Smuggler's Lady Page 7

  “Pray take the nest for a minute.” She received it automatically and with lamentable lack of caution. “You are very untidy,” he explained, “and, since you do not have a mirror, it will be best if I put you to rights.” Merrie stood rigid under his hands as they moved over her hair, picking out straw, fluff, and feathers. Hampered by the nest of baby birds, she had no choice but to keep still as he dusted down her skirt, straightened her linen collar, and retied her sash. “There, that is much better.” Standing back, he nodded with approval. “Now, if you give me back the nest, you may hit me again. Since you have my permission, I will not retaliate this time—unless you should wish it, of course.”

  How could anyone be so insufferable! Meredith’s eyes narrowed, a chilly smile touched her lips. “Why would I want to hit you, Lord Rutherford? I am grateful for your assistance. If you will be good enough to go down the ladder, I will pass you the nest.”

  Rutherford grinned ruefully, raising his hand in the gesture of a fencer acknowledging a hit. “Touché, Merrie Trelawney. A thousand pardons for such a clumsy piece of swordplay. I crave your indulgence.”

  Why did she want to laugh? A moment before, she could cheerfully have shot him through the heart! All the cynicism had left the gray eyes, the bored, disdainful curl of the lip was gone, even the arrogance appeared mitigated by his seemingly genuine acknowledgment of defeat. He was almost a different person. And that was a most disturbing thought. Meredith turned abruptly toward the ladder, looking for a new and safer topic of conversation.

  “How did you know where to find me? Seecombe would not have said, I’ll lay odds.”

  “No,” he agreed. “Seecombe would have cut his tongue out first. Fortunately, as I was being turned from the door, young Rob bounced in.”

  “Ah, that would indeed explain all.” Merrie chuckled inadvertently. “Why did he not accompany you?”

  “He and Theo had a falling out,” Damian said carefully, “and—uh—appeared to forget all about me.”

  “Oh, dear.” Meredith sighed, continuing for some reason as if her companion was in some way a family intimate. “Poor Theo finds Rob such a trial. I suppose, when one is fifteen and trying to be dignified, eleven-year-old brothers are a sore trial. I had thought to send Rob to Eton rather than to Harrow in order to spare Theo embarrassment, but Trelawneys and Merediths have always gone to Harrow and none of them would hear of such a thing.”

  “I do not think you need concern yourself. If memory serves me right, Theo will have ample support in keeping his brother in his place, and I’m convinced Rob has already learned that first years do not know fourth years. What goes on at home will not be repeated at school.” He offered the truth with a degree of impatience. Schoolboys were hardly the most fascinating of topics. When her troubled expression cleared miraculously, he instantly regretted his brusqueness.

  “That is such a comfort,” Merrie said. “I was so afraid Theo was being made miserable at school. But you would know about such things, after all.”

  Damian nodded, marveling at the extraordinary sense of warmth he felt at having reassured this unconventional woman who, for a moment, had looked as if she were carrying the burdens of the world upon those slender shoulders.

  Merrie saw the strange darkening in those gray eyes and felt suddenly uneasy. The disdainful cynic was much easier to deal with than a Lord Rutherford with humor and compassion in his eyes. At least, when they were engaged in a battle of wits, she was sure of her ground, sure of her feelings. For a moment, tension tautened like string stretched between them, then Rutherford, to Merrie’s relieved annoyance, returned their relationship to its normal footing. “If you will give me the nest, I will carry it down. Since I am not hampered by petticoats, I may do so with ease.”

  Meredith set her lips in a thin line but meekly handed over her charges, unable to think of any logical objection to this modification of her plan. She followed him nimbly down the rickety ladder, clearly needing no chivalrous assistance, and Damian placed the nest on the broad sill of the only window.

  “I hope you were not right about the cat,” she muttered with a worried frown. “If you will but stay here and watch over them, I will dig up some worms. I am sure they must be starving.”

  “You will do what?” Rutherford exclaimed. Then his shoulders began to shake. “Oh, Merrie Trelawney, you are too much! You really would go grubbing for worms as if you were a grimy little boy with a stick and a bent pin for fishing!” Leaning against the barn wall for support, he gave himself up to the rich laughter rippling through him. He hadn’t laughed like this for many many months, and his entire body seemed to open with the pleasure of it.

  Meredith stood nonplussed for the moment it took her to realize why he was laughing. The suggestion had seemed perfectly reasonable when she had made it, but now, remembering the masquerade she had played for his benefit last night—prim, proper widow Blake, murmuring idiocies, dropping her possessions in her fluster—she could hardly wonder at his hilarity. Her cheeks warmed with a mixture of indignation and discomfiture. “Oh, do stop,” she said crossly. “It is not that amusing.”

  “Oh, but it is,” he gasped. “It is utterly delicious. You are utterly delicious, Merrie Trelawney—a wondrous conundrum that I have to solve.”

  Cold fingers marched down her spine at these words and she found refuge and diversion in anger. One sandaled foot stamped vigorously. “Stop it, I say! I will not have you laughing at me. You are trespassing on my land, or, at least, you are here without invitation, and I will not tolerate further discourtesy.”

  Rutherford stopped laughing although merriment still lurked in the depths of his eyes. “Then I should perhaps make amends—with a little civility,” he said softly, placing his hands on her shoulders. Meredith stepped back, a strange fluttering sensation in her belly, but she could not evade his hold drawing her against him. “There is a passion in you, Merrie Trelawney. One that I would delve,” he whispered, moving one hand to palm her scalp as he brought his head down until his lips covered hers. Merrie’s eyes closed as she inhaled deeply of the fragrance of his skin, a sun-warmed scent that seemed one with the taste of him as his tongue explored the soft cavern of her mouth. His hands ran down her back, feeling her skin, warm and pliant beneath the thin material of her dress, stroked over the curve of her hips, kneaded her buttocks as she reached against him with a low moan wrenched from some place deep within herself.

  “Sweet heaven!” Rutherford murmured in a tone of awe, raising his head slowly. “What are you, Merrie Trelawney? I think I am bewitched.”

  Meredith stood in a shaft of sunlight, the back of her hand pressed to her warmed, tingling lips as the world steadied again on its axis, and she saw her predicament in all its dreadful truth. She could not now deny her response to this man, either to herself or to him. But if she could not deny it, what could she do about it?

  “Merrie? Merrie? Where are you?” Rob’s imperative yells shivered the tension like a stone on crystal.

  “In the barn,” she called back, moving swiftly to the door, her eyes slipping past those of her companion.

  “Oh, you found Lord Rutherford,” Rob announced, appearing in the doorway. “That’s good because Theo and I forgot all about him for a minute. Seecombe says it’s time for nuncheon, and if you don’t come quickly the oysters will go cold. They are cook’s special recipe,” he informed Rutherford solemnly. “She will be as cross as two sticks if they spoil. Won’t she, Merrie? Of course, if I hadn’t come to find you, Hugo and Theo and me could have had them all to ourselves.” He beamed at his elders. “I hope you like scalloped oysters, Lord Rutherford.”

  Meredith blinked in a bemused fashion. Had Rob just invited his lordship to nuncheon?

  “One of my favorite dishes,” Rutherford was saying, smiling at the boy.

  “Oh, that is good. There is plenty for everyone, and Hugo is most anxious to meet you.” With that, he slipped a hand into Rutherford’s larger one just as if they were the oldest o
f friends and proceeded to lead him back to the house.

  There was nothing to be done but follow with a good grace. At least the company of her brothers would ensure a thoroughly domestic, undramatic atmosphere.

  Nuncheon at Pendennis, his lordship discovered, was far from a light meal. The refectory table in the dining room bore both sirloin and ham, a tureen of rich vegetable soup, the promised scalloped oysters, cheeses, and fruit—a repast clearly designed to satisfy the appetites of growing boys. Rob and Theo did ample justice to it, their earlier quarrel apparently forgotten. Hugo Trelawney, a rather pale, spindly young man with an overly serious expression, responded politely when introduced to Lord Rutherford and toyed with his food. Or at least, Damian qualified silently, gave the appearance of toying with it. A substantial quantity of meat nevertheless found its way onto his plate and subsequently disappeared. Meredith drank tea, the boys lemonade, Lord Rutherford was presented with a foaming tankard of ale that Hugo informed him solemnly was their own brew.

  Meredith apologized for the fact that she could not offer him claret but explained nonchalantly that any bottle from their cellars would require an hour to breathe if it were to be appreciated. Since they had not been expecting guests, they were unprepared. “You will find that to be the case in most houses in the neighborhood,” she said. “We pride ourselves on our cellars.”

  “Yes, it is thanks to the Gentlemen,” Rob put in. “They make deliveries every month, but no one ever sees them, and you cannot hear them coming either, because they muffle the ponies’ hooves. Is it not so, Merrie?”

  “That is what is said, certainly,” she replied without a flicker. It was a relatively innocuous topic of conversation and a fairly absorbing one. “It is a major business in these parts, Lord Rutherford. Have you yet had a chance to examine Lord Mallory’s cellars? I dare swear you will find them well stocked.”

  “I have sampled the brandy and found it to be more than superior,” he said. “I must confess to an abiding interest in these Gentlemen.” He looked up from his plate, surprising a sudden, sharp glance from his hostess.

  “Only outsiders find the idea of smuggling romantic, sir,” Meredith said with a light shrug. “For Cornishmen, it is a simple fact of life—dangerous and dirty more often than not.”

  That remark was clearly designed to put him firmly in his place—an impractical outsider with romantic notions about a serious business. “I did not say I found it romantic,” he countered gently. “ ‘Interesting’ was the word. I happened to run into them, you see.”

  Meredith dropped her fork with a tinny clatter on her plate. “How could you have done such a thing?” she demanded. “No one sees them.”

  “But I did,” he replied as gently as before, wondering what on earth was the matter with her. She looked as uncomfortable as if she were sitting on an ants’ nest.

  “Where, sir?” Rob bounced up and down on his seat, and even Hugo had stopped his methodical chewing.

  “On the cliff road the night I arrived.” He helped himself to another slice of sirloin. “They were engaged in a skirmish with the coastguard as far as I could see.”

  “Who won?” Theo was staring again, the Trelawney eyes wide open.

  Damian chuckled. “Oh, the smugglers without a doubt. They disappeared, you see, right under the revenue’s noses. It was fascinating.”

  “Where were you when you saw this?” Meredith asked, having herself well in hand again.

  “Hiding behind a gorse bush.” He laughed again. “It was devilishly uncomfortable, not to mention undignified, but well worth it. Their leader intrigued me.

  “How? Why?” Rob, unable to keep his seat, began to dance on his toes. “I have never ever talked to anyone who’s seen the Gentlemen!”

  “Sit down, Robin!” his sister said sharply. “It is hardly earth-shattering news.”

  “Why were you intrigued, sir?” Hugo asked as his brother resumed his seat with a pout.

  “He seemed little more than a lad,” Damian explained. “Incredibly young to be commanding such a group but clearly very competent.” He wondered whether to tell them of his other suspicion, but Meredith was looking distinctly discouraging, and he decided to keep it to himself. She would probably accuse him of being fanciful. Obviously, for some reason, she did not consider the topic suitable for a family dinner table.

  “If you wish to trade with the Gentlemen yourself, sir, you must pass them a message,” Rob said, having recovered from his momentary discomfiture. “Must he not, Merrie?”

  “I do not imagine Lord Rutherford’s stay in these parts will be long enough to warrant that, Rob,” his sister returned, the note in her voice clearly indicating that the subject should now be closed.

  “But I have not yet decided how long I shall remain,” Damian said mischievously, seeing the flash of annoyance before she dropped her eyes to the apple she was peeling.

  “We have little enough amusement to offer,” Meredith said. “I should imagine you will soon be bored and anxious for the pleasures of London society.”

  “Now I wonder what could have given you that impression,” his lordship mused. “I did not think I appeared unamused by last night’s entertainments and, in truth, look forward to a repetition.”

  Meredith bit her lip. He was teasing her shamelessly, and in the presence of her brothers she was quite unable to respond as she would like.

  “Besides, Merrie, there is lots to do,” Rob put in. “Riding and shooting and fishing. And then there are the soirees and Fowey is a sizeable town—”

  “It is not,” Theo interrupted. “Compared with London or Brighton, Fowey is no larger than a village. Is that not right, Hugo?”

  “Quite right. Even compared with Oxford it is tiny,” the eldest Trelawney pronounced.

  “But I was not comparing it,” Rob protested sturdily. “I have seen bigger towns on the journey to school; I am not such a bumpkin! But it is a big town in these parts.”

  “That is self-evident,” Theo said crushingly, and Rob, crestfallen, was again momentarily silenced.

  “How would one pass a message to the Gentlemen?” Lord Rutherford asked casually, diverting the subject to give the lad time to recover, wondering vaguely why he should feel the need to do so.

  “That is not a piece of information vouchsafed to women and minors, my lord,” Meredith said. “If you are, indeed, serious, you could do no better than to ask Sir Algernon Barrat. He will be able to advise you, I am convinced.” She gave him a smile as bland as milk pudding, but the razor’s edge to her voice could not be ignored. For all her innocent, correct appearance with her demure coiffure and the plain simplicity of her muslin gown, Lady Meredith Blake, presiding so decorously over a family nuncheon, was a force to be reckoned with. She had just given him a most direct order to drop the subject, and he did so although he could not imagine why it should be taboo. Probably some strange Cornish custom known only to insiders!

  He took his leave soon after. His hostess he found to be both dignified and withdrawn as she escorted him to his horse. Saracen had clearly been cared for during his stay, and Rutherford offered his thanks as he stood on the gravel sweep before the house.

  “We are not such barbarians, sir, as to ignore our guests or their mounts,” she said coldly.

  “Now in what way have I offended you?” Frowning, he took her hands.

  Meredith withdrew them with a jerk. “If you do not know, then you are even more obtuse than I had thought.”

  “And you are most impolite,” he said curtly. “You will not talk to me in that fashion if you please.”

  “A thousand pardons,” she said sarcastically. “I had not the intention of offending your so delicate sensibilities although you clearly consider you have the right to ride roughshod over mine.”

  “With a kiss?” he hazarded, eyebrows raised.

  Merrie flushed angrily. “As it happens, that was not what I was referring to.”

  “I wonder why not,” he mused. “You would
certainly be entitled to take exception to such a liberty.”

  “You are intolerable! ” she hissed. “How could you taunt me in that manner?”

  Damian sighed, taking Saracen’s reins. “You are capable of bringing out the worst in me, Merrie Trelawney. But I asked you a simple question: how have I offended you? Your response deserved a similar discourtesy.”

  “A gentleman would have turned the other cheek,” she shot back, unwilling to admit that he was right.

  “Yes, I expect he would have done,” Damian agreed placidly, laying his booted foot in the stirrup and swinging into the saddle.

  “It was unsporting in me to object to being made game of in front of my brothers when I am not in a position to retaliate, I suppose,” she demanded furiously.

  “Ah, so that is what has annoyed you,” he nodded his head thoughtfully. “Yes, you are quite right. It was an unpardonable way to return your hospitality. I will endeavor to make amends, ma’am, when next we meet.” Wheeling his horse, he waved and trotted down the drive.

  Merrie watched the black horse out of sight. What was happening to her? Some thoroughly disagreeable man marches into her well-ordered existence and turns it completely topsy-turvy, and the only responses she can produce are childish petulance or a most definitely adult passion! And he’d seen her on the cliff road. To her knowledge, no one in Landreth or the surrounding village had ever seen the smugglers. It was an unspoken rule that, when the band was abroad, the local inhabitants kept their faces to the wall. But then, Merrie was beginning to fear that Damian, Lord Rutherford, was a law unto himself. She, of course, was a law unto herself and always had been, but that was no reason why others should have the same privilege—particularly foreigners who did not understand Cornwall and Cornishmen, who despised what they saw and thought they could do exactly as they pleased.

  Chapter Six

  The following morning, Meredith donned her riding habit, had her angular, but always reliable, mare saddled, and set off for the village. Landreth was a fishing village where little business was transacted unless it be over the lobster pots at the quay or in the taproom of the Falcon. She walked the mare down the cobbled street between the whitewashed cottages, looking for Bart, knowing full well that, of those who saw her, at least half of them knew her for their leader. No one but Nan, Jacques, and these fisherfolk who plied the same trade knew the truth, and they were all content to keep it so. Only in secrecy and still tongues was there safety.