Page 6 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Noelle started toward the garden door. “Captain Hale’s opinion means less than nothing to me, and the same goes for his men.”

“What they report, others will believe. If you don’t care about your reputation, then I will have to care for you.”

Noelle tossed her head and walked faster. “I am a Daughter of the Revolution. I am above such pettiness as reputations.”

Good Lord, she was still fixed on that bloody catastrophe of a revolution. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you are no longer in France.” If she were, she would probably be dead, but he’d never get her to admit that. He kept pace with her. “In England one lives or dies by one’s reputation. Your uncle will be justifiably angry when he hears you sneaked out to meet me—”

“I did not sneak out to meet you!”

“—while the news of our engagement will go a long way towards placating him.”

Noelle stormed out of the garden. Richard restrained himself from helping her shut the heavy door. In her recalcitrant mood, gentlemanly behavior would likely inflame her even more.

She glared at him and pushed the door into place. Damned if you don’t, he thought with a sigh. If she weren’t so bright and beautiful, so fiery and unafraid... No sane man would choose to tie himself to such a tigress.

Evidently, he wasn’t sane, and even after all this time, he wanted her—needed her—with a yearning that went soul-deep.

“My uncle doesn’t deserve to be placated.” She took the key from around her neck.

Across the lawn, one of the tall French doors swung open. Sir Matthew Tifton’s pompous tones, elevated to a bellow, assailed their ears. “I set her waywardness entirely at your door, Lucretia. Why can you not manage that niece of yours?”

“True,” Richard murmured, “but what about your poor, hapless aunt?” In the light of the lantern, Noelle’s fierce expression dissolved into dismay.

The bellowing continued. “Clearly, there is a reason you have not been blessed with children. If you cannot manage one girl—” Sir Matthew appeared briefly in the doorway and turned back toward the house, his voice rising in fury. “Do you realize, madam, that your niece went outdoors in her nightdress to meet young Boltwood and advertised her folly to the excisemen? Word will be all over the village by morning. Have you no idea how her behavior affects my standing in the community? All because you cannot control one foolish girl!”

“That’s so unfair!” Noelle cried. “Even he can’t control me, much less poor Lucretia. I should like to kill him!”

“Indeed.” Richard seldom felt sympathy for others, but even his indifferent heart suffered a twinge for pretty Lucretia Tifton, barren and at the mercy of a self-righteous, fault-finding windbag.

Sir Matthew stalked onto the flagstone path. “Come indoors this minute, both of you! By God, Boltwood, if your father were still alive, he would take a birch rod to you.”

Actually, his father had done far worse. Fortunately, the old villain was dead at last, and Richard intended to think about him as seldom as possible. “In good time, you old coot,” he called. “It’s no fun kissing my future bride under your disapproving nose.” He pulled Noelle close and soundly kissed her, and when she tried to draw away, he kissed her again, while one hand squeezed her firm, round buttock under the flimsy fabric and the other trailed up and down her spine. She shuddered, and he knew it wasn’t from the cold.

Sir Matthew stomped back into the house, slamming the door behind him. A pane of glass fell and shattered on the stone path.

And shattered their nicely developing kiss as well.

Noelle pushed away and pounded him with a clenched fist. “Don’t,” she said in a strangled voice.

Richard took pity and let go. He had her right where he wanted her, so he could afford to be patient. He watched indulgently while she fitted the key in the lock and struggled to turn it with fingers that must be stiff with cold. It served her right, but he managed to refrain from laughing. “Hurry up, woman, or give me the key. It’s well-nigh freezing out here.” When she finally finished, he took her hand and hustled her toward the house.

She came readily enough, but said, “I’m not going to marry you, not to placate my uncle, not to save my reputation, not even to help my aunt, because Uncle Matthew will carp at her regardless, and in any event—”

After a few fascinatingly pregnant seconds, he said, “In any event, what?”

“I don’t want to marry you,” she said, snatching her hand back as if she’d suddenly noticed he’d taken it. “I shall tell Uncle Matthew the same story I told Lieutenant Hale, that I went to look for moths.”

“That worked so well with Hale,” Richard said.

Impatiently, she flapped her hand. “Since he is not only much less intelligent than Hale but determined to find everything I do objectionable, he won’t even question it. I shall say your arrival was entirely by accident.” She paused. “What were you doing in the dovecote?”

“Waiting for you, darling.” This was true, more or less. He’d been watching her window, contemplating tossing some pebbles up at it, when the excisemen arrived. He’d climbed the garden wall and hidden in the dovecote to await events. “That’s my story, and I intend to stick to it.”

In the light of the lantern, an expression compounded of exasperation and disgust crossed her face. “And I intend to refuse your flattering offer, so you needn’t feel that your so-called honor will be besmirched.”

Since now was clearly the wrong moment to explain the ramifications of a centuries-old code of conduct, Richard decided on compromise. Of course, it wasn’t really a compromise; he fully intended to possess Noelle—or rather, repossess her—regardless.

“That is entirely your decision, my love,” he lied. “However, I make it a rule to avoid unpleasantness wherever possible. Since a lady can draw back from an engagement, I suggest you agree to marry me to appease your uncle. Later, you may jilt me if you choose.”