Kiss From a Rogue (6 page)

“Good evening, Lady Montgomery.” The stranger reached for her free hand, but she evaded contact by locking her fingers together over Tony’s arm.

“Good evening, Captain Ruford, but I’m Mrs. Sinclair now.”

“Mrs…. What?”

“You’re interrupting our honeymoon, so we’d like to get on with the business at hand,” Tony said.

“Married? When? You said nothing last time we met.”

Tony wasn’t sure if the captain was angry or just shocked.

“There are a great many things I have never discussed with you, Captain.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed. “How long have you known one another?”

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but the lady beat him to it.

“We met at an assembly in Weymouth. Two years ago.”

“I fell in love at first sight,” Tony jumped in. “But alas, the lady was already taken. I thought I would perish of unrequited love.” He felt Sylvia’s gaze on him. Remembering the look on his brother’s face whenever Ben spoke of or glanced at his wife, Tony tried to effect the same besotted expression as he looked upon Sylvia now.

With only the pitiful light of a lantern at their feet, he felt more than saw her breathing hitch, her expression change. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her even closer to his side. Her curves fit against him perfectly, just as he’d known they would.

The captain turned his head to spit out a stream of tobacco. “Montgomery’s been dead thirteen months. What kept you?”

“And an agonizing thirteen months it has been. I wanted to wait the appropriate interval. I want no one to cast aspersions on my lovely Sylvia.” Tony leaned over with the intention of dropping a chaste but loving kiss on her cheek, strictly for the benefit of their audience. But she turned at the same time, so his kiss landed directly on her mouth. They both froze for an instant.

Remembering their audience, Tony brought his hand up to cup her cheek, still kissing her. She leaned into his touch. Under other circumstances, he would have taken it further, tasted her. The captain loudly cleared his throat.

Tony pulled back. He had to grasp Sylvia’s elbow to steady her. He took pride in the fact it took her several seconds to open her eyes again. Tony suddenly realized the sailors had slowed down in their unloading of the boats, and Sylvia’s men were staring at him. Only when she flashed a look of reassurance at them did they resume their movements.

“I see you were serious about interrupting your honeymoon.” The captain spat again. “I would be just as anxious to be getting beneath her skirts. Shall we get to business, then?”

Tony took a half-step forward, putting Sylvia half behind him. How dare this piece of scum even look upon her? He felt pressure against the small of his back. He reached around, and felt a weighted cloth thrust into his hand. The purse.

“Yes, Captain, let’s finish as quickly as possible, shall we? I’ve much more important business to attend to once we get home.” Tony dropped the purse into Ruford’s outstretched hand.

“Them government lads continue to dog me,” Ruford said, hefting the purse. “I’ll need more—”

“We’ve had our own problems,” Tony interrupted before Ruford could get going. “The Revenue agents have been sniffing around the village. We aren’t going to give you any more than the original agreed-upon price, for the original number of casks. If anything, we should be paying you less to cover
our
increased expenses.”

By now the men had finished unloading the boats, and Sylvia’s watchdogs had gathered at the base of the cliff. Ruford’s men stood between them and the boats. The redheaded lad pushed his way to the front of the group until he stood on the other side of Sylvia. Except for the slap of waves on the shore, silence reigned for a moment.

Tony saw one of the sailors and two of the watchdogs reach for weapons at their waist. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.

“I am feeling generous,” Ruford said at last. “Consider it a wedding gift.” He waved to his men, and they began piling into the boats and heading back out to the bay.

Tony almost allowed himself to relax. A few more minutes, and this charade would be at an end. Sylvia’s men would let him go, and she’d be eager to show her appreciation for his help. He was about to become much better acquainted with Sylvia and her eminently kissable lips.

“It appears you chose your champion well, my lady.” Ruford gave her another bow, then turned his attention back to Tony. “As enjoyable as transactions with her ladyship have been, I’m relieved to be dealing with a man again. It will be much easier to conduct business with you. We understand each other, I think.”

Tony found himself calmly nodding in agreement, though he felt anything but.

Ruford leaned closer. Tony barely heard him over the stench. “Don’t know how much longer I would have continued. Can’t do business with a chit or a cub. Just ain’t right.”

Tony heard the outraged inhale from the redheaded lad at Sylvia’s other side. She forestalled his protest with an elbow to his ribs.

“Until next time, Sinclair,” Ruford said, and strode off to the waiting boat.

“But Captain—”

Ruford ignored Sylvia’s call. “Enjoy your honeymoon!” As they rowed out to the bay, the men in his boat joined in with crude suggestions of how to pass the night.

Tony wished he could cover her ears. Though he had designs on her person, a lady shouldn’t be subjected to such coarse comments.

When the darkness had swallowed up the last boat, she turned to her waiting men. “We’ll go up to the house and let Mr. Sinclair collect his things. The rest of you go back to the inn, as usual.”

There were murmured replies, and within moments Tony was hiking back up the cliff path, accompanied by Sylvia and her watchdogs. No one attempted conversation until they were on level ground, traversing a gravel path flanked by clumps of fragrant lavender, the single lantern casting menacing shadows over the wildly overgrown shrubs.

“Thank you for your assistance this evening, Mr. Sinclair.”

Tony grinned at her businesslike tone. He could pretend nothing had happened between them, too. “Your watchd—your men will follow our agreement?” He glanced at the black sky above, the stars hidden by rain clouds.

“Of course they will.”

Soon after, Tony changed back into his own clothes and hurried down to the brightly lit hall. Despite the pack of watchdogs that hounded his every movement, a true rake would find a way to take advantage of the situation, not to mention the widow. With her husband dead more than a year, she must be lonely for company by now. Lonely for more youthful companionship, at any rate. And her reactions to his advances so far had proven she was receptive. Amenable. Dare he say eager?

“Since Ruford now believes there’s another man involved, he should mind his manners. Once again, thank you.” She held her hand out, but it wasn’t for him to kiss.

Tony would rather kiss than shake hands on their gentleman’s agreement, but he’d take what he could get, for the moment. Her grip was just like her, firm and unhesitant. Would the watchdogs clout him over the head again if he tugged her close and kissed her? “You’re sure you can handle Ruford from here on out?” As disagreeable as their brief meeting had been, Tony couldn’t imagine a lady having to face the scoundrel on a regular basis.

The front door burst open. “We’ve got a problem, Syl.” The redheaded youth shouldered his way through the mass of men clustered in the hall, shooting daggers at Tony when he got close. “Ruford’s first mate and another crewman are down at the Happy Jack, drinking ale.”

“There’s nothing unusual about that, Jimmy.” She turned to Tony. “You’ll need to stay here a while longer. As soon as they’ve gone, you can go back to your room at the inn, as we planned.”

Jimmy shook his head. “They got rooms for the night.”

Tony felt a sense of foreboding. “I take it that
is
unusual for them?”

“Not to worry,” Sylvia said, a little too brightly. “They’ve stayed the night at least once before, and been gone in the morning. Sometimes the ship needs provisions and can’t wait until they reach the next harbor. That’s all.”

“Not this time, Syl. We heard the mate talking to Spencer. The captain sent him to find out what sort of wedding gift would be most appropriate for you and the gent.” Jimmy turned a meaningful gaze on Tony. “Even if it takes a while.”

So much for simple plans.

Sylvia tucked a curl behind her ear. Tony itched to do it for her. “And what did Spencer say?”

“He suggested a silver candelabra for the dining table.” Jimmy folded his arms. “And thanks to Mrs. Spencer, by dawn the whole village will know about your fake marriage.” Jimmy turned to Tony so they were standing toe to toe. “Looks like you aren’t leaving anytime soon.”

Sylvia made a small sound and sat on the footman’s bench with a thud.

Tony joined her. Several of the men began talking, their disjointed conversations washing over him as he sorted through the consequence of this little snag in their plans.

“What if we just told the captain it was a lie?”

“Are you daft?”

“The gent just has to stay here a few days. They’ll go away, and my lady will get a nice candelabra.”

“But the captain will expect to see the gent again. He’ll have to stay.”

“Only until the next delivery. Then we’ll just say he’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Dead, gone. He fell off the cliff.”

“No, we could say he drowned.”

“Even better, we could say he died from—”

“Excuse me?” Talk of his untimely death jerked Tony from his thoughts. The men continued talking. “Gentlemen!” At last the conversation died down. “It’s late, and we’re all tired. May I suggest we examine this problem in the morning? Until then, I’m sure you know a back way so I can get to my room without the first mate seeing me.” Tony looked at the group expectantly.

“No.” He almost missed the quiet statement from the lady at his side. “We can’t risk it.” She turned to him. “You’ll have to stay here.” She stood, seemingly stronger than she had been just a moment ago. “Galen, what do we have available?”

The housekeeper stood on the stairs to be seen above the crowd in the hall. All eyes turned toward her. “I’m afraid the only other upstairs room fit for human occupation is the master’s, my lady.”

“My lady, you can’t be serious!”

“We can’t trust the bugger.”

Sylvia held up her hand, and the men quieted again. “Galen, please prepare the room for our guest.” The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy and went upstairs. “Doyle, please retrieve Mr. Sinclair’s luggage from the inn.”

“Aye, my lady.” One of the watchdogs detached from the crowd and exited the front door.

Tony exchanged glances with Sylvia—hers expressing trepidation—and reconciled himself to spending the night, alone, with a comely widow sleeping in the adjoining bedchamber.

Alone, except for three watchdogs, who produced pillows and blankets and sprawled in the doorway to his room, the doorway to her room, and on a cot in the dressing room that connected the two bedchambers.

Even a seasoned rake would have trouble getting past such a challenge.

But wasn’t the pursuit just as much a part of being a rake as the having? The chase could be almost as much fun as the catch.

Once everyone was finally settled for the night, Sylvia closed the door to her bedchamber, sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at the lit candle on the bedside table. Such indulgence, all the candles they’d had to light tonight.

She’d begun the evening wanting to act more like a smuggler, to think beyond the boundaries of her upbringing, and now she had a seductive stranger sleeping in the next room. Uncle Walcott would be aghast. This situation certainly hadn’t been covered by her education as a genteel young lady.

Sleeping just next door was a handsome, charming man, not related to or acquainted with anyone she knew. A man with smoldering brown eyes and a warm smile that made her want to melt in his arms. She was too mature to indulge in such nonsense. Besides, he probably behaved that way with all women. She was not going to succumb to the charms of a rake.

But she owed him some measure of gratitude, because Mr. Sinclair had solved part of her problem in that Ruford’s crude advances had been completely circumvented. At least for now.

Murmured conversation from the adjoining chamber had her looking toward the dressing room door. She couldn’t make out the words, but knew Mr. Sinclair was probably speaking with Sawyer, who had appointed himself guardian of her virtue, and claimed the valet’s cot in the dressing room for the night.

It was sweet, if a tad overprotective, for some of the men to stay the night to make certain the stranger caused her no harm. There was no real need for protection. A man like Mr. Sinclair might break her heart, if she gave him the chance—which she wouldn’t—but she knew instinctively that he would never physically hurt her.

On the other hand, her instincts had also persuaded her to accept Montgomery’s suit, and look how well
that
had turned out. She tiptoed to the hall door and opened it.

“Do you need something, my lady?” Corwin rose up on one elbow from his pallet in her doorway.

“Just making sure the candles were all out,” she whispered.

“Like old times, isn’t it, my lady?” A dark shape farther down the hall shifted, and Sylvia recognized Monroe, sprawled in front of the adjoining bedchamber’s doorway. He and his wife and their five children had slept in the rose salon most of February after a storm had ripped away their roof.

“Fewer people in the house this time, though.” Hearing his answering chuckle, Sylvia wished both men a good night and closed her door again.

No one was going to get past Corwin or Monroe. From either direction.

She swiftly changed into her night rail and huddled under the blankets, suddenly chilled. Where was a warm male body when she needed it? “Macbeth!” she called softly. No answer. With so many people in the house, the cat was likely staying on the upper floors, away from strangers and nearer to the mice. Sylvia wrapped her arms around her knees, drawn up to her chest.