Page 71 of The Smuggler’s Escape

How horrid, Noelle thought, at the same time perfectly understanding the girl’s motive. “And her lover agreed to it?”

“So she told me,” Richard said. “None of my business either way.”

Noelle was silent until she realized where they were headed. “We’re going to the gatekeeper’s lodge?” Through the trees, a thin trail of smoke rose from the chimney, and lamplight showed through a window. “Is someone else there?”

“I sincerely hope not. I started the fire and left the lamp there myself. A love nest should be cozy, after all. The bed seems in decent shape, and vermin have not yet taken over. I shall have to find someone to occupy the place soon, though.”

They went into the little cottage: a parlor with a settle, two small tables, and several tubs of smuggled brandy up against one wall; a kitchen with a deal table; a pantry with a few pieces of crockery on the shelves. Richard took the lamp from the table in the parlor and carried it through to the bedroom. Noelle shouldn’t have been shivering quite so much, because the fire had taken the chill off the tiny room, which was dominated by the bed.

Her mind was dominated by the bed, too.

Perhaps it would not be so very bad. If only she could stop thinking about the future. About fleeing the hangman. About leaving Richard forever. She didn’t love him—she knew that, for he wasn’t worth loving—and yet her heart wept at the thought of never seeing him again.

The wineglasses clattered against each other. Richard removed them from her trembling hands and put them on the chest of drawers, along with the bottle of wine. He took two candlesticks from the sack, set them up on the dresser and lit them, then turned the lamp low. He took off his coat and laid it over the back of the solitary wooden chair near the door.

Live for this moment, a voice whispered inside her. For this one evening, he is yours.

He was beautiful, her Richard. He was large and warm and close, close enough to kiss and caress her. They could kiss all night long if they chose, and no one would interrupt them. She shivered again, in anticipation this time. Her knees went weak, and she clutched at his sleeve.

Richard rolled his eyes at her. “Calm down. I swear to you, my love, my darling, queen of my loins, that I will bring you the ultimate in pleasure. This is a night that you will never forget.”

Noelle’s heart plummeted. She hauled it up again and said briskly, “We should make the bed.” She took the blankets and pillows, set them on the chair, and shook out the sheets. “It will go more quickly if you help me.”

“How fortunate that you know how to make a bed,” Richard said.

“My mother believed a lady should have both a domestic and a literary education. I can knit stockings and sew a tolerable seam. I can bake a cake, and also pluck and roast a chicken.” She paused. “Someone else has to kill it first, though. I’m too tender-hearted for that.”

Richard went around to the opposite side of the bed and followed her instructions. A few short minutes later it was done, pillows fluffed by the headboard, coverlet spread pristine and smooth. “Wonderful,” he said. “We have made our bed.”

Richard eyed his love across the fresh, clean expanse. He turned the bedclothes down. “And now we must lie in it.”

Must we?

“Come here,” he said. She moved slowly around the bed to meet him and stood quiescent, hands folded before her.

Richard bent his head and touched his lips gently to hers. He let out a breathless laugh. “Ah, my sweet Noelle.”

Don’t say that. She wanted no words of love, only passion that drowned out the despair. But she didn’t feel passionate. Was this how a whore felt, pretending excitement that wouldn’t come?

She must welcome him, which tightly folded hands didn’t do. She put her hands on his chest. His arms came around her. She kissed him, as featherlight as the kiss he’d given her.

He held her still, dropped another light kiss on her lips, and drew away. “There’s no hurry. Let’s have some wine.”

~ ~ ~

The cork came out with a pop. With a hand that trembled, Richard poured one glass of wine and then another, slopping a little onto the chest of drawers, and cursed softly. “Damn it, I’m as nervous as a boy with his first girl.”

Noelle stood quiescent by the bed. The evening was not going according to plan. “Why would you be nervous?”

Richard opened drawers and shoved them shut one after another. “Not a single towel. Not a damned scrap of cloth to blot up the wine. I can’t even pour wine without spilling it, you silly girl. Nervous doesn’t begin to describe the tumult within me.”

“I see no reason why you should be in tumult,” Noelle declared. “I’m at your beck and call.”

“Yes, and it’s a confounded nuisance.” He disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a ragged scrap of cloth. “Do you imagine I want it that way?” He mopped up the wine.

She shrugged.

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t want a woman who does what she’s told. I want a woman who loves me.”