Page 16 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Millie cheerfully dodged Mrs. Towne’s fist, piled the empty tankards on a tray, and headed back to the taproom. A wave of rowdy cheers swept through the open door. “Boltwood!” someone shouted, followed by much thumping of tankards and booted feet. The door swung shut, cutting off a ribald jest.

Noelle’s heart pounded with sickening force. She took a deep breath and a swallow of porter and tried to shut her mind to Richard’s presence. He could hardly berate her here. “Don’t be cross with Millie on my account. She has a kind heart.” She took another deep breath and ordered her heart to cease its idiotic reaction.

Mrs. Towne shook her head. “You’re Quality, miss, and shouldn’t be hobnobbing with the likes of us. I don’t know what my Geoff was about letting you in on the free trade.”

Even had Noelle been able to concentrate, she wouldn’t have replied to this obvious sop to Mrs. Towne’s conscience. Mrs. Towne wouldn’t have said no to Noelle’s sizeable and repeated investments in the local smuggling business, any more than her husband had. Thanks to the money Richard had paid her for that one night of lust, she’d been able to amass quite a substantial sum over the past two years.

She should be grateful.

Noelle suppressed a huff at this absurd thought and took another gulp of porter. Forget about Richard; think about why you’re here. “Can we not call Mr. Towne into the kitchen for a moment? We have to find a way to deliver the goods quickly. I have a plan, but I must consult with him.”

Mrs. Towne patted her hand. “Now, now, Miss Noelle, you leave the delivery to the menfolk. You’ve done your share in the planning, and the drawings you’ve done have prettied up the kitchen and tap and fooled the excisemen as well, but it fair riles me to see a young lady like you dressing in castoff clothing and venturing out by yourself at night. We’ll need another drawing of the Restless Rose, by the way. It got knocked off the wall and soaked with ale the other day.”

The door from the tap swung open. “In here, is she?” Richard Boltwood marched into the kitchen, an arm around Millie and a tankard in his hand. “A toast to my beautiful bride, and kisses all round!” He gave Millie a smacking buss on the lips and a whack on the behind, and took a hearty swallow of ale. “Evening, Mrs. Towne!”

The landlady heaved herself off the bench and into a curtsey, but Richard had already moved on. He fixed a glittery gaze on Noelle.

“Come, my love,” he said softly.

Ah, mon Dieu. He slammed his tankard onto the table and held out a peremptory hand. “Come, my sweet, the company awaits you!”

Despite herself, she shrank against the bench, but he swooped down, lifted her from the settle, and flung her across his shoulder.

He strode into the taproom. “My blushing bride!” he cried. She clutched his coat for dear life amid roars and cheers, while he whacked her on the derriere just as he’d whacked Millie the whore. “And her beautiful round bum!”

Noelle thumped him on the back, and thumped him again, and he laughed and swung her around and around, sending hair pins flying and her hair over her face. He let go and barely caught her, pulled her across his shoulder and slid her to her feet, then gripped her in one relentless arm as her heart pounded and her head whirled. He crushed her hard against him, breast to breast, eye to eye, breathed ale and anger into her mouth and said oh, so softly, “Kiss me, my love.”

She tried to shake her head, but it was still spinning. She pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes tight shut.

“You kissed the others,” he whispered. “Therefore, you will kiss me.”

Noelle opened her eyes and read his. She shuddered.

“Put your arms around me,” he said. “Show them how passionately you love me and only me, you and your kissable lips and your delectable round bum.”

“Salaud,” she swore. She put her arms around his neck in front of all those hooting people. “I hate you.” She kissed him hard and furiously while they all stared. He tasted of ashes and rage. “I loathe and despise you, fils de—”

But she couldn’t say that. She couldn’t denigrate his mother. It wasn’t Lady Boltwood’s fault that Richard was such a beast.

“Very wise,” Richard said. Abruptly, he let her go. “Geoff, my betrothed wants a word with you in the kitchen. But first, a round on me!”

Noelle shook her skirts into place and stuck out her tongue at Richard, knowing it would please the crowd, most of whom were well known to her. She wouldn’t let them think her humiliated. Wouldn’t let Richard think he had won.

She would finish telling him what she thought of him later. To the tune of claps and cheers, she marched through the door to the kitchen.