Page 7 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Noelle scowled up at him. “A false engagement? That’s absurd, like something in a novel or a play.”

“Not at all. Our engagement will be real unless you break it.”

She shivered again, staring bleakly into the windy darkness. Hurry up, he wanted to say, it’s perishing cold out here, but he held his peace. She was an intelligent woman and would reach the only logical conclusion.

“It may be real to you, but it won’t be to me,” Noelle said fiercely, and led the way into the house.

~ ~ ~

Richard’s kisses were even more intoxicating than Noelle remembered. And when he touched her, she . . . dissolved into a puddle of desire.

After all this time, had nothing changed?

Yes, she had changed. She was no longer the foolish virgin who had succumbed to Richard’s seductive power. She knew full well that those kisses and caresses led to nothing but misery and chagrin.

But when Richard was present, she lost the ability to think clearly. It wasn’t just his looks, although his thick, dark hair and grey eyes and the lean grace of his movements appealed to her. It wasn’t his soft, cool voice or his enjoyment of life, although . . .

She shouldn’t be thinking about what she liked about Richard. Something was very wrong with what was going on, but she couldn’t pin it down. He couldn’t possibly want to marry her. Yes, he had proposed marriage soon after they’d first met, but he’d immediately changed his mind. What other reason would he have for leaving the very day after he’d taken her virginity?

That the proposal had been nothing but a tool for seduction. He’d never written to her. All she’d received was a letter from his banker, stating that an account had been opened in her name with a balance of one hundred fifty pounds.

In other words, he had paid her off as if she were a harlot. Over the past months, reports of his scandalous behavior in Amsterdam had trickled back to Sussex. He was a heartless libertine. She would never consider wedding such a man.

None of this mattered. She forced herself to think rationally. His appearance tonight was a godsend, for her disaster plan would have been much, much worse. She would trifle with Richard Boltwood for a few days, while she reorganized the distribution of tonight’s contraband. Once the brandy was delivered and paid for, she would take her share of the profits and flee.

She gritted her teeth into a smile, stuck her hand into the crook of Richard’s arm, and marched into the parlor.

Uncle Matthew, florid, pot-bellied, and sweating even in this chilly room, was still berating poor Lucretia. “Can you not even make yourself presentable for guests?”

“But, Sir Matthew, I was preparing for bed, and you asked me to come quickly—”

“Enough! Have you no sense of decorum? Greet our guest as a proper hostess should. Must I do everything myself? I have sent that Hale fellow about his business. I suppose I shall have to deal with these improper young people myself as well.”

Aunt Lucretia, in an old blue round gown with wisps of blonde hair escaping from under a hastily tied cap, tripped gamely forward. “Lord Boltwood, please accept my condolences on the loss of your father.”

“You are all that is kind, Lady Tifton, but it wasn’t much of a loss. I disliked him and won’t miss him.”

“You are offensive, sirrah!” Sir Matthew snapped. “One must never speak ill of the dead.”

“A senseless dictum,” Richard said. “Surely vilification does far more harm to the living.”

“I would never speak ill of my parents, living or dead,” Noelle said. “Lord Boltwood was kind to me.” She would be eternally grateful to him, but she could hardly say so. She’d had to tell her aunt and uncle that he’d called her to his deathbed to give her the little cross.

“He will be greatly missed,” Sir Matthew trumpeted.

Richard ignored him and raised Lucretia’s hand to his lips. “Do I have your permission to marry your niece?”

Lucretia’s color fluctuated, and her eyes darted unhappily toward her husband, whose countenance was rapidly purpling at the implication that his wife had the authority to do or say anything. She stammered, “Yes indeed, that is to say, I have no right, as Noelle is of age and—” She broke off and turned hastily to Noelle. “Dearest, this is wonderful news.” Tears glowed in her big brown eyes. “I’m so very happy for you.”

Ah, mon Dieu. Noelle endured an embrace which flooded her with guilt.

“Stop talking nonsense, Lucretia,” Sir Matthew barked. “You may as well know, Lord Boltwood, that had you not already compromised my niece this evening, I would have opposed this match. You have no manners and no respect for your elders.”

Richard bowed. “How gratifying that my efforts at discourtesy have met with such success.”

In spite of herself, Noelle had to stifle a giggle. A reminiscent pang assailed her. Richard had always made her laugh.

Sir Matthew’s face darkened even more. “Not only that, reports indicate that your behavior was licentious in the extreme during your protracted absence from Sussex. You are a godless profligate and an abomination in the eyes of the Lord.”