Nights in White Satin: A Loveswept Classic Romance (18 page)

She was already pulling him to the ground.

“This isn’t safe,” he murmured, one last shred of common sense rising to the surface.

“I know.” She pushed him onto his back, then pulled up his sweater and ran her hands down his chest. “I know. I thought I’d lost you.”

“Never.”

“Love me, Rick.”

He shuddered and took her mouth in a kiss that nearly shattered them both. They shed their clothes, until flesh was against flesh. They came together in passion and in love, with a fortune in jewels trapped between their clasped hands.

“It feels odd to be a plain old tourist. Especially after being the bickering burglars.”

Jill grinned at Rick’s words. They were strolling through the center of Falmouth exactly like a couple of tourists. Pretty brazen after only two days, she had thought, but Grahame had recommended they stay put for a little while and everyone behave normally. Since Falmouth was the
biggest town on the Lizard Peninsula, it was only normal to visit it, Rick had reasoned.

“Do you think it was smart to return to the scene of the you-know-what?” she asked, once several people had passed out of earshot.

“We only drove down a street.” He grinned. “Okay, so it was his street. Relax. We’re all the way on the other side of town. It’s like being on the other side of London. Good thing Grandmother didn’t come. These steep hills would kill her.”

“They’ll probably kill us before they would her.” Jill was leaning slightly backward to compensate for the sharply angled descent, and her leg muscles were already tight with the strain. But the sun felt good on her face, although the constant breezes had her denim skirt clinging to her legs. The beautifully kept terraced houses, the crowds of strolling people, and the raucous cries of the seagulls above were soothing. The other night seemed unreal—except for the necklaces stowed safely in her suitcase. Rick was becoming daring in their success, though. She’d have to watch him on that. A job she didn’t mind a bit.

“I’m just glad you’ve forgiven me,” she said, leaning against his arm.

He squeezed her hand, his warmth flooding through her, leaving her feeling wanted and wanting. Both urges had been wonderfully satisfied over the last days, until they’d practically made a spectacle of themselves. Lettice had told them to get out and see some daylight.

“Actually, I haven’t forgiven you,” Rick said. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but he was very relaxed. He paused and whis
pered dramatically, “I intend to make you my love slave.”

She burst into laughter.

“You do wonderful things for the male ego.”

She sobered. “I hated what I was doing, Rick. I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you.”

“Just keep telling me you really love me.”

She smiled. “I really love you, Roderick Kitteridge.”

“Good. When I saw the—” He stopped. “I couldn’t blame you. I would have done
anything
to get it back, if it were mine.”

“I didn’t think you would understand that.”

“I didn’t until I actually saw it,” he admitted. “By the way, I called my friend before we left. He found the material we sent him very interesting. The Yard is following it up. Now all we have to do is eat Cornish pastries and have tea and tarts with clotted cream.”

“Sounds wonderful.” They had a lot to talk about, too, a lot to work out. She was very grateful there was something
to
work out.

“Have you given any thought to the book?” he asked.

She froze, her stomach crawling with fear.

He stopped with her. “I’m pushing, aren’t I?”

“Somebody better get pushing.” She pointed to a bank on the other side of the street.

Colonel Fitchworth-Leeds was standing on the steps, glancing through some papers. At any second he would look up and spot them. She had no doubt he’d know exactly why they were there. Anything could happen then, and that’s what worried her.

Rick cursed and glanced around. “No near side streets to duck into. The taxi stand.”

“But the car—”

“Is way up the street and around the corner.” He hustled her to the pedestrian crossing and over to the center island of trees and benches. “We’ll come back for it later.”

“The shops—” she began, but he shoved her toward the first taxi.

“Need a lift, mate?” the young driver asked.

Rick nodded, even as he opened the rear door and pushed her inside the cramped Fiat. He scrambled in beside her, and both of them sank down in the seat. Jill grabbed Rick’s hand and held on to it tightly. He squeezed back in reassurance.

“Hi, I’m Chris,” the driver said, getting into the front and starting up the car. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful,” Jill said, wishing he would hurry.

The driver pulled out of the stand with all the speed of the tortoise on race day. “Been to Falmouth before?”

Jill willed herself to be calm. “No. I’m from the States.”

“An American!” the driver exclaimed. “Lovely. And you, sir?”

“Cotswolds.”

They were just passing the bank. Jill had an overwhelming urge to check what the Colonel was doing. She tried to resist it, but the urge was too much. She peeked.

The Colonel was peeking back.

Actually, he was staring openmouthed at the taxi, then his face went livid with rage. They
turned up a side street, but not before they saw him sprinting toward the back of the bank. Jill was positive he had his car parked there.

“Damn!” Rick muttered. “He must have come down to take the necklaces across the Channel and discovered he had visitors.”

“And you thought it was all downhill from here.”

The driver laughed, overhearing her. “Nay, it’s all uphill. The Cornish hills are very steep, miss. Nearly everybody takes the taxi back from town.”

“I can see why.” Jill peered ahead up the hill road for another cross street.

“Now, where to, folks?” the driver asked, clearly oblivious to the drama in the back seat. The taxi’s speed did increase as they sped away from the center of Falmouth.

Rick looked at her blankly. She shrugged.

The driver grinned. “Not quite ready to go back to your hotel, eh?”

“Not really,” Rick said, in the understatement of the year.

“Ever been up to Pendennis Castle?”

“Castle?” Jill said absently, glancing behind her to see it they were still clear. They were.

“Oh, it’s lovely. Henry the Eighth built it ages ago. It’s just on the other side of town—”

“No!” she and Rick said at the same time.

Rick went on, “Castles are … well …”

“Not your cup o’ tea?” Chris finished. “Since your lady friend is from America, how about a tour of the area? I can take you along the little country lanes and show you things you’ll never see regularlike—”

“Perfect!” Rick snapped the suggestion up like a starving man.

“Oh, you’ll really enjoy this, miss.” The driver waxed enthusiastic. “The novelist Daphne du Maurier lived on the Helford River, just over the hill there.”

“Really?” Jill said, her curiosity piqued. Over the hill was to the south of Falmouth, away from the north and the cottage they were staying in. And far enough away from the Colonel to suit her.

“Oh, yes.” The taxi suddenly jolted forward as the driver fed the car gas. “I had two writers from America once who insisted on seeing it. They wrote romances, I think. Do you know the movie star Roger Moore?”

Jill allowed that she did.

“Well, I’ll take you past the cottage he rented last year. You’ll like that. You’ll like all of Cornwall, miss. Nowhere on earth like it. I know. I went up to London a few years back, but I came home again. Whenever a Cornishman crosses the Tamar River, he breathes a sigh of relief to be back in Cornwall, I can tell you …”

Rick relaxed as they sped along winding country lanes. Up and down and around they went—and farther and farther from Falmouth. He looked back, but no one was following them that he could see. As they passed farms and cow pastures, one little village, then another, the more confident he became that they’d lost the Colonel. He wasn’t sure whether the man had been running away from them or ready to chase them, but he hadn’t wanted to wait around to find out. He’d have the driver drop them off at a pub soon, and they would call Grahame at the cottage. The driv
er’s lecture on things Cornish was an easy price to pay in the meantime.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured in Jill’s ear. “I was too damned cocky.”

“I think I can manage to forgive you,” she whispered back.

The lane plunged down out of the trees and along a small cozy-looking river.

“Here’s the Helford River,” Chris announced proudly as the taxi zoomed along by it. “It’s not as tame as it looks. Very treacherous. Daphne du Maurier lived somewhere along it, any road, so everyone says. And we’re just coming into the village of Gweek. Funny little name, isn’t it?”

The cab no sooner entered the village than it screeched to a halt in front of flashing orange pedestrian crossing lights. A group of children trotted across the road.

“Outing to the Seal Sanctuary,” Chris explained cheerfully. “I Swear every school in the West Country sends their kids here.”

Rick let out his breath as the car moved forward again. He looked behind them. Still clear. Five minutes on the other side of the village, the taxi screeched to another halt. A herd of cows plodded across the lane.

“Cattle crossing,” the driver announced. “This here’s called Goonhilly Downs. Irish name. Lots of cattle crossings.”

Jill looked at Rick. He looked at her. They both looked behind them. Clear. Rick relaxed in the seat and watched the meter mount up over ten pounds. This was becoming an expensive getaway.

They actually got to the next village before the
cab stopped again. Two elderly women slowly crossed the road.

“Elderly crossing,” Jill announced this time, pointing to the yellow sign with man and woman stick figures on it. The woman was discernible only by the purse hanging on one arm. Her other was linked to the man. Jill chuckled and added, “She looks like she’s picking his pocket.”

“As long as nobody’s picking ours,” Rick muttered, glancing behind them yet again. All clear.

Once out of the village, two more stops were made in short order, one for sheep and one for a tractor. The hairs prickled along the back of his neck, and he turned around frequently, although he saw nothing suspicious. These halts were just getting on his nerves, he decided. And so was the driver, as the fee mounted over fifteen pounds—nearly thirty dollars in Jill’s money. He had a feeling they were getting taken for a ride in more ways than one.

The driver’s next words confirmed it. He pointed to three houses set in a steep cliff overlooking the Helford. “Here! Roger Moore stayed in one of those three.”

“Ohhh,” Jill said appropriately.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her struggling not to giggle. Only Jill would find the joke in the most dire of situations, he thought. It was one of the things he loved about her. He stopped worrying about the cost of the taxi. He stopped worrying about the Colonel too. They had to have lost him by now anyway.

The village of Helford on the Helford was busy with boaters and tourists. The streets were
jammed and traffic was heavy. The taxi slowed to a crawl.

“Everybody must be out lookin’ for the Morgawr,” Chris said. “That’s our version of the Nessie. It’s got a humped back and stumpy horns. Ugly as sin. If you like, I can take you out tonight to go looking for it—”

He stopped the car so suddenly, Jill and Rick were jostled forward.

“What is it now?” Rick asked, craning his neck to see the problem this time.

“Swans crossing. Ruddy things take forever to get over to the tidal creek too.”

“Swans crossing!” Rick exploded. “Look, I am not some bloody fool tourist you can take for some ride—”

“Here now!” the driver exclaimed, turning around.

Jill pulled on Rick’s arm. He whipped back to face her.

She pointed down.

He looked out the side window and saw several swans and two cygnets meandering nearly under the car tires. The adults were honking loudly. Above, tacked to the side of a building, was a sign that actually said Swans Crossing.

Jill burst into laughter. The cabbie looked righteous. Rick grumbled an apology.

“At least we’re far from the Colonel,” he said, and looked behind them in a casual check.

Traffic was stopped on the narrow street, but three cars back a man stood at his open driver’s door. The Colonel spotted him the moment he spotted the Colonel. The Colonel got back in his
car and began to ease it around the traffic onto the wrong side of the road.

Rick swore under his breath and checked on the swans. They were still wandering and honking in the middle of the road. They’d never make it across in time.

“Many thanks for the tour, mate,” he said, yanking bills out of his pocket. He tossed three tenners into the front seat. “That ought to do it. Jill, love, the Colonel. Out on my side.”

“But, but …” The driver sputtered in astonishment as his passengers slipped out of the back seat. They were running up the road, Rick trusting the swans to continue to hold up traffic while they made a cheap getaway this time.

“How could he have tracked us?” Jill asked, gasping. Her eyes were wide with fright.

“He did somehow.” Rick contemplated the question, though, and added, “He must have been driving all through here, hoping to pick up on us.”

“He must be desperate.”

“Very. Down this road.”

They were off the main road along the beach and heading back into the peninsula. They glanced back, then stopped and stared.

The Colonel’s car, now effectively blocking the wrong side of the road, was surrounded by furiously honking swans, ready to defend against this new threat to the family unit. It was clear the creatures wouldn’t budge until he did, and he couldn’t budge until they did. Humans blared mechanical honkers and shouted their anger.

Jill collapsed into Rick’s arms and they burst into laughter.

“You certainly make life interesting,” he gasped out.

“So do you.”

“Enough to stay forever?” Suddenly, he was deadly serious.