Smuggler's Glory (25 page)

“
Let me take a wild guess,” Simon asked cynically, eyeing the
jumbled boxes covering every inch of the outside of the
carriage.

“
Oh, yes,” she snapped, her eyes full of contempt. “My
family.”

Simon
shook his head and cursed fate for being so cruel. Persuading
Francesca to leave was bad enough. There was no chance in Hades she
was going to leave now, especially with her family in
residence.

“
We’ll talk later,” Simon growled, frowning down at her. “Don’t
think for one second this argument is over.”

“
Company,” Pie called from the doorway.

“
Oh, believe me, this argument is definitely over. I am not
going and that is final.” She marched out of the room, her back
ram-rod straight, and stalked straight across the entrance
lobby.

Bertie
was halfway out of the morning room and took a breath to call good
morning to her, only to pause and retreat into the safety of the
room behind him when he caught sight of the look on her
face.

Francesca, fuelled by the strength of her tumultuous
emotions, and the frustration at being unable to make Simon see
sense, yanked open the front door with so much force that it
slammed back against the wall, causing the picture on the wall to
fall off with a resounding clatter.

“
Calm down, Francesca,” Simon warned from behind her, but she
wasn’t listening. He knew from past experience that sometimes it
was best to remain cool in a crisis. It was easier to think
logically without anger to cloud your judgement, but clearly this
wasn’t a lesson that Francesca had learned yet.

Francesca merely shot him a dirty look over her shoulder as
she swept out of the door that was so darkly menacing that Pie
sucked in a wary breath and shook his head. Glancing ruefully at
Simon, he huffed a sigh of commiseration, patted Simon on the
shoulder and retreated to the morning room to watch. Everyone in
the house had heard Francesca shouting, and was under no
misapprehension that she was blazingly angry. He almost felt sorry
for the new arrivals.

Francesca stomped to the top of the stone steps and stood
with her hands on her hips, watching as the carriage pulled to a
stop next to the disused fountain.

“
Wait right there, Simmington,” Francesca snapped, holding a
hand up to the coachman who was beginning to climb down from his
box seat. The man immediately froze and stared in surprise at her.
The shutter slammed down and the greying head of her father peered
out at her from the depths of the carriage. Even from several feet
away, he could hear the relentless moaning of her mother and whiny
sniping of her sisters.

Francesca knew what she was about to do would cause a
considerable amount of strife in her life, but she also fully
appreciated that there simply was no other way.

“
I suggest you get back on your box, Simmington, and turn the
carriage around right now. The guests here are not expected, and
are not welcome.” Francesca’s voice was cold and hard.

Simmington stood indecisively, unsure what to do.

“
Francesca? What the blazes are you talking about, girl?” her
father snapped, slamming open the door and yelling for Simmington
to get the steps. When Simmington jumped to follow his orders,
Francesca stalked forward, yanked the steps out of the coachman’s
hand and threw them into the bushes.

She was
so very sick and tired of living in fear. Fear of Mr Lindsay’s
threatening visits. Fear of enjoying a walk out on the moors in
case she met Charlie and Tom. Fear of Simon leaving and breaking
her heart. She had spent each day since her arrival at Thistledown
living in fear of her family arriving and demanding she return to
the family homestead, so they could sell her like a horse to the
highest bidder.

She had
wealth. She had a house to call her own. She was no burden to
anyone and, although she was making life considerably harder for
herself, she had the freedom to choose what she wanted to do, when
she wanted to do it. Nobody was going to take that away from her.
Not Simon and certainly not her family.

Manners
dictated that she smile, stand back and accommodate her family’s
unexpected and rudely unannounced arrival. Good breeding demanded
that she smile through their snide remarks at the state of the
house, ignore the sniping at her lack of beauty and social skills,
and pretend she hadn’t heard the constant demands from her mother,
and petulant whining of her sisters.

Her
temper demanded that she not waste any more of her life on people
who didn’t care whether she was alive or dead. Who only saw her for
her monetary value and nothing else. Her family’s needs and wants
were most probably the least important matter in her life right
now. Her heart was breaking from the news that Simon was leaving,
tomorrow at the latest.

Turning
toward the carriage, she yanked the door and slammed it closed –
hard.

“
Simmington, get back on your box,” she ordered.

“
I say, Francesca, what the devil are you playing at? Let us
out of here at once.”

“
You aren’t staying. If you head back to Launceston right now I
am sure you will find a coaching inn that will meet your wife’s
exacting standards. I am afraid Thistledown is closed to
unannounced
visitors,”
she snapped crisply, turning away when her mother began to screech
about the ordeals of travelling and she must have rest and
sustenance – now.

She
glared at Simmington, who slapped the reins. The horses had taken
no more than a few steps when the heavy thumping on the roof made
Simmington stop them again.

“
Simmington,” Francesca warned, ignoring the shrieks and wails
coming from within the carriage.

Her
father leaned as far out of the carriage as his shoulders would
allow and he began to shout.

“
I demand you let us out of here, Francesca, this moment, or I
swear to God I will lock you in your room and never let you out
again.”

“
Ha! You could try, you arrogant fop,” Francesca snapped,
standing back and glaring at the coachman. “Simmington, if you
don’t get this carriage out of here I am going inside for my gun
and I won’t be responsible for what I do.”

Simmington jumped, and the horses began to walk. Even from
several feet away Francesca heard the hard thumping on the roof of
the carriage. Simmington stopped the horses once more.

Determined not to be thwarted, and protect Thistledown from
an invasion of probably the most spoilt people God ever put on the
earth, Francesca placed her hands on her hips and shot Simmington a
warning look. Shaking his head, Simmington immediately snapped the
reins and the horses began to move for the third time.

From the
depths of the hall, Simon, who had been watching the interplay
carefully, began to laugh. It was so comical, watching the carriage
stop and start. The groomsmen on the back were struggling to keep
the boxes on top of the conveyance. The jerking of the carriage as
it rocked backward and forward threw Francesca’s father off his
feet, and he kept falling back into the carriage. His disappearance
was heralded with cries of objection from the women he fell on.
Simmington looked as though he was going to have a stroke and the
horses had taken to shaking their heads and stomping their feet in
confusion.

Simon
leaned against the large newel post at the bottom of the steps and
crossed his arms. He was aware of Pie and Archie moving to stand
beside him to watch, and Bertie peering out from the security of
the sitting room. He had never seen this fiery side of Francesca
before and was stunned by it. She was simply beautiful. Her hair
had fallen out of its pins, and lay in wild disarray around her
shoulders. Her pale bosom heaved with the force of her temper but
it was her eyes. Those beautifully, usually warm amber eyes shot
shards of scorching fire that burned him, even from several feet
away.

“
Should we intervene, or wait until they have done a full
circuit of the fountain?” Archie asked wryly, watching as Francesca
waved her fist at the confused coachmen. The funniest thing was the
sight of the two footmen on the back of the conveyance who were
trying desperately to keep all of the boxes on the back; boxes that
continued to fall off when the carriage rocked. They had long since
given up jumping down to collect one or two boxes and had resorted
to one standing on the ground ready to catch any fallers and
immediately throw them back up again to the second, who had taken
to randomly throwing them onto the roof in a haphazard pile that
was likely to fall off anyway.

“
We’ll give it another few minutes,” Simon said, pleased that
Francesca was able to burn off some of her temper. It would make
her less likely to singe his own ears when he sent her to Hugo and
Harriett’s. “As long as they don’t try to take her, or harm her in
any way, we will let her vent her fury at them.”

“
There’s a lot built up,” Bertie called from the sitting room.
“Years of misery and upset they have caused her. Good on her, I
say.”

Simon
nodded, knowing that she needed to get this out of her system. If
she had any chance of laying past ghosts to rest, she had to at
first confront them, as painful as that might be.

Francesca’s patience was wearing thin and she began to wonder
if she should just go and borrow Simon’s pistol and start to pick
them off, one by one.

“
I say, Francesca, you are going to regret behaving like this,”
her father shouted from the carriage. “I demand that you get those
steps back and let us down this instant. I knew I should have taken
the strap to you when you refused to marry that Roger
thingmwhatsit.”

“
I told you she was cruel and heartless. Always was a selfish
one that one,” she heard her mother wail. “Refusing to marry a
perfectly amiable and wealthy gentleman, and for what? To live in
this ramshackle old hovel? It’s not on, I tell you, it simply
cannot continue. She is bringing disgrace upon the entire Hillier
name. It has to be stopped!”

Simon
heard the words clearly and it was enough to push him into motion.
Walking out of the front door, he moved to stand beside Francesca
and slid an arm around her waist in silent support. When she looked
up at him askance, he winked at her, well aware that the carriage
had gone silent. He could see the veritable sea of faces jostling
to get a better view of him but refused to look at them, staring
instead at Francesca’s father.

“
Mr Hillier, I presume,” Simon drawled, his voice cold and
hard. He heard someone gasp from deep within the carriage, but at
least the awful wailing had stopped.

“
Who the blazes are you? Have you taken leave of your senses,
girl, and taken a lover? The scandal! Just what in the hell do you
think you are doing?” Mr Hillier’s florid face grew redder as he
continued to pour vitriol out of the window. “You always were
headstrong but I never took you for a floozy. I didn’t think even
you would stoop that low. Have you never stopped to consider the
effect this has on your poor mother, let alone your sisters’
matrimonial chances?” Hillier turned a hard glare at Simon. “I
don’t know who you are, you scoundrel, but you have taken advantage
of a betrothed woman.”

“
I’m not betrothed,” Francesca spat, refusing to allow her
father to issue such a lie.

“
We agreed a contract with Roger Thingmwhatsit. After a lot of
persuasion on my part, he has finally relented and agreed to take
you off our hands. It’s a done deal,” he snapped, pointing one long
finger at her. “Although God knows how much this is going to cost
me. Now I am going to have to pave the way to informing him that
you are not going into the marriage pure. Heaven forbid you find
out you are with child before the wedding. You will have to get rid
of it, do you understand? Get rid of it!”

Simon
glanced down at Francesca. “Does he ever shut up?”

“
Not really. When he does manage to get a word in, he takes the
opportunity to make up for lost time.” She sensed Simon still
looking at her and turned toward him, one brow raised in query.
“What?”

“
I love you,” he whispered, smiling gently at the shock on her
face.

“
Pardon?” she gasped, staring at him with a mixture of delight
and confusion. “Are you sure?”

“
Of course I’m sure,” Simon growled, smiling down at her. Some
invisible weight; some unimaginable burden he had been carrying
around for quite some time suddenly lifted, adding light to the
shadows and bringing forward a peace that he had never experienced
before. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

To the
sound of squabbling coming from inside the carriage, and the
relentless vocal threats to Francesca’s safety, Simon tipped her
chin upward and kissed her the way he had wanted to do for the past
several weeks. Drawing her tight against his chest, he angled his
head and laid siege to her senses.

He had
tried to talk her into leaving for Padstow, only to come across her
anger. Maybe a more seductive persuasion was needed. One thing was
for certain, having stood and watched the depths of Francesca’s
desperation to protect everything she held dear to her heart, he
couldn’t disappear and leave her. He wasn’t cold and callous enough
to simply turn his back and walk away, and leave her to the
mercenary machinations of the man who had sired her. He fully
understood her love of Thistledown. Sometime over the past several
weeks, it had grown on him too. The wild moors, at first glance
barren and bleak, were home to a plethora of wildlife that was
simply awe inspiring. The bracken and craggy bluffs that loomed out
of the ground like sentries keeping a watchful and protective eye
on the barren land were an integral part of the wild and unkempt
landscape. It called to the wildness within him and brought him
peace and mystery at the same time. He loved it almost as much as
he loved the woman in his arms.