Page 14 of The Smuggler’s Escape

“The on dits are you’re courting that bluestocking daughter of Darsington’s since you returned to London. No reason to suppose you were interested in Miss de Vallon any longer. Don’t suppose she thought it, either. Thought you only came here to attend the deathbed.”

That was what it looked like, but that wasn’t the whole truth, not by a long shot. But he couldn’t discuss secret government business—not his reason for staying in Amsterdam and London, nor his other reason for returning to Sussex. Although truly, when it came right down to it, all he had really come for was Noelle.

Fool that he was.

“What happened,” Harry said, “you saw Noelle again and your cock took the place of your brain?”

“Does it matter? What’s done is done.” Apparently, his cock had been controlling his brain for years.

“Can’t back out now, I suppose.” In a philosophical tone, Harry added, “With that figure and the French blood, she’ll be exciting in bed, I don’t doubt. She’ll probably stay faithful long enough to give you a son or two.”

Heedless of roots and rabbit holes, Richard headed toward the alehouse at a canter before he murdered Lord Harry Walsh.

~ ~ ~

How she had managed an indifferent face Noelle scarcely knew. After Richard had lifted her so reluctantly onto the horse, he had withdrawn his hands as if he couldn’t bear to touch her.

She made herself concentrate on keeping the big chestnut to a walk and making sure Mr. Tunbridge didn’t fall. If Richard’s disgust caused him to repudiate her, all the better, since she had no intention of marrying him.

Except that his attitude was so unfair. He was the one at fault. She was the one who’d been wronged. If he hadn’t abandoned her, she wouldn’t have taken up smuggling. Her reason for kissing all those men made complete sense as preparation for her disaster plan. She hadn’t even enjoyed it much. She’d never imagined it would lead to bets on who would steal her supposed virtue.

Noelle had almost reached the Pig in a Poke but was far from regaining her inner composure when Ned Bailey, the groom, came striding along the path toward her. “Ned, thank heavens!” Exasperatingly, the words came out on something suspiciously like a sob.

“Miss Noelle!” Ned said. “What be you doing here at this time of night?” He wagged his head at the slumped figure behind her. “Oh, that Mr. Tunbridge. I reckoned I’d find him along here someplace when his horse come running into the stable yard. I come as soon as we got him tethered.”

“Support Mr. Tunbridge, please. His arm is broken.” Noelle squeezed herself off the horse the instant Ned’s hands propped up Mr. Tunbridge. To her chagrin, her voice trembled. “I can’t go into the yard with my skirts hitched up like this.”

“I should say not, miss,” Ned said. “You don’t want to be going into the yard at all, nor into the inn. Not the right sort of company for a young lady. Puts all manner of wrong ideas in people’s heads.”

It seemed too many people already had wrong ideas about her. Even old Ned, although he wouldn’t have participated, might have heard about that awful bet. She glanced at him and by the uneasy look he returned, knew for certain that he had.

She had only herself to blame. But she had to smuggle. She had to take risks, and therefore she had to have contingency plans.

She put her chin up. “Lord Boltwood escorted me here. And you needn’t look so awkward. I know they’ve been making vulgar bets about me. When Lord Boltwood heard, he floored Lord Harry.” She finished adjusting her skirts. “I explained to Lord Boltwood that I had to see Mr. Towne about more sketches.” Which would sound plausible to Tim Tunbridge, while letting Ned know she had come about the smuggling.

Ned nodded his hoary head. He set the horse in motion and Noelle fell into step beside him.

“I’m right pleased to hear Lord Boltwood is home again,” Ned said. He ruminated for a minute or two and went on, “We’ve had some pretty doings tonight, miss, what with that pesky Lieutenant Hale searching the house, and Lord Harry and Mr. Tunbridge taking it into their heads to risk their necks racing along the path in the dark.”

Peste. “Is Lieutenant Hale still here?”

“No, and he didn’t find nothing. Made him look like the fool he is. Who’d be delivering kegs here in the middle of a cockfight, I ask you?” He winked at her.

“All’s well that ends well, then?”

“Aye, though some of the usual fellows didn’t show. Mr. Towne would have liked a bigger crowd.”

So some of the goods were as yet unaccounted for. “Hopefully, the evening’s only casualty is Mr. Tunbridge.”

“Barring a bit of a scrap over one of the cocks, no one else that I know of, miss,” Ned said.

Good, no one had been arrested or shot.

Ned went on, “But you mustn’t go into the taproom with the crowd that’s here. I’ll have to ride for the doctor for Mr. Tunbridge, but meantime, what am I to do with you?”

“You needn’t do anything with me. I’ll wait in the kitchen with Millie and Mrs. Towne until Mr. Towne can spare me a moment. Lord Boltwood will be along shortly with Snowflake.” She strained her ears, but detected no sound of approaching horses.

Richard might never want to see her again, but hopefully he would at least bring her horse.