Page 4 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Hale gasped and let go, stumbling in his haste to back away.

“Mademoiselle de Vallon,” Richard, the new Lord Boltwood, said in a soft, smooth voice that stirred Noelle’s blood—just as it had from the first day they’d met. He swept her a mocking bow. “Jilt my own sweet Noelle? How can you think such a thing of me?”

A wave of unutterable longing swept over her. She froze, unable to think or speak. He took her cold, resistless hands in his warm ones and raised them to his lips.

She shook off that stupid, stupid longing and barely stopped herself from sagging with relief. She despised Richard, but he wasn’t as ghastly as her disaster plan. What was more, Hale had no choice but to believe Richard, even to fear him.

Richard kissed her knuckles, and her palms, and then her fingertips, one by one, while Hale fumed and the other excisemen gaped. He glanced at Noelle from under wicked lashes—exactly as he had done when seducing her years before.

Hot blood rushed to Noelle’s face. Overwhelmed with mortification, she tried to jerk her hand away, but Richard grinned and held tight. Lieutenant Hale stood rigid with outrage, and one of the excisemen did his best to turn a laugh into a cough.

“My eager and delectable Noelle,” Richard said, finally letting go. “As you see, I am indeed here, salivating in expectation of our tryst.”

“You’re revolting!” she hissed at him in French.

He laughed, running his eyes over her state of undress. She remembered that look. It still melted her insides.

But now it infuriated her, too. “You are a vile, disgusting pig!” she added, again in French.

“I suppose I deserve that for subjecting you to the company of these rough, lowly fellows.” He looked her up and down again, the rat, and it shouldn’t have affected her, but it did.

The flash of his smile in the darkness told her he knew it. “Your delightfully flimsy attire, however suited to stolen moments of passion, will never do in this chilly wind. Shall I loan you my coat? Better yet, let me escort you indoors.” He offered her his arm.

She made no move to take it. “No, damn you! You must leave!”

“Damned I undoubtedly shall be,” Richard said, “so I make a practice of enjoying this fleeting life to the fullest.” Before she had a chance to protest, he reached over her head and removed the key on its ribbon. He handed it to the younger exciseman. “Lock the back gate and return the key to me.”

“To me!” Noelle cried. “The key is mine!”

“Forgive me,” Richard said with a mocking flourish. “Return the key to Mademoiselle de Vallon.” He ordered the other of Hale’s minions to retrieve the lantern, and turned to the rigidly silent Hale. “Lieutenant, when you speak to Sir Matthew, kindly inform him that mademoiselle and I shall follow shortly.”

“No, we shan’t!” Noelle said. “Lieutenant Hale must take his men and go. Why should he return to my uncle?”

“Because I said so,” Richard said, as if it were obvious. Hale glared but knew enough to acknowledge defeat. He stomped toward the house.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Noelle railed. “It’s ridiculous that everyone obeys you just because of who you are, but if you must order them about, why not just send them away? There will be a horrid scene when my uncle hears about this!”

“My dear girl, by morning everyone in the village will have heard.” Once again, he offered her his arm. “I agree that speaking with your lamentable uncle is unpleasant under all circumstances, but perhaps we can improve the experience a trifle by giving him some happy news.”

She frowned up at him. He was talking in riddles. Playing games. Beguiling her, as he had done from the day they’d met.

Making her want to kill him. “What happy news?”

“Our betrothal, my love. What else?”