Lord Suitor (15 page)

She
could have sworn the mattress dipped, and there was a draft on her neck. But it
was a dream, wasn't it? Mattress and bedcovers didn't move in dreams, surely?

Tessa
opened her eyes and found she stared at the open window, with its curtains
flapping in the wind. Had she left it open? She honestly couldn't remember,
although she knew she'd latched it back when she first arrived. Would she be so
negligent as to leave it wide open for moths and daddy longlegs to get into the
room? Whatever. She needed to close it.

Barefoot,
she padded to the window and pulled it shut. A shadow flicked at the edge of
the lawn but disappeared before she could formulate any ideas on what it could
be. Tessa turned to go back to bed, and a beam of moonlight shone into the room
and illuminated her in the long cheval mirror.

She
stopped in her tracks and stared. Was that wanton shown in the mirror really
her? Her nightrail half off, her hair all over the place, and a dusky mark that
marred the milky-white swell of her breast.

Tessa
took a step closer, and the moon disappeared, leaving the room in shadow and
her as a silhouette. She ran her finger over the skin she thought discolored.
In her dream, hadn't her smuggler kissed her there?

The
moon obliged her by reappearing. Tessa twisted and stood on tiptoe, almost
touching the mirror.

The
bruise on her breast and the red mark on her neck were definitely there.

How
was it possible to dream such things and have them appear?

There
was only one answer to that. It wasn't.

Chapter Fifteen

"I
warn you, Combe, that I intend to pursue this Frenchman and if necessary thrash
him and put him away. He is not going to be allowed to upset the equilibrium of
our people's livelihood." Nat paced his study. "I wish they didn't
feel the need to smuggle, but as they do, they need to be able to go about it
without any extra interference. It's worrisome enough as it is. I'll come to
the inn tonight to talk, but meanwhile spread the word, please. Anyone who works
for Lord Birch or us are under my protection, as everyone should know. And I
will have a reward for information to find out what the hell is going on."

Combe
nodded. His ruddy face contorted with worry. "I'll tell ‘um. Jed Fenner
was off to Babbacombe today to see what he could find out."

"Let
me know what he discovers, please."

Precious
little, Nat thought, if any of the other scouting trips were anything to go by.
However, he proved to be wrong. He spent the rest of the day out and about on
the estate, catching up with his tenants. Later in the afternoon, he took his
dogs for a long walk while he pondered over the happenings in the area and the
knotty problem of how to persuade Tessa to say yes. Nat knew if Mijo and Theo
demanded she agree to the marriage, as a dutiful daughter, she might well acquiesce.
However, he didn't want it to happen like that. If they wed, it would be because
she desired the marriage and him as much as he desired her. No other reason
would do.

The
barking of the dogs brought him out of his reverie, and he looked hard at the
area of bushes they circled. Was someone hiding there and watching him? He
walked warily and thanked the fact that he had a shotgun with him.

"Get
him, boys." He urged the dogs into the bushes and cocked his gun.

There
was a flurry of wings as a covey of partridges flew up. Nat took aim and caught
two of them. They would be a welcome addition to the pot. He sent the dogs to
fetch the birds and then made his way home. He hadn't solved any problems, but
the walk had done him good.

Several
hours later, he was finishing some estate papers in his office when Frost
ushered Combe and Jed Blebb in to see him. Young Blebb looked terrified. Nat
wondered amusedly if he was seen as an ogre or some such thing. He'd always
assumed not, but Blebb seemed very uneasy.

"Jed
here has found some snippets about the Frenchie," Combe said. "Not
very positive, mind."

"Well?"
Nat looked at Jed, whose Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed
heavily.

"It's
only us," he said in a rush. "Us and M'lord Birch who’s been bothered
by him. The others are fine, nothing untoward like. Ted Bennion says he's heard
of a Frenchie, but not seen hair or hide of anyone strange since them Cornish
un's got themselves stranded when their ship went down last year. Fact is they
Babbacomes and the Crewe gang has it easier, acos the excise are busy chasing our
men. It's not bloody fair, my lord. What have we done to deserve this, eh?
We're all trying to do our best and earn a livin'." He stopped and looked
appalled. "Oh, M'Lord, I wasn't suggesting you don't see we have enough,
cos you do, really we're best off for miles. I reckon Fenniston men only take part
acos they want to protect what's ours."

It
was a convoluted explanation, but it did hold some truth. Neither his workers nor
Nat wanted strangers crossing Fenniston land with illegal goods.

"But
some of them around here, not one of us on the estate," Blebb went on, "well,
they do find it hard."

Nat
nodded. He knew some farms were only managing to stay afloat by the narrowest
of margins. It was due to Frost's superb management and Nat's business acumen
that the Fenniston estate was so successful. No one who worked for him lived in
damp houses or went hungry. Even the estate school was thriving.

"Then
it needs to be put about, anywhere and everywhere, that anyone on mine or Lord
Birch's estate found to be consorting with the interloper will be in serious trouble.
From me. Someone has to be helping him, surely, and if I find out who..."
Nat let his voice trail off. "Well, enough said."

"It
seems, my lord, that when you're here, fewer problems occur," Frost said.

"Don't
let it be known I'm here," Nat said. "I'll make a show of riding away
and come back to the cottage." The tiny cottage in the woods was a ready bolt
hole few knew about. "As far as anyone other than us three is concerned,
I've been and gone. I'll keep a low profile and see what happens."

"I
have been told that one of the grooms happened to linger and chat in the tavern
up river, and the Frenchman hasn't been seen for a few days now. Not only that,
the excise men haven't had any tip-offs since the last incident. Maybe whatever
was going on has ceased?"

"Maybe.
Let's hope so." Nat night not condone the smuggling, but nor did he want
any of the men under his protection harmed. The penalty for smuggling was
harsh, and they didn't deserve it. In a convoluted way, they were trying to
safeguard his wealth.

Nat
dismissed his staff and sat down in a overlarge chair by the fire, stirred the
dying embers with the toe of his boot, and debated whether to put more logs on.

His
body was tight, and he needed release. As there was no willing lady with him in
whom to gain said relief, he resigned himself to the age-old method of doing it
himself.

****

Not
knowing her own mind annoyed Tessa, and she didn't sleep well. A night of
tossing and turning didn't do much for her mood. Nor did falling asleep at
sunrise. When she eventually woke, her head ached, and she was definitely out
of sorts.

After
sorting out the linen room for her maman, something Mijo detested doing, and
eating a late lunch—or she decided, pushing the food around the plate—she gave
herself a mental talking-to. She had come to Devon to think, so think she must.
She collected her bonnet and took herself off for a walk.

The
late-afternoon sun was warm on Tessa's neck as she strolled toward the cliff
path and headed back toward Birch. She'd spent the afternoon with her old governess,
who lived in a cottage in the village, and this well-trodden path was much more
pleasant that following the road, with the risk of being pushed into the
hedgerow by carts and cattle.

Strangely,
Miss Blesslock didn't have as much gossip as normal, but nevertheless the hour
of chat, tea, and homemade cake was welcome. Her little cottage was homely and
welcoming, as was the lady herself, even if her interest had been more about
London than locally.

Tessa
made her way toward home in a better frame of mind than she'd had earlier, even
if she still had no idea what she was going to do about Nat. She'd thought that
away from him, and out of the gossip pot of the capital, she'd be able to sort
out her muddle and troubled thoughts, but if anything, her dreams were more
explicit and her brain more confused than ever. Nat and her smuggler, her
smuggler and Nat. Tessa brought herself up short.
Her
smuggler, indeed. One night, which she would not call shameful
with a man in shadow, should not color her response to an honorable man like
Nat. However…Tessa's gut churned as one startling thought hit her with such
clarity she felt giddy.

How
foolish could she be? How on earth had she not put two and two together and
made four?

Why do they remind me of each
other? Why can I not decide on one over the other? Why? Why?
The thoughts chased each other.
How was she marked, why could she feel someone in her dreams? Who?

Oh how could I have been so
blind? I will kill them—him. Slowly and with relish. Cut off their—his—bollocks
and feed them to the hounds…It is not two men…

A
sharp tingle on the back of her neck brought her out of her reverie. She was
walking alongside the copse of trees that bordered her father's and Nat's
lands. Tessa slowed her steps and stared toward them. The leaves were dappled
with sunlight and hardly moved in the gentle breeze. It was the epitome of a late-spring
Devon afternoon. Nothing seemed untoward, but still the itch provoked her.

It's daytime, not in the evening.
The sun is out, and I'm being silly. It's all these thoughts of what happened
before and my awful indecision that's making me like this.
She had two choices. To continue
on her way or take a long detour. She took a deep breath and turned to take the
detour.

She
didn't see or hear anyone until a hand covered her eyes and a voice she never
expected to hear again spoke.

"Were
you looking for me?"

She
began to spin round, but a hand—she presumed it belonged to the man who spoke—stilled
her. She tried to move her head. Another hand covered her eyes and held her
head in place, as at the same time a hard male body pressed up behind her.

"No,
don't look at me. It's best you can't see what I look like. Do you give me your
word you'll keep your eyes closed or do I unsight you?"

In
her mind, Tessa held a brief debate with herself. Either option meant she
wouldn't see him, and as much as she'd like to let him take total charge, maybe
it was time to assert herself a little. "Why?"

He
chuckled.

Damn, who
is
he? I'm sure I know him. I must be correct. And I will play along.

"It's
in both our best interests for you not to know who I am, m'lady."

"So
you say. What if I say I need to see the face of he who filled me?"

"But
it wasn't my face that filled you," he said. Did his voice take on a growly,
rougher tone? Was he tying to fool her and throw her off the scent of his
identity? Tessa was almost sure he was too late.

"My
staff, my fingers, and my tongue assuredly, but not my face. So you don't need
to see it when I do all those things again."

Tessa's
skin tingled, and butterflies took up residence in her stomach. He intended to
do what? All of it once more? Shouldn't she be trying to get away, instead of
standing passively with her rear teased by an ever-hardening male appendage?

For goodness sake, woman, call it
a staff or a pego or even a cock. Why be coy in my mind?
She mentally chastised herself.
She wanted it, so why not acquiesce with a good grace? What was the point of
prevarication?

"I'll
close my eyes."

"And
your oath you will stay that way?"

"On
my oath." Her heart beat even faster as he propelled her forward by simply
pushing into her rear. His breath was warm on her neck, and she swore he nipped
the skin briefly. She'd felt that before.

"Then
let's get off this path where we might be seen, and go somewhere a little more
private. I won't say comfortable; that would be a misnomer."

So
it wasn't to be wherever she'd been taken last time? Tessa bit back a nervous
snigger at the word taken. She
had
been
taken in more ways than one, and it seemed, was to be again. It was easy to
admit it was exactly what she'd secretly hoped for when she'd chosen to walk
that way home, even if she'd thought there was little chance of even seeing him
in daylight.

Her
smuggler.

"What
should I call you?" she asked. "It seems so impolite to be,
argh." How could she express herself and not be indelicate or unladylike?

"Fucked
by a nameless, faceless, but definitely not cockless man?"

Tessa
swallowed deeply and was glad he was behind her and not able to see her flushed
face. It felt as hot as if she were in the kitchen at Birch, and cooking over
the roasting spit. "Exactly."

He
gave that familiar laugh, as all of a sudden her feet left the ground and he
lifted her over his shoulder.

"You
can open your eyes for a moment. I don't think you'll recognize me by my
arse."

She
would if it had a chunk taken out of it. However, from the position she was in,
that wasn't likely. Nevertheless, Tessa stared at the homespun-covered buttocks
and admired the way they flexed and relaxed as he moved rapidly through the
copse. He might just be wrong.

He
stopped and swung her to the ground, with his hand over her eyes again.

"Arms
around the tree." The words came out as a staccato burst. "Rest your
head on this." His jacket—well, Tessa assumed it was the same jacket she'd
viewed for the past five minutes at a very close distance—was folded and rested
against the rough bark of the tree trunk. "Eyes closed again,
ma p'tite
."

The
French endearment threw her, even as she complied and her inner muscles
clenched in anticipation of something momentous. Her smuggler—for whatever else
he was, he was that—had more facets than a diamond.

"Now
let me remind you of us."

The
soft summer breeze teased her upper legs and oh my, her arse. What on earth had
he done? She felt his hand on her waist and realized. He was kilting her skirts
and tying them up so they didn't get in the way of whatever he intended to do.