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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

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BOOK: Desire Becomes Her
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Lamb grinned at him. “Don’t try to bamboozle me, my clever buck.”
“How much did you take Jeffery for?” asked Barnaby.
Luc shrugged. “I cannot remember. Enough to make it painful for him and perhaps make him think twice before preying on fledglings.”
“Did you see Lieutenant Deering when you were at Nolles’s place?” Barnaby asked, swirling his brandy around in his snifter.
“Non,”
said Luc, looking surprised. “Was our favorite riding officer there?”
Barnaby nodded. “Yes, he was.” He smiled. “Broadfoot wasn’t the first to tell me of your visit to The Ram’s Head. I met Deering on the road yesterday afternoon returning from my visit to Farmer Calkin.”
“Ah, yes, the damaged barn roof,” Luc murmured. “How did that go?”
“Well, for once Calkin had a legitimate complaint. The roof is beyond repair.” Barnaby sent Luc a level look. “But you will not distract me from my meeting with Deering.” He swallowed some brandy and said, “It appears that Nolles and his gang have reorganized after the blow we gave them in February. Deering says that during the last month or so, there has been an increase in the smuggling activity in the area—rumor has it that Nolles has a new financier.”
“Another one such as Cousin Thomas?” asked Luc, referring to their cousin killed by his brother, Mathew, back in February.
“That I don’t know, but most likely,” Barnaby answered. “He can’t prove it, but Deering doesn’t feel that Nolles is putting up the money for the runs to France. He suspects that Nolles has made contact with a wealthy landowner in the neighborhood or, and this is Deering’s best guess, someone in London is financing the smuggling—as Thomas did.”
“One hopes that this new investor is
not
another relative of ours,” Luc muttered.
“I doubt that Mathew has the stomach for
any
connection with smugglers—killing Thomas devastated him and discovering his brother was financing the Nolles’s gang did nothing to ease his anguish. I think we can eliminate Mathew, don’t you?”
Luc made a face and nodded.
Lamb spoke up, saying, “And can you imagine Simon doing such a thing?”
Thinking of affable, charming Simon, the youngest of the English Joslyn brothers, Luc shook his head. “
Non!
Simon and Thomas may have been at daggers drawing, but his grief was deep over his death.”
“Simon’s mourning is more, I think,” observed Lamb, “for the pain and guilt that Mathew suffered than for Thomas’s death.”
The other two men nodded.
Discovering that Thomas Joslyn had been the shadowy figure behind the handsome sums of money that had filtered through Nolles’s fingers on their way to France to buy shipload after shipload of contraband goods for sale in England had stunned the entire family, but Mathew most of all. Already reeling from the horrific knowledge that he had shot and killed his own brother, the discovery of Thomas’s unthinkable alliance with a vicious gang of smugglers had only added to the guilt and horror that consumed Mathew.
“Has he stirred from Monks Abbey yet?” asked Luc, mentioning Mathew’s estate some distance away.
Barnaby shook his head. “Simon is worried about him. Says he locks himself in his rooms at night and drinks himself into a stupor.”
Thinking of the staid and proper Mathew drinking himself into a stupor, Luc frowned. “We shall have to do something about that. It was an appalling situation, but he’s had enough time to lick his wounds and realize that none of it was his fault.”
“I agree,” said Barnaby.
Glancing at Barnaby, Lamb said, “You’ll have to do something very un-viscount-like and annoy him enough to bring him posthaste to the steps of Windmere.” Lamb half-smiled. “Once we have him here, we’ll figure out a way to shake him from the worst of his grief. Simon will help.”
Luc grinned. “I’m sure that I can think of something for Barnaby to do that will upset Cousin Mathew enough to wrest him out from behind the walls of Monks Abbey.”
“Of that, I have little doubt,” said Lamb flatly. “No matter where you are, you have a decided knack for being at the center of most upsets.”
Luc scowled at him. “And would you expect any less of me?”
Barnaby sighed. He loved the pair of them, but Christ! Sometimes it was hard not to give in to temptation and knock their heads together.
 
To Luc’s disgust the inclement weather—showers and drizzle—stayed around for a while and it was Wednesday before the proposed ride with Silas’s nieces could be undertaken. The drizzle had slackened the previous morning and the moment the sun came out, Luc sent over one of Barnaby’s footmen with a note to Silas, making the arrangements for the ride.
The sun a pale orb in a cloudless blue sky, Luc set out for High Tower astride a bay gelding with two hind socks. Anticipating the prospect of crossing swords with Mrs. Dashwood, the ride seemed shorter than usual and soon enough his horse was trotting up the driveway leading to Silas’s house. As the house and tower came into view, his gaze locked on the turreted tower from which Edward Bramhall had thrown himself decades ago. Did Bramhall’s ghost haunt Silas’s dreams during the darkest hour of the night, he wondered, or did his friend never give the unfortunate young man’s fate any thought at all?
Pushing aside useless speculation, Luc dismounted, and after handing the reins of his horse to the stable boy who ran up to meet him, he walked to the front door. He’d hardly taken his hand from the black iron knocker before the oak door swung open and Meacham ushered him inside.
Giving Meacham his curly-brim beaver hat and York tan gloves, he asked, “How is your master doing this afternoon?”
Meacham’s eyes held satisfaction. “He’s in high gig, sir—as pleased as if he was going to go with you.” A smile flitted across his face. “I’ll warn you, though—he’s not given up on trying to sell you those grays of his.”
Luc laughed. “He can try, Meacham. He can try.”
The remnant of Luc’s amusement was still evident on his face when he strolled into the front salon where Silas, Mrs. Dashwood and Mrs. Easley waited for him. The ladies were again seated on the cream and russet sofa and Silas was in the high-backed chair across from them.
Greetings exchanged, after a few minutes’ conversation, Silas asked, “Would you care for some refreshment before you leave?”
Luc shook his head. “No, thank you, sir.” He glanced at the window. “The days are short and it is already gone one o’clock. If we are to take advantage of the best part of the day, we should be on our way.”
Silas agreed, and promising to have some hot punch waiting for them when they returned, he urged them on their way.
 
The day was pleasant for late October and, despite feeling guilty at leaving Uncle Silas behind, Gillian was delighted to be outside in the thin sunshine. For just a while, seated upon one of her uncle’s magnificent horses, the sun warm on her face, a faint sea breeze caressing her cheeks, all the pain and disagreeableness of the past two years vanished. As High Tower fell behind, she reveled in the pleasure of the moment and her spirits lifted. She slanted Luc a glance. Enduring his company, she decided, was a small price to pay.
They rode abreast down the road with Luc between the two women and a groom riding a respectful distance behind the trio. Mindful of his feminine charges, Luc kept the horses at a sedate pace and resigned himself to plodding along. He didn’t mind their slow progress—an ambling walk allowed conversation and gave him an opportunity to determine if his suspicions about Mrs. Dashwood were correct.
After they had ridden a few miles, Mrs. Dashwood asked, “Mr. Joslyn, since the road doesn’t appear too muddy, would you mind if we picked up the pace?” She flashed a smile at her cousin. “Sophia and I love a good gallop.”
“As you wish,” Luc replied, taken aback by the sheer charm of the smile she had given her cousin.
The words had barely left his lips before Gillian and Sophia, using their heels, urged their mounts forward. In an instant the horses transitioned from a walk into a trot and seconds later settled into a smooth gallop. Luc and the groom had no choice but to harry after the two women as they sped down the country road.
Both ladies were, Luc observed as he pounded down the road behind them, intrepid riders, easily controlling their horses and their bodies moving as one with their mounts. This was no race and after a few minutes Luc and the groom caught up with the galloping pair. Aware they were on an unfamiliar public road, the two women didn’t keep the horses at a gallop for long and eventually they brought their animals back to a trot and then a brisk walk.
Her face glowing, tendrils of sable hair escaping from beneath her green hat with its saucy pheasant feather, Gillian glanced at her cousin and exclaimed, “Oh, Sophy, wasn’t that wonderful? I had forgotten the joy of a good horse beneath you.”
Sophia, looking as delighted as Gillian, nodded. “It was indeed! Most exhilarating. There is nothing like a ride on an excellent horse to bring a smile to your face and ease your mind.” To Luc, Sophia said, “We are indebted to you, Mr. Joslyn. It was most kind and thoughtful of you to suggest a ride.”
“It is my pleasure,” Luc replied, tearing his gaze from Gillian’s vivid face.
Mon Dieu!
The sprite was enchanting. Conniving, too, if his suspicions for her arrival at High Tower were correct. And dangerous, he reminded himself, thinking of her murdered husband.
Irritated for reasons he couldn’t explain, he said briskly, “I am new to the neighborhood and your uncle would be able to show you more of the area, but if you like I can show you one or two of our more well-known landmarks.”
Gillian said, “It is the ride we are enjoying, Mr. Joslyn—not so much the destination. Lead on, if you please.”
They continued on the main road for some miles, Luc indicating the location of various places known to him as they rode. Turning off the public road a short while later and leaving it behind, Luc guided them across the undulating, green velvet chalkland spread out in all directions around them. As they rode, he said, “This is very different from fields and woodlands of Virginia, but it has a beauty that takes one’s breath away,
oui?
”
Gillian nodded absently, her gaze on the grazing fat, gray-and brown-faced Sussex sheep. She spied the occasional cow or horse; now and then smoke rising into the air from behind the low hills hinted at a dwelling, but none came into view.
Topping a hill, Luc brought their horses to a halt. “The Cuckmere Valley,” he said simply.
An exceptional view spread out in all directions and Gillian’s breath caught in pleasure. Like a lazy snake, the Cuckmere River flowed through the broad valley below them toward the sea; uneven banks of trees and shrubs strung here and there evidence of the narrow creeks that meandered through the rolling, green countryside. A glimpse of the glinting blue waters of the Channel could be seen through a break in the rising cliffs in the distance.
Leaning toward Gillian, his lips inches from her ear, Luc pointed and said, “You see the opening in the distance with the sea beyond it? That wide stretch of beach is Cuckmere Haven and is a favorite landing spot for some of our local smugglers.”
Gillian nodded, aware of a sudden kick in her pulse at his nearness. “Uncle mentioned at dinner the other night,” she said, turning her head away from Luc’s disturbing closeness, “that smugglers are very active around here.”
“That’s true,” Luc said, smiling at her withdrawal. Was it mere dislike that caused her reaction, or was the lady as aware of him as he was of her? He preferred to think the latter. Straightening, he added, “The worst of the gangs are led by Will Nolles, the owner of the tavern named The Ram’s Head.”
“But if his identity is known,” interjected Sophia from his other side, “why is he allowed to continue his activities?”
“The smugglers are a close-knit community and most people in the area are either smugglers themselves, or they have family that plies the trade, or they benefit in some way from the smugglers’ activities,” he answered, glancing at Sophia. “Besides that, Nolles’s gang is a powerful one and he and his men are greatly feared. You’ll not find many who are willing to go against them.”
When both ladies looked uneasy, Luc cursed his unruly tongue and apologized. “Forgive me! I did not mean to frighten you. There
are
smugglers about, but you have nothing to fear from them. They have no wish to bring attention to themselves and generally go about their business with no one the wiser.” He grinned. “Usually the only sign of their passing is a cask or two of fine French brandy left in one’s stable or barn.”
Sophia chuckled and murmured, “You mean like the brandy Uncle drank last night?”
Blue eyes dancing, Luc nodded. “
Exactement!
And enough of this talk about smugglers and contraband—I am forgetting my role as guide.” Waving a hand in the direction of Cuckmere Haven, he said, “Those chalk cliffs you see before you are the Seven Sisters; the tallest of them rises five hundred feet above the Channel.” His grin deepened. “And that, Madame Easley, is the extent of my knowledge of the area.”
BOOK: Desire Becomes Her
13.54Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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