Kasey Michaels - [Redgraves 02] (27 page)

Aha! Almost as if she was being dragged from the Manor so she wouldn’t see something she wasn’t supposed to see. Such as Simon and Richard, carrying sacks up the stairs.

Although she prided herself on never being kept in the dark for long, for her ability to ferret out almost any secret, this much was clear: Trixie was the master, Kate still the student—but she was gaining on her!

She barreled into the drawing room, deliberately going on the offensive, just as if she hadn’t figured out what this
excursion
was all about. “What’s going on, Trixie? Why am I being dragged Lord only knows where to look for a tunnel that might not even exist anymore? What am I not supposed to see—because
you
haven’t seen this hour of the morning before unless you were just on your way home from a night of balls and routs and God knows what. Where’s Simon?”

“Good morning, pet,” Trixie said, unfolding herself from the fainting couch she preferred, slightly adjusting her blue-smoked spectacles. “Do you like them? I admired a pair Maxmillien was wearing, and he gifted me with my own pair. I doubt I could bear the early morning sunlight without them.”

“It’s closer to noon than dawn, Trixie,” Kate pointed out. “Who told you about the tunnel?”

“Who? Why, Valentine, of course, in his last letter to me. Amazing boy. His letter found me still at Wickham, where I was delighting myself watching Reggie as he realized I may have bided my time, but he’d just been paid back for his insult to the Redgraves so many years ago. I suppose in time he’ll find his new daughter-in-law to be a unique treasure. I did pick her specially.”

“Do I need to hear this?” Kate asked. She tipped her head in Adam’s direction. “Does he?”

“Probably not, although it
is
delicious. Back to Valentine and his letter. He made the whole business of the collapse inside the greenhouse sound almost jolly, but I doubt it was so at the time. I was most impressed with your heroism, Kate, leaping into the void to hold your beloved’s head free of the encroaching mud until a rescue could be effected.”

“He’s not my— Oh, never mind. You already know, don’t you? You know everything.”

“Not everything, pet,” Trixie said, her tone suddenly serious, “or else I could lead you to the tunnel. Shall we go? I’ll be in the pony cart, observing you two adventuresome souls as you continue with whatever it is you’ve been doing without success. Or, if you care to hear my suggestion, to begin again, this time looking in the most unlikely places rather than the most likely. Oh, and one accessible by coach, or at least looking as if it could have been approached via coach twenty years ago.”

Kate knew she shouldn’t ask Trixie what she meant, not with Adam in the room. Not if she and her grandmother were alone. She would never, never ask her anything about the past. Ever.

“I love you, Trixie,” she said quietly, bending down to kiss the dowager countess’s cheek. Ignoring the heat of the woman’s powdered skin, pretending not to notice the redness and swelling around her eyes, only partially hidden by the smoked glasses. Her grandmother had been crying. Her grandmother never cried! “Thank you. Thank you, from all four of us. For everything.”

“Oh, dear—sentiment,” Trixie said, her voice quavering slightly. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to it, won’t I?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“P
RETEND
WE
’
RE
NOT
speaking,” Kate told Simon as she looked up at him, her arms still about his neck after their kiss in a secluded area of the gardens.

“We weren’t. We were kissing,” he pointed out, the pads of his thumbs lightly stroking against her nipples through the thin muslin of her gown. “But, merely out of curiosity, why aren’t we speaking? We spoke at dinner.”

“If I told you that, we’d be speaking, and speaking at table is only polite, not to mention the fact that snubbing you across the table would only pique Trixie’s interest,” she pointed out, nibbling at the side of his chin. Really, men could be so thick. “Try to be logical, Simon.”

“Employing my logic or yours? Because I’m afraid yours is beyond me. So here’s an idea, let’s just kiss again. It may be safer.”

They kissed again. Kate really enjoyed kissing him, even if they both knew there was no time for anything else but kissing, as they couldn’t be gone from the drawing room much longer or else be forced to return to Trixie’s questions...and her subtle teasing. Kissing her and then making love to her told her he loved and wanted her. Kissing her without a chance of further...reward, meant he truly,
truly
loved her.

And she didn’t care if that was her kind of logical or his kind of logical. She supposed that meant she was being romantical, which she’d always sworn she’d never be. Hadn’t she been excessively silly?

But when he tried to kiss her yet again, she put her hands against his chest, signaling for him to stop. Which he did. Reluctantly, she noticed, pleased, proving he must like kissing her as much as she enjoyed kissing him.

But back to business!

“I can’t believe I spent most of this afternoon chasing mare’s nests with Trixie and Adam and her two yapping little monster pugs, who were constantly getting lost. Was that your idea, or hers?”

“I plead innocence about the dogs. The rest of it was more of a collaboration I’d say. You didn’t enjoy yourself?”

“Not until I accidentally helped Adam trip over a tree root and he somehow ended up rump down in the stream, no. He screams worse than a pig caught in a grate, Trixie said. She was much amused, which I suppose made it all worthwhile. And at least we finally had a good excuse to call off the search—at which time I took up my own search. For the journals you and Richard carried into the west wing. They’re not in your rooms. Where are they?”

“I’m sorry. I believe we’re not speaking,” Simon said, now fully cupping her breasts with his hands. “But damn it, woman, who told you?”

“Nobody. I saw you lugging them down the hallway toward the west wing. Stop that.”

This time he didn’t obey, which was nice, because she didn’t really mean for him to stop. Wasn’t it grand how he knew the difference?

“And you didn’t come pelting after us, demanding we show you everything? My, my. Just when I thought I was beginning to know you. No, wait. Of course you didn’t come after us. You’d much rather do your own sleuthing.”

“Fruitless sleuthing. Where are they? Why did you move them? Why didn’t you tell me you were moving them? And, yes, we’re speaking again. But we’re not really on good terms, so simply ignore the fact I’m rubbing my lower body against yours if you please.”

“The day I can ignore that, sweetheart, it will be time to put pennies on my eyes.”

“Thank you,” she said, all but preening. But then she sobered once more. “Did you read any of them?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t even open any of them. My mission was clear-cut and definite. Find them, and then turn them over to the earl. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been allowed to set foot on the estate, Perceval or no Perceval. I’ve already written to Gideon, and I’m sure he’ll be here in a few days. I’m afraid I’m fairly useless now, until we can discover more names. And so are you, by the way, which makes the two of us at loose ends, open to...other endeavors.” He slid his hands lower, onto her hips. “Are you certain we’ll be missed?”

Kate stepped away from him, took his hand in hers. “How long could you be alone in the drawing room with Adam before you began looking to the French doors, wondering if rescue was imminent?”

“You’re right, we have to go back. But first, I have to tell you something. Do you remember Jacko?”

Kate blinked a single time at this change of subject, but recovered quickly. “The so-congenial Mr. Jacko? The giant you all but goaded into snapping your spine over his knee? How could I forget? Why are you asking?”

“Because I didn’t tell you about moving the journals. Because that probably wasn’t fair of me, although it was, I’ll add, in part done with the intent of sparing you any more visits to the dower house. Because I truly believe you could make my life a living hell if I didn’t tell you he contacted me the other day and I’m meeting with him later because the Society’s smugglers will most probably be landing on Manor land sometime this moonless night.”

Kate clapped her hands, actually clapped her hands. As if she was a silly little girl, and Simon had just offered her a sugary treat. Really, she needed to control herself better, now that she was a woman and all. But then she launched herself at him, hugging him fiercely about the neck.

“And you said we had nothing left to do? We’re going to capture smugglers. Oh, and maybe a member or two of the Society. Or a French spy. My brothers will be shocked to their toes.
What fun!
”

Simon shook his head in obvious amazement. “Yes, that’s just how we all feel. Such
fun.
Why, we’re practically giddy.”

She felt ridiculous. Now she couldn’t even ask him what he meant by saying he’d moved the journals
in part
for her sake. What was the other part for? “You don’t have to be snide. I only want to help.”

“Actually, you’re going to
observe,
probably from the spot we were standing as we watched Jacko drive away through the stone maze.
I’m
going to observe, as well, but from closer up, where I can be put to use if necessary. Agreed?”

“No,” she said shortly. “Why can’t I observe along with you? I can shoot, you know. And, unlike Adam, I don’t scream.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “I love you. I adore you. I understand how badly you want to help. I’d probably do most anything, dangerous or silly, to make you happy. But not this, Kate. Not this.”

She looked up at him, sighed. Love probably came with responsibilities, and this was one of them. “I’ll stay on the hill. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it.
Now
you may kiss me again.”

* * *

K
ATE
HUNCHED
DOWN
beside Simon on the hill, her gaze shifting from the shore below them to the horizon. “You may think this a pointless question but what, exactly, are we supposed to see?”

Simon kept his eye to the spyglass, reluctant to admit, with no moon to assist him, he saw bloody well next to nothing. “Sails, although I doubt we’ll see them until the last moment, if that. If they aren’t raw amateurs, their schooner’s painted black, the sails are black. They’ll send out small boats with the goods if they get the all’s-clear signal from somewhere here on land. Otherwise, they’ll turn and sail away without us even knowing they were close.”

“Won’t we see the signal, as well?”

“No. The lantern will be shuttered on three sides. We could only see it if we were on the water ourselves, and even then, we’d have to know where we should be looking, as it won’t flash for more than a few seconds. What we really need is a boat of our own out there on the water, and our own set of signals.”

“Well, ain’t you the smart one?”

Kate gasped, then quickly clapped her hand over her mouth.

Simon merely turned around. “Good evening. It’s Billy, correct? I wondered how long you’d stand back there thinking yourself brilliant.”

“Here now! How did you know I was here?” the short, rail-thin man asked as he stepped closer.

“Not to put too fine a point on it, may I suggest regular bathing?” Simon said, getting to his feet. “You’re telling us he’s got men out there, on the water?”

“The Captain, he’ll tell you what he wants you to know, not what you wants to know. Me, I ain’t telling you nothin’ except this. The Molly stays here. Nothin’ but bad luck.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, you’re bad luck,” Simon said tongue-in-cheek, but Kate was still peering up at Billy.

“You’re a smuggler? Aiding our poorest citizens as they struggle to feed their families in these terrible times. That must take a considerable amount of courage, Mr. Billy. And God bless you, sir, for willingly endangering your life tonight for your king and country. I so admire your bravery.”

Simon lowered his head, scratching at the back of his neck while whispering behind his elbow, “Won’t help, sweetheart.”

“I...I, um, I suppose you could come a little bit closer, miss.”

Simon’s smile disappeared. “She bloody well can’t,” he said sharply. “Billy, you’re an ass, and Kate, you’re a menace. Now stay here. And behave. Come on, my spindle-shanks Romeo, time to go. Let me first check on our horses.”

While Billy stood with his head lowered and shoulders slumped, Simon retraced his steps to where they earlier tied Daisy and Hector, to untie Hector’s reins. “And don’t you take this as an invitation to start playing at Romeo, either. I need you loose if I have to have you come rescue us from the bad men.” He patted the stallion’s strong neck. “Let’s just hope this all goes smoothly.”

“Captain’s waiting on you. This way,” Billy said as Simon rejoined him on the hill, and with a quickly blown kiss in Kate’s direction, the men made their way down the steep, rocky hillside to the stone maze below.

“Good evening, Captain,” Simon said, holding out his hand to the black-clad figure half crouched behind one of the largest stones. The man was only slightly altered in his dress tonight. The cape was gone, replaced by a length of black leather draped around his neck, a pistol tied to each end. A third dull, black-handled pistol was stuffed into his waistband, and a cutlass hung from a leather strap riding low over one hip. Armed to the teeth, in the pirate way.

Kate would have been impressed all hollow and said so, although Simon doubted Ainsley Becket was as easily swayed as Billy.

“Commander,” Ainsley Becket said, extending his own hand in return. “Small run tonight, which is probably better for us. The schooner’s riding too high in the water, and only six men on horseback were seen riding down to the cottages. These men don’t always smuggle for the profit, which first piqued our interest. On runs like these, they don’t bother with tea or silk, just a few kegs of brandy for their own pleasure. No large landing parties, no pack horses or landsmen. I’m guessing human cargo tonight mostly, along with oilskin packets and opium.”

Simon was surprised. “Opium?”

“Yes, I’ve wondered about that myself, but I trust our man who’s been traveling with them. They’ll be loading cargo from this end tonight before heading to Calais. Men, other oilskin packets and most of all, gold coin.”

Simon had now hunkered down beside him, having given up on seeing anything in the intense dark. “To help pay and support Bonaparte’s troops. One pound here’s worth a pound and a half in Paris. We’re definitely dealing with traitors. Desperate men who know they’re destined for the hangman if captured. I’ll, of course, still want them alive if that can be managed.”

Even in the dark, Simon could see Becket’s wide smile. “We’ll do our best. They’ll land on the other side of the tunnel, then come straight toward us. There has been no variation in their route, a small party or a large one, in six months. Be ready.”

After that, there was nothing else to say, and there was nothing but the soft lapping of waves against the shore for the hour or more Simon spent trying to familiarize himself with his surroundings, pick out the forms of men against the darker boulders. That, and wondering if Kate was behaving herself up on the hill, if she’d had time for her agile brain to realize the journals now resided in the attics of the Manor...and if Richard was not only handy with a tinderbox, but also fleet of foot, if they’d chanced to overestimate how much lamp oil was needed to do what had to be done.

Two short, sharp whistles broke the silence, along with Becket’s muttered “Sonofabitch.” He was on his feet in an instant, Simon along with him, as a dozen well-armed men seemed to step out from inside rocky hidey-holes.

“What?” Simon asked as pistols were waved, knives and curved swords were unsheathed. Becket and his men pelted toward the shoreline, their boots sending up sprays of seawater as they splashed their way around the end of the rocky outcropping, to the cottage side of the beach.

“They aren’t coming our way. They were spooked somehow, that’s what,” Jacko said from behind him. “Gone off Hythe-ways, or up the hill behind the cottages, or back out to the Channel, one of those. Leaving us who don’t count running as one of their talents anymore to stand here with our thumbs up our—”

But Simon was already gone. Becket and his men could chase down the smugglers or not; Simon’s concern was all for Kate, sitting at the top of the hill above him, hopefully having hidden herself, yet totally unprotected.

My fault, my fault, my fault.

He felt as if he was running through waist-deep water, struggling through clinging, clutching mud to his knees. The faster he ran and climbed, the slower he seemed to go, the longer the climb up the rocky hillside.

He couldn’t call out her name, for fear he’d call attention to her presence.

He’d never reach the top, never get to her in time. Because, God help them, he knew her, and she wouldn’t stay still; not if she thought she could help.

His hands and face scratched from brambles he used as handholds, not caring for or even feeling any pain, he at last made it to the spot where he’d last seen her.

The spyglass he’d left with her lay on the ground.

She wasn’t there.

Simon took off toward the horses. The smugglers had broken for the hill above the cottages; men were running everywhere, so that Simon couldn’t separate friend from foe. He was on his own, Kate’s life was in his hands.