Smuggler's Glory (13 page)

“
Please don’t say anything about what we have uncovered,” he
whispered directly into her ear, while very much aware of the
effect she was having upon his concentration.

“
I won’t, but why the secrecy?” Francesca frowned, refusing to
believe that Madeline or Bertie could be responsible. Madeline’s
determination to take Simon on a tour swept through her mind and
she glanced at him cautiously.

“
I am not saying it is either of them. Right now we cannot be
sure of anything, but until we do get some answers, it is best if
you don’t say anything to anyone. Then nobody can allow anything to
slip during conversation with anyone they meet.”

Francesca still wasn’t convinced but nodded anyway. The
memory of her return home yesterday swept through her, and she
wondered if the thugs had thought she was Madeline, who also had
grey hair. Had she been attacked through a case of mistaken
identity? It was true that Charlie and Tom weren’t the brightest
buttons in the sewing kit, and it wasn’t so implausible for them to
mistake Francesca for her companion that it could be dismissed. She
eyed Simon warily, wondering if he had a point, but kept her
thoughts to herself.

Simon’s
fingers tingled where they rested on the gentle curve of her waist,
and he willed his wayward body to cool. The gentle scent of
lavender wafted upward, teasing his nostrils with feminine
temptation, and he fought the urge to shuffle closer. He had to
give himself a stern lecture to keep his mind on the business he
was sent here to get on with, while they left the house through the
heavy front door.

From
what he had seen of the remainder of the house that was unaffected
by the fire, it had been constructed to a very high standard using
the finest materials. Apart from lack of maintenance, it shouldn’t
take too much to refurbish. It was the wing that was fire-damaged
that would cost a considerable amount of money, but at least it
could be kept separate to the rest of the building, causing the
least amount of disruption to anyone in residence while renovations
were ongoing.

But you aren’t going to be here to oversee it,
Simon reminded himself sternly. He couldn’t ignore
his orders, and the pressing need to start to investigate the
potential forgery for spy smugglers in Much Hampton. As soon as his
work in Much Hampton was concluded, he would leave. Move on to his
next mission, fighting to protect England’s borders from French
invaders. That thought brought forth a strange sense of discomfort
that made him want to tug his collar.

Quickly
shoving the errant thoughts to one side, Simon escorted her away
from the house. The silence that settled between them as they
walked was almost companionable.

“
I’m sorry, Francesca, I didn’t think to ask if it would be
acceptable to you to take a short walk.” Simon slowed his pace, and
glanced at her. The cool breeze brought forth a rosy glow to her
usually pale cheeks which, combined with her beautiful amber eyes
and full lips, made her simply breath-taking. Even with white
striped hair.

“
It’s alright,” Francesca replied, aware of his careful study.
She fought the urge to touch her hair self-consciously. For some
reason, she was reluctant to let him know just how much he unnerved
her. Although aware he hadn’t asked, she had followed him blindly;
without question, and she couldn’t fathom why.

“
I wanted to get you away from the house for a few minutes, so
we can talk undisturbed.”

“
You mean, where nobody can overhear us,” Francesca corrected,
giving him a stern look.

“
I know you have secrets of your own, Francesca,” Simon began,
struggling to find the words he needed to say that would both
soothe her and garner her trust. He was a man of action and was
used to subterfuge and sometimes sheer brutality to get what he
wanted. It was rare for him to need to verbally persuade anyone to
do anything, and it made him more than a little uncomfortable to be
on such unfamiliar ground. Especially with Francesca, who, despite
their shockingly short acquaintance, was beginning to mean rather
too much to him.

“
So do you,” Francesca replied defensively, sensing he was on
the verge of something. It took all of her patience to remain quiet
and wait for him to speak.

“
What do you really know of Madeline?” he began, knowing he was
walking on dangerous ground.

“
I have known her since I was a child. She was my nursemaid for
several years,” Francesca explained, feeling a surge of
protectiveness to the woman who had been nothing but kind and
understanding, and almost motherly toward her. “Although she hasn’t
worked for my family for a long time, we have still kept in touch.
When she found out I was coming here, she offered to join me as my
companion.” Francesca paused at that. In reality, Madeline had been
almost forceful in her insistence to accompany Francesca to
Thistledown. At the time she had been all too pleased to have a
companion, but now she had to stop and question the reasons behind
her friend’s determination.

“
But what about the years when you didn’t see her? What did she
do?”

Francesca paused, her mind going blank. In reality, she
didn’t really know much about what Madeline did do while she was
away, and couldn’t remember it ever being mentioned in their
correspondence.

Simon
read the blank look for what it was and knew he had struck a
chord.

“
She wasn’t involved in my uncle’s death,” Francesca gasped,
horrified that he should consider such a thing. The letter she had
sent to Madeline informing her of her change of address had gone to
the usual address in London; nowhere near Bodmin.

“
I am not saying she was,” Simon sighed, digging deep for the
platitudes he could use to ease his way. “I am just saying that
there are many years where you weren’t in acquaintance with her,
when she could have been doing anything. She could have been
friends with anyone.”

Francesca frowned, feeling her hackles rise. Strangely she
felt somewhat disappointed at his crude attempt to drive a wedge
between herself and her best, and only, friend.

“
Madeline is the most trustworthy person I know,” she snapped
peevishly.

“
I am not saying she isn’t, but neither can you utter that
statement with utmost honesty because if you are honest with
yourself, you cannot be sure of either Bertie or Madeline.” Simon
bit back his frustration at the mutinous look that settled over her
face and grasped her shoulders in a firm grip, drawing her around
to face him when she would have turned away.

“
Let me go,” Francesca snapped, her voice trembling with
emotion.

“
I’m sorry, Francesca, but in this game you cannot trust
anyone. Even me,” he shook her shoulders roughly for emphasis,
willing her to understand.

“
What do you mean ‘in this game’? What ‘game’ are you involved
in?” Francesca gasped, staring up at him.

The
winds had teased her hair from the soft bun at her nape, dragging
the long tendrils into complete disarray where they were
relentlessly buffeted by the winds. With her hair flowing out
behind her, she looked so achingly wild that he had to fight the
urge to draw her against him and kiss her, to tame her wayward
spirit and claim it as his.

“
Nothing,” Simon sighed, “nothing at all. Just promise me one
thing?”

“
Why should I promise you anything?”

“
Because I have nothing but your best interests at heart,”
Simon replied honestly. He didn’t want to look too closely into the
softness, the small ray of light that was beginning to blossom deep
inside him in the very depths of the familiar darkness and shadows.
Determined not to relent until he had the answer he wanted, he
shook her once more for emphasis, watching her hair fly out behind
her. “Promise me that you will wash that dye out of your hair and
resume your normal colour. You may be leaving yourself open to
further attack by colouring it white.” He was expecting some
objection from Francesca, and was surprised when she made no
attempt to argue. He had no idea where the sudden urge to warn her
about the hair colour came from, but he couldn’t discount the
notion that she may have been attacked for no other reason than she
had been mistaken for her companion.

“
Do you think Tom and Charlie thought I was
Madeline?”

Her
accuracy was unerring, leaving him impressed and horrified in equal
measure. She was looking at him far too closely for him to be able
to get away with lying, and even if he was inclined to fob her off,
something deep within him knew he just couldn’t do it.

“
I think it may be a possibility. Until we can find out what
they wanted with either you or Madeline, you cannot put yourself at
risk. If you stay at home, there is really no reason why you should
die your hair anyway. There is nothing to hide from Madeline,
Bertie or me, who all know who you really are.”

He watched a vague look sweep over Francesca’s face and bit
back a curse of frustration. He knew she was still keeping secrets
from him, and wished she would take him into her confidence.
But I only arrived in the village
yesterday,
he thought. He was lucky she had
confided in him as much as she had. Still, he was far too used to
being the one who dictated the pace of the events around him. It
grated on him to be at the mercy of a beautiful female. Biting back
his frustration, he eased his hold on her shoulders, sliding his
hands slowly down her slender arms to gently hold her hands. “Don’t
take any unnecessary risks, Francesca,” Simon whispered, hating the
distance between them, but reluctant to do anything about it at the
same time. Releasing his hold on her, he held his elbow out in a
most formal manner, clearly waiting for her to slide her hand into
it so he could escort her home.

Shaking
her head in consternation, Francesca placed her hand tentatively on
his proffered arm. Silence settled between them as they returned to
the house.

“
It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Simon murmured, nodding toward the
moors that lay all around them. Orange and brown bracken lay
interspersed amongst the vast green carpet of the moors. Aside from
the odd bird gliding amongst the winds, there was no other sign of
life. They could have been the only people for miles
around.

“
Harsh but beautiful,” Francesca replied with a sigh. “Don’t be
lulled into a false sense of security,” she cautioned, nodding
toward a darker patch of green at the base of a hill to the right
of them. “Over there is a marsh that will suck you under if you
venture over there. One or two of the villagers have met their end
in that very spot over the years.” She shuddered and hastily looked
away.

“
Are there many marshes around here?” Simon asked with a frown.
He made a mental note of its precise location. It was going to be
difficult enough to spot in the daytime, he couldn’t afford to
wander into it in the middle of the night.

“
A few, but I don’t know their exact location. I usually follow
the trails I took with my uncle whenever I go for a walk in the
moors. It is safest if you stick to the well-trodden
paths.”

“
I’ll remember that when I go in search of the right location
to paint,” he murmured, knowing she still wasn’t convinced that he
was an artist.

“
Of course,” she murmured noncommittally, starkly aware of the
distance between them. It bothered her just how much of an impact
this man had on her in such a short amount of time. They had been
acquainted less than a day, and she could already read his thoughts
as though she had known him all of her life.

Later
that day, Francesca’s words of caution still ringing in his ears,
Simon wandered through the village. It was disturbing for such a
large area to be so deserted. He tried not to stare into the
windows as he passed the many houses lining the main street, but
found himself glancing into the darkness anyway. Although he
couldn’t see anyone, he could practically feel their eyes boring
into his back as he passed.

Carefully keeping his demeanour relaxed, Simon walked through
the village and headed toward the path that led to the tin mine,
clutching his satchel containing his meagre art
supplies.

As he
approached, he studied the desolate buildings of the abandoned
mine. One long single-storey building lay alongside a four-storey
tower nestled amongst a variety of weeds and what appeared to be
building rubble. At the corner of the low slung building he glanced
back toward the village, unsurprised to find the main street still
quiet and empty. Still, his gut instincts warned him that danger
was nearby.

Refusing
to be cowed by anyone posing any particular threat, Simon slowly
worked his way around the perimeter of the buildings, studying the
surrounding area and the escape routes carefully. When everything
appeared undisturbed after several minutes, he made his way around
to the door, disappearing inside moments later as silently as a
ghost in the night.

He
paused inside for several moments to allow his eyes to adjust to
the gloom before walking deeper into the room. It was as cold and
unkempt as outside but there was something about it that made his
instincts ringing. He was fairly certain he was missing something
only couldn’t decide what it was. Taking note of the trolleys and
tools that lined the far wall, he slowly wandered around the empty
barn of a room until he was at the base of the tower that was
undoubtedly the shaft leading to the mines. Deciding not to venture
that far for now, he turned back to the room behind him. Easing his
pistol out of its holster, he slowly edged toward the door that
would take him back outside, one eye on the dark void of the
mineshaft and the other on the various objects littering the main
room.