittle smile on her lips, and encountered a look that brought the bright prattle to a full stop.

  “No, I thank you,” he said icily. “I will, if I may, visit the patient. I am sure you ladies have much to discuss.” He bowed to the company in general, accorded Merrie a curt nod, and left the parlor.

  Merrie had absolutely no idea where Rob was to be found, not in his bed with a bowl of gruel that was for sure. She wondered a little nervously if Rutherford would return to confront her with her lie. He had looked furious enough to be capable of anything, but surely he must realize she had had a particularly good reason for involving him in that exaggerated display of idiocy? Of course, if he thought she was just playing games with him again, their accord of last evening would be in some danger.

  “Well, I will say, my dear, Lord Rutherford’s taking an interest in your brothers must be most gratifying,” Patience declared, gathering up her reticule. “It may be a little unusual, but I see no harm in it. It is quite clear that he has no ulterior motives. You may rest assured that I will put all malicious rumors to rest.”

  “Oh, Patience!” Meredith gazed in wide-eyed horror at her visitor. “Whatever can you mean? Ulterior motives—rumors. You could not be suggesting that people might think ... ? Oh, dear me, I feel quite faint.” Sinking onto the couch, she began fanning herself frantically with one hand. “Such a dreadful possibility had never crossed my mind.”

  “You are such a sweet innocent, Meredith,” Patience bent solicitously over her. “It is because we know you to be so that we have your interests so much at heart. When poor Sir John passed away, Sir Algernon said that we must all take a care for the little widow. His very words.” She looked at her companions with a complacent nod. “Sir Algernon is such a sympathetic soul, and he always knows exactly what is to be done.”

  “You are all so kind. I am quite overwhelmed,” Meredith murmured, wondering desperately whether a quick recovery would ensure their departure or whether she should feign a complete collapse and summon Seecombe to convey her to her bedchamber.

  “Take heart, now, Lady Blake.” Lady Collier spoke briskly. “We must be thankful that Sir John made adequate provision for your brothers’ schooling. It is a great deal more than many a gentleman would make for his wife’s family, as my dear Sir Peter was saying only the other night. I dread to think what would have become of them had you been obliged to educate them at home. There would have been no steadying outside influence, no true discipline.” She gave Merrie a condescending smile. “We know you do your best, my dear Lady Blake, but a young woman, unsupported by the rock of a husband, cannot hope to influence children in the correct paths.”

  Meredith pressed a handkerchief to her eyes. “My dear, dear husband was such a rock.” Her voice was choked. “Such a splendid example to the boys.” She dabbed at her nose and blinked rapidly. “Ladies—dear friends—I must ask you to excuse me.”

  “Yes, of course. Do not trouble yourself to see us out, my dear.” Patience patted a limp hand again. “Have a good cry, now. It will make you feel much more the thing.”

  “I hope to see you at Lavender Hill tomorrow evening, Lady Blake,” Mrs. Ansby said, drawing on her gloves. “Tea and cards, and a little music. Vicar and Mrs. Elsbury will be joining us. We shall play only for counters, of course, as it is Sunday. I do not think the vicar will object to that.” She conveyed the benediction of what its recipient supposed was a smile. “Come, Elizabeth.” Miss Ansby, in her turn, stroked the afflicted widow’s shoulder, tutted sympathetically, and followed her mama.

  It remained only for Lady Collier to pat Merrie’s shoulder condescendingly and make her farewells; then Merrie was alone. With quiet deliberation, she picked up the empty pitcher and hurled it across the room where it smashed against the wainscot in a thoroughly satisfying cascade of glass.

  “Bravo!” Lord Rutherford applauded softly from the door. “So the little widow shows her teeth.” He closed the door behind him and lounged against it with folded arms as the glasses, one by one, joined the shattered pitcher.

  “It is insufferable!” Meredith raged, pacing the room in a manner that spoke more clearly than anything else the agitation of her spirits. “Adequate provision for the boys’ education, indeed! A rock of support! A perfect example of manhood. Oh, there are times when I cannot bear the hypocrisy! Everyone is aware of the truth.”

  “I fear, Lady Blake, that I am not. Will you not enlighten me?”

  Meredith paused in her restless pacing and sighed. “What an abominable display of temper, sir. Pray accept my apologies.”

  Rutherford chuckled. “No need. You forget that I have been on the receiving end of your tantrums before. At least that one didn’t seem to be directed at me personally. I would like an explanation for it, though.”

  She stood for a moment nibbling the tip of her thumb, deep frown lines between her eyebrows.

  “Meredith,” Lord Rutherford said. “I am reluctant to appear importunate, but I must repeat, I would like an explanation.”

  “Why?” Meredith demanded. “It is actually no business of yours, my lord. You are not of these parts. If you were, you would have no need of explanation.”

  “And I am going to take my pampered aristocratic body back to London at the first sign of a mud puddle,” he said amiably. “You’ve said that so many times, it does not bear further repetition. Obviously, I must demonstrate why your business is to some extent mine also.”

  He strolled forward, eyes glinting. Merrie backed away swiftly. A large cabinet prevented her from retreating further and, Rutherford coolly following, she found herself cornered. He stood in front of her, looking down into her face with a tiny smile. She could not take her gaze from his, could not hide the anticipation quivering in the purple depths of her eyes, could not control the strange spreading sensation starting in her belly and creeping down over her thighs as if sinew and muscle were losing all substance.

  For a long moment, the charged silence continued, the suddenly his smile broadened. “You shall have your kiss, Merrie Trelawney, when you have told me what I wish to know. It does not seem a sensible tactic to reward obstinacy.”

  “Why you pompous, complacent bastard!” Meredith yelped. “Leave my house this instant!”

  “Do not be missish,” he advised gently, selecting an apple from the fruit bowl on the table, crunching into it with every appearance of pleasure. “I want to kiss you as much as you want to be kissed, and once we have disposed of this tedious procrastination of yours, we shall both be able to enjoy ourselves.”

  “Do you make it a habit to offer insult to respectable widows, sir?” Meredith glared at him as she wondered if she would ever be in control of this encounter.

  “Indeed not, ma’am!” he declared with every appearance of outraged horror. “Whatever could have given you such an idea?” His e
yes twinkled. “Unless, of course, you consider yourself to be respectable, Merrie Trelawney. If so, I beg leave to inform you that you are the least respectable widow it has been my good fortune to meet.”

  It was quite hopeless. She looked merely silly attempting to stand on a dignity that she did not have. Merrie sighed in frustration, making no attempt to refute the charge they both knew to be true. “I do wish you had not come into Cornwall. It is making everything most awkward.”

  “You are wholly adorable,” Lord Rutherford declared, not a whit put out by this statement. “Except when you are playing a half-witted nincompoop,” he added. “Those displays arouse in me nothing more than the desire to shake you soundly.”

  “You do not understand.” Merrie moved restlessly around the room, straightening ornaments and cushions with impatient fingers.

  “Unless my memory fails me, I have been begging for enlightenment for the past half an hour,” Rutherford said.

  “My neighbors called upon me this morning to express their shock and dismay at my boldness—the dreadful impropriety I showed in going to your house yesterday. I cannot even be seen talking to you in the public street, it would seem, without giving rise to malicious rumor. They had only my best interests at heart, you understand?” Her lips twisted in a sardonic travesty of a smile and her listener nodded without comment.

  “I played the shocked innocent,” Merrie explained. “I was obliged to—uh—to tell some small untruths.” She gave him that guilty look again.

  “Pray continue,” he prompted, keeping his face expressionless although his eyes danced.