Page 103 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Chapter 22

Noelle and Jackson dodged from hedge to bush to tree across the lawn behind Boltwood Manor, and entered the wood by the selfsame path she had followed with Richard the night before. In silence and such haste that Noelle stumbled more than once over a protruding root, they made their way toward the gatekeeper’s lodge. Just before they cleared the trees, a welcoming whinny startled her, accompanied by the snuffle of another horse.

“Snowflake? How did she get here?”

Jackson’s grin was visible even in the darkness. Stupid question, thought Noelle. More to the point, why had he stolen her horse? He helped her into the saddle. She tied the canvas bag to one of the rings.

Jackson lifted his saddlebag, dropped one letter into an oilskin packet secured beneath it, and mounted his horse. He handed the other letter to Noelle.

She put it in her pocket. “What about the silk?”

He patted the saddlebag. “I’ll give it to you later.” They moved toward the edge of the wood. “You’ve been a naughty wench tonight. Knocked a groom on the head and stole a horse.”

Noelle swore at him. “We’ll be pursued, you fool. We should have gone on foot.”

“Takes too long,” Jackson said.

I was counting on that. Did he want them to be pursued?

Why two letters and why one of them later?

Something was very wrong, more wrong than she had anticipated. Although they traversed the road to take another path through wooded land, the bare trees gave them little shelter from the rain. She shivered and listened hard, but no sound penetrated except a stray gust of wind and the crackle of a dead twig beneath Snowflake’s hooves.

“They don’t know where you’re headed, but the sooner we get you safe on the boat, the better,” Jackson said. “You’ll not likely be caught, but you’ll never dare show your face here again. We’ll miss you in the trade, but you understand why I had to do it this way.”

“You had it planned right from the start, didn’t you, Jackson? I’m the ideal scapegoat.”

“It’s your own fault, love, all that revolutionary talk.”

“I meant every word. In my country, the people rule.”

“Spoken like a true hypocrite,” Jackson said.

Noelle bristled. “What have I done to deserve that?”

“When it came down to it, your clever planning didn’t fool Lieutenant Hale, did it? You had to whore for Lord Boltwood so he’d use his rank and power to rescue you.”

Noelle gripped the pistol in her pocket. No, regardless of how much he deserved it, she couldn’t kill him in cold blood. She let go of the trigger and looked down her nose at him. “Yes, and I regret that,” she said airily. “It wasn’t fair to Hale. He was only doing his job. But I had no choice when our men were in danger.”

“I bumped into him earlier, prowling around my stables. Told him Sir William will have him arrested for trespassing.” He chuckled. “And for wasting His Majesty’s money, too, searching for nothing. I’m just delivering messages to milady tonight, innocent as can be.”

“I wonder if he believed you,” Noelle said.

“Maybe not. Like I told you more than once, love, we should have shot him first chance we got, and buried him with no one the wiser.”

“I don’t hold with murder,” Noelle said. “And stop calling me ‘love,’ you rotten scoundrel. You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Jackson laughed. “What does Lord High and Mighty Boltwood call you? I heard about your little performance last night. Seems you’ve given everyone the right to call you whatever they choose.”

Richard had told her she would regret it, and as usual he was right. “That was to save Tommy Dalbey.”

Jackson snorted crudely. “Poor little Noelle, thinking his lordship would marry a slut who’d do it in front of a parcel of gawking revenuers. All he wanted—apart from a good swive—was proof you’re a spy, and he’ll get that tonight.”

Noelle cursed him at length in French.

Jackson laughed. “You should be thanking me. I’m doing you a favor. You want to dance on the gallows, go right ahead.”

Soon the trees thinned out. Something occurred to her. She withdrew the letter and turned it over. “How will I know where to deliver this? It has no direction written on it.”