Chapter Eighteen
The need to be with her overruled everything his head and his training told him. Seb used many excuses to justify it—another pair of eyes, shewasresourceful, they were only going to be observing—but he knew without a doubt the only reason he had allowed her to come was because he was emotionally unsettled and for some reason Gem’s presence made him feel better. Right now he wanted to feel better, not seething or lost in the past.
She had managed to lower herself from the window without needing his help and, after camouflaging the bottom of the rope as best they could in the bushes below, they silently skirted the garden, keeping to the shadows until they were well clear of the house. It was a good mile from Penhurst Hall to the sea across the Downs and one they did uttering few words. Seb was understandably preoccupied, yet she seemed much the same. Maybe it was nerves or fear of what they were doing, but he couldn’t shake the thought that there was something else going on in that clever head of hers.
Gem jumped out of her skin when one of his Invisibles stepped out of his hiding place, but to her credit barely a squeak came out of her mouth. ‘Good evening, sir. All is quiet now, but there was a flash just up there on the cliff about an hour ago. Nothing since.’
‘Where is everyone?’
‘There are men posted every half a mile from Birling Gap to Cuckmere Haven. Gray has arrived in Portsmouth and is with the Excise Men ready to board the vessel once she has offloaded.’ Assuming that theEspérance de Dieuwas a smuggling ship, then they needed it to remain one for as long as feasibly possible—albeit with a slightly different crew—to allow the King’s Elite to infiltrate the organisation on the Continent before word got out of Penhurst’s capture. The ship could lead them to the rotten core of the Boss’s organisation.
‘You expect them tonight?’ Gem’s eyes were wide. ‘It looks like rain.’ An understatement. Such an angry sky suggested a storm.
‘We have to expect them every night, but tonight it’s cloudy and as there is little moonlight it makes conditions perfect. As long as the weather holds off for a few hours.’ He watched her eyes automatically turn towards the ocean and study the black horizon and quite admired the fact she didn’t simply take his word for it. Seb double-and triple-checked intelligence, too. Lives depended on accuracy.
Seb listened intently as his man brought him up to speed on everything that had been seen or learned in the days he had been incarcerated with Viscount Penhurst and then relieved him of his post to rest. Taking it in turns to snatch a few hours here and there was how they survived a mission. It was exhausting work and being exposed to the elements for long hours of surveillance wasn’t fun. Necessary, but mind numbing.
Gem watched him unravel the large rectangle of oilskin which he had brought and fold it in half before laying it on the ground. ‘There you go. Our palatial home for the night.’ He lifted one corner to allow her to sandwich herself between the layers. At that moment it dawned on him that he should have brought two. Climbing in beside her would remind him of being in bed. Cosy. Warm. Intimate. He dropped the sheet and sat on the damp ground next to it, rummaging in his bag for his small field telescope to cover the sudden physical discomfort his errant thoughts were creating.
‘What happens now?’
‘The really exciting part. We get to stare at the sea for two hours.’
‘And there I was thinking the life of a spy was glamorous.’ Gem adjusted her position, rolling on her front and propping herself up on her elbows, tossing the ridiculously thick, golden plait of hair to one side. ‘Pass me that telescope, then.’
He did and smiled as she taught herself how to focus it, scrunching up one eye and unconsciously poking out the tip of her tongue. It was the leastIncomparableexpression he had seen her pull and he found it enchanting. Not as enchanting as the erotic sight of her in the tight breeches which had tormented him as she undulated down the rope above him. Even with the layer of oilskin, that image was seared into his mind for ever. ‘What am I looking for?’
‘Big moving shadows or the occasional and brief flash of light. They are too experienced to use lanterns, but smuggling vessels communicate with those waiting onshore by using gunpowder. A little burns very brightly for a few scant seconds. If we are lucky, we will see flashes both at sea and somewhere along these cliffs or the beaches below.’
‘Like a conversation.’
She caught on quickly, as usual, and that made him smile. ‘Exactly. No replying light means something is amiss so the boat will not sail any closer.’
‘How did things go with your brother?’ The abrupt change of subject didn’t surprise him. The spectre of his past had been hovering all evening.
‘We were cordial. He’s still an arse.’
‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he was involved with Penhurst’s treachery and then you would have the pleasure of arresting him.’ She shot him a cheeky grin, then went back to her telescope.
‘Alas, like your pompous arse, Thetford is merely window dressing. Little trophies of Penhurst’s social standing now that he is rich once again.’
Seb was expecting her to correct him and defend her Duke, and when she didn’t he couldn’t resist another dig. ‘Talking of the windbag, he was glaring at me all night. Did the pair of you have words?’
‘Why don’t you like Westbridge? Specifically, I mean.’
Where to start? The blue blood. The undeserved privilege. The way dukes sneered down their nose at humble bastards. ‘You deserve better than him.’ Which didn’t really answer her question—but as she had asked she deserved his honest appraisal, even though he knew she wouldn’t like it. ‘The fellow only ever talks about himself. He’s detached and self-absorbed. I haven’t seen any evidence of either a sense of humour or any compassion. The man is a bore. A fickle, pompous, arrogant fool.’
‘You really don’t like him, do you?’
‘Ultimately, my opinion is of no consequence. It’s yours that counts. What do you think of him?’ Seb shouldn’t have asked that because he didn’t want to hear her waxing lyrical about the fool’s appeal—although for some reason tonight he kept pushing her to.
‘I’m not sure.’
He hadn’t expected that answer, nor the expression of confusion on her lovely face. Could it be she was having doubts? Doubts which made his silly heart soar. ‘Should you be planning to spend eternity with a man you aren’t sure about?’
‘I don’t think Westbridge will make a bad husband—not like Penhurst.’
‘Hardly a glowing endorsement.’
