Smuggler's Lady (16 page)

Merrie moved on, then quite suddenly disappeared as she had done that other night. Damian swore softly, afraid to move in case she had stopped in hiding for some reason and he should run up against her. After five minutes, he crept forward again. At the point where she had vanished, he peered cautiously over the cliff. A thin, steep trail more suited to a goat than a human snaked down the almost sheer cliff. The beach below was invisible, but he could hear the roar of surf that even on a calm night rose high. It was clear that, if he wanted to continue his observation, down the path he must go.

Cursing the ill luck that had catapulted him into love with a creature who treated goal trails in the pitch dark as if they were the post road from London to Dover, Rutherford lowered himself over the cliff. It would be interesting, he reflected dourly, to see how his shoulder bore up under the strain of this night's activities. The descent would have been difficult enough in ideal circumstances, but the need for silence presented a devilish complication, that and his fear that he would dislodge a stone or a shower of sand to alert anyone below.

Meanwhile Meredith, blissfully unaware of her follower, stood on the beach with the others. They were a silent, but not anxious, group. Anxiety was an emotion that tended to impair efficiency. They were alert, however, ears and eyes straining in the darkness for the sound and sight of Jacques's boat.

“Here she comes.” Bart discerned the dark shape riding high on the white crest of surf. “That wave'll run her direct to the beach.”

Merrie ran to the shore with the rest, kicking off her shoes to wade thigh high into the waves to catch and steady the boat. Damian's incredulous ears caught that unmistakable chuckle of exhilaration as the surf slapped against her. Sweet heavens! What kind of duchess would she make? But he had a long row to hoe before that became a possibility, his lordship reminded himself, settling into the sandy hollow behind a jutting boulder. It was not particularly comfortable but provided him with an unobstructed view of the goings-on in the cove while at the same time afforded him a fair degree of protection against casual eyes.

He stiffened, however, when Merrie, in conversation with a short, stocky man from the French boat, moved away from the activity and came up the beach toward his boulder. To his relief, they stopped just short of his hiding place, providing him with the added bonus of ears as well as eyes.

“Jacques, I intend to deliver this run to the Eagle and Child in Fowey.” Merrie spoke in a brisk, businesslike manner, but there was a hint of excitement in her voice.

“Ah,
magnifique
!” The Frenchman clapped her on the shoulder with a hearty camaraderie that made the watcher wince with annoyance. “I wondered if you would take the bait,
mon amie
.”

“You knew well I would, you old devil!” Merrie chuckled. “But I will need another run within the month for our regular customers. They'll not take kindly to being ousted.”

“In three weeks,” Jacques promised. “After the full moon.”

“Aye.” Merrie nodded with satisfaction. “We'll be waiting. I think 'twill be safe enough to use Devil's Point for the signal again. We'll change the position next month.”

“You'll need to be charging a bit extra for the brandy,” Jacques said, pulling a flask from his hip pocket, offering it to Merrie. When she shook her head, he took a long pull, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “My contact's become a little greedy.” His eyes narrowed. “This time he will get away with it. It will make him feel secure, you understand? It will not happen again, you can be sure, Merrie. But—uh—I must pass on the cost.
Vous comprenez?”

“I would rather continue to pay the extra, Jacques, than that you should ...” Meredith paused, then continued with resolution, “than that you should eliminate your contact.”

“Tsk-tsk.” Jacques shook his head. “So brutally frank, Merrie. You must leave these matters to me. They do not concern you. You complete your end of the business; I will complete mine.”

Damian felt a cold shiver as he watched Merrie's face in the moonlight. The usually vibrant features were cold, set, wiped clean of all emotion, telling him more clearly than anything else how affected she was by the exchange. Smuggling was no prank, for all that she seemed to treat it as such. Then, suddenly, she shrugged, turned back to the beach, and Rutherford heard no more.

The contraband was loaded onto the ponies, the French boat departed, and the train started up the broad cliff path running diagonal to the beach. The goat trail was clearly a shortcut, not one that could be taken by laden ponies. Rutherford, now knowing the smugglers' destination, was in no hurry as he scrambled back up the trail. His only concern was to be sure that Meredith reached Pendennis safely. If she did not, he had no idea what he could do about it, but he did know that he would not sleep this night if he was uncertain of the outcome of the enterprise.

All went well, however, without scent or sight of the revenue. Ponies, contraband, and Merrie disappeared into the cave beneath Pendennis. The rest of the group vanished into the night.

Damian, Lord Rutherford, went home to his bed, more than ever convinced that smuggling was no activity for the future Duchess of Keighley, however proficient at it she might be.

It was in a mood of strong determination that Lord Rutherford set out for Pendennis three days later. It was the first time he had ridden over since the day of the smugglers' run, and his absence had been deliberate. He did not think he had mistaken Merrie's pleasure in his visits, however hard she had concealed it beneath a mask of indifference. If she had missed him at all in the last three days, then it was possible she might be more receptive to what he had to say when he appeared unheralded. Receptive or no, his lordship was resolved that Merrie Trelawney would at least hear him out. Extricating her from her brothers would be the major problem.

As it happened, this proved less arduous than he had expected. Upon being shown into the morning room where he found the three brothers, he was instantly struck by their subdued, disconsolate mien. “What's to do?” he inquired cheerfully, laying whip and gloves on the sofa table. “You all look as if you have lost a sovereign and found a penny.”

“Hugo and Merrie have quarreled,” Rob informed him glumly. “And now Merrie is as cross as two sticks. It is quite horrid when she is.”

“Oh, I see.” His lordship glanced at the eldest Trelawney. “D'ye care to tell me about it, Hugo?”

Hugo flushed a dull crimson. “She treats me like a baby as if I do not know my own mind,” he blurted out. “I am almost twenty and only wish to help, but she will not allow anyone to do so.”

“Well, you ought to have known she would not allow you to come down from Oxford before you are finished,” Theo put in. “If you must waste your life as a poor-relation curate making up to Cousin Sybil in Dorset, then you may as well have some amusement first.”

“Merrie said Hugo likes to be a martyr,” Rob explained helpfully. “And Hugo said she was a—a—”

“Hold your tongue!” Hugo exploded, advancing on his brother, fists clenched, definite menace in his eyes.

Lord Rutherford stepped between them. “I think I have heard enough. Where is your sister?”

“Riding on the beach, I expect,” Theo said, absently shuffling a pack of cards. “It's what she usually does when she's out of sorts.”

His lordship retrieved his whip and gloves. “Rob, I would recommend that you make yourself scarce,” he suggested. “I am certain you do not intend to exacerbate raw nerves, but I fear that you do, nevertheless.”

He left the morning room without waiting to see if his advice was followed and went to reclaim Saracen. Ten minutes later he found Meredith, as Theo had said, riding on the beach below the house. She heard the thud of hooves on the sand behind her and reined in the mare, turning to look over her shoulder.

“Good morning, Lord Rutherford. You had best continue on your way, for I should warn you that I am out-of-reason cross.”

“Yes, so I have been informed,” he responded placidly, drawing up alongside her. “But that does not scare me off.”

Merrie, who, much as she hated to acknowledge it, had been racking her brains for the last three days to find a reason for his absence, made no comment.

“What was it that Hugo said when you accused him of martyrdom?” his lordship inquired with a quizzical lift of his brows. “Rob was about to tell me, but Hugo became somewhat annoyed.”

“I am a petticoat dictator, it seems.” Meredith found that she had no hesitation in pouring out her woes to this, the one person she somehow trusted to hear them with a sympathetic, if objective, ear. Neither did she stop to consider why this should be so. “I am in love with power and wish to keep my brothers in leading strings to gratify myself.” She gave a short laugh, nudging the mare into a trot. “If Hugo is set upon entering the church, then of course I will not prevent him. But I am not yet convinced of that, and he is too young to be making such a decision for the wrong reasons.”

“He is but three years younger than yourself,” Rutherford reminded gently. “You have been making decisions as important since you were younger than he.”

“And not always the correct ones,” she flashed. “Sacrifice appeals to Hugo at the present. It is but a stage he is going through. In a year's time, there will be no need for his sacrifice.”

“What do you mean?” Convinced that she had let slip the statement, he waited breathlessly to see how she would answer him.

“Why, simply that by then I shall hope to have saved sufficient funds to ease matters a little,” she responded with an airy wave, but he had not missed the hesitation, the sudden biting of her lower lip.

“You are not telling the truth again.” It was worth trying, he thought, although it might be considered unchivalrous to push so hard when she was already vulnerable. But it was the best opportunity he had had.

Meredith flushed, and there was no mistaking either the appeal, or the anger, in the glorious purple eyes as she looked across at him. “My affairs are mine to manage,” she said curtly.

“I expect it is that attitude that annoys Hugo,” Rutherford replied with a bland smile.

Meredith's heels pressed into the mare's flanks and the animal took off along the sand, swerving abruptly into the waves. Damian, taken by surprise, watched for a minute as horse and rider galloped along the edge of the breaking surf. She would be drenched in a minute! But what would that matter to such an impulsive, headstrong creature? Urging the stallion into a canter, he rode parallel with Meredith and the mare but well away from the water, keeping pace with her until, with her headlong gallop, she had exorcised the demons possessing her.

When she rejoined him, the bottom of her habit was dark with water and her hair, escaping from her hat, was whipped into a tangle. Her expression, however, was calm, her eyes swept clean of anger.

“Saltwater will not do your boots much good,” he remarked casually.

She laughed. “But it is good for my temper.”

“That is fortunate as there is something I wish to discuss with you, and in the past the subject has tended to lead to acrimony.” Leaning over, Rutherford took hold of the mare's bridle at the bit, bringing her to a halt. “I wish you to hear me out,” he explained, “so we will stay still for the moment.”

“What is it you wish to talk about, my lord, that necessitates this degree of compulsion?”

“You know full well, Merrie, so let us dispense with games if you please. I have already told you twice that I am in love with you, so will not bore you with a repetition. What I wish to hear from you is a statement of how you feel. So far, I have heard nothing but a tangle of half-truths blanketed with confusion.”

“How dare you talk to me in this manner!” It was fear that fueled the resurgence of anger, panic that led her to encourage the mare forward.

“No, my dear girl, you will not run from me.” His lordship tightened his grip on the bridle. “I will have the truth. Do you—could you—return my affections?”

Anger was a futile emotion, an inappropriate reaction to the reasonable but determined question, and in its absence she had no defense but the truth. “It cannot be.”

“Look at me, Meredith, and tell me that you feel nothing for me.”

She tried and failed. The color came and went in her face; there was an almost wild desperation in her eyes. “It cannot be,” she repeated eventually, whispering the words as if they were dragged from her with screw and rack.

To her astonishment, he smiled, straightened, and released the mare's bridle. “Very well. We will say no more about it. Let us return to the house. You will wish to change your dress, wet as it is, and make peace with Hugo.”

“Yes,” she murmured, considerably taken aback by this calm, matter-of-fact manner of treating her rejection.

Back in the stableyard, he assisted her in dismounting with a light hand at her waist. “If my presence will be of any assistance in this business with Hugo, I shall gladly accompany you into the house.”

“You are too kind, sir.” Her lips seemed strangely stiff as she attempted a smile. “But I would not trouble you.”

The was laughter in his eyes, skimming across a gravity that he was obviously struggling to maintain. Merrie could not for the life of her understand what he should find amusing. One minute he was demanding an answer to what was surely an important question for him. Then, when he received the wrong answer, he behaved as if the weight of the universe had been removed from his shoulders.

“I will bid you good day, then.” Solemnly, he bowed over her hand, remounted, and horse and rider left, the black's hooves clattering on the cobbles of the yard.

In fact, Lord Rutherford was well pleased with his morning's work. He would have preferred Merrie to confide in him, but it was as obvious that she would not as it was that she had struggled to hide her true feelings. He was clearly going to have to take matters into his own hands in a suitably dramatic fashion, confident that, caught off guard, her innate honesty would reveal itself. She had never, after all, attempted to dissemble when confronted with an accurate charge.

He had satisfied himself the previous evening that the contraband still lay in the secret cavern. She had said to the Frenchman that this run was to be delivered to the Eagle and Child in Fowey, so it was reasonable to assume that Landreth would not be made aware of the day, as it was when its inhabitants were to be the recipients. That being the case, he would have to watch and wait.

For two evenings, he kept vigil on the cliff and was rewarded on the third. It was a black, moonless night, obviously carefully chosen. The scene was similar to the one he had watched before, the same silent order and efficiency on the cliff path below as the ponies were loaded. Merrie took the lead again, and he watched them go with his heart in his mouth. It was a six-mile journey into Fowey, six miles of open road, and the coastguard headquarters were in the town. It was a mad, wild risk that she took, but, short of pulling her from the pony and imprisoning her in his arms, there was nothing Rutherford could do to prevent her. Not yet, not until he had established some claim.

While Lord Rutherford hid in the inner cave to await her return, closing his mind to the possibility that she might not return, Meredith, imbued with an even greater recklessness than usual, was playing tricks on the revenue. When Bart and the others were engaged in unloading the goods in the hushed yard behind the inn, she slipped through the dark streets, passed shuttered houses holding their sleeping inhabitants, passed the smithy and the tailor and the apothecary, and up the whitewashed steps to the door of the custom house. Carefully, without so much as a chink of glass on stone, she placed two bottles of the finest madeira against the door. There was a note attached,
With heartfelt gratitude
, written in bold black script. That would have them gnashing their teeth in the morning! Chuckling, she returned as stealthily as she had come. It was an unnecessary risk, and Bart would disapprove mightily if she told him, but it was too good a joke to pass up. Merrie did not stop to wonder why she felt so reckless or to connect it with the nagging emptiness that had plagued her over the last several days.

They rode the now unburdened ponies to the outskirts of Landreth where they went their separate ways. Meredith, freed of her companions and of danger for one more night, felt the usual rush of exultation as she made her way, on foot, back to the cave. They had succeeded in making a large delivery right under the noses of the coastguard. It was too delicious, and she wished, as she sometimes did, that there was someone with whom she could share the exhilaration. But she had chosen the lonely road; there was little point in repining.

Merrie performed her customary task with the broom, sweeping clean the path and outer cave before going into the inner cavern where the welcoming lantern burned as usual. This time, the cave was empty of boxes, crates, and parcels. The ponies were gone to their own stables, and the space seemed suddenly vast, echoing like a cathedral or a deserted theater. Meredith, on sudden impulse, began to dance around the cavern, singing at the top of her voice, secure in the knowledge that there was no one to see or to hear this absurd display of high spirits released from tension.

“I am delighted you found your evening amusing.” Rutherford stepped into the cavern from the narrow tunnel at the rear. “I found mine somewhat nerve-racking.”

Meredith stopped in mid-step, the color fading from her face as she stared as if she were seeing a ghoul.

Cursing his stupiditity for startling her so violently, he moved swiftly, afraid that she would swoon. But even as he reached her, her eyes focused again, the color returned to her cheeks. He should have known she was made of sterner stuff, Rutherford thought ruefully, finding the support he wished to offer unneeded.

“You knew,” Merrie said simply, speaking from a sudden calm space that contained only relief and inevitability. If this, the last secret, was known and accepted, then was she freed of all chains. There could be no question of marriage between them, of course, but they could love and the aching void could be filled.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“How? It is important that you tell me.” In spite of her sense of peace, her voice as she asked this all-important question was low and tense.

“As you know, I saw you, the night I arrived in Landreth, on the cliff path engaged in battle with the coastguard.” He smiled. “I knew there was something familiar about Lady Blake but didn't guess the truth until I went out hunting smugglers and saw you again. On that occasion, blessed with hindsight, there was no mistaking the identity of that mysterious young man! But I would not else have seen through your masquerade.”

Merrie sighed with relief. “Well, that is all right then.”