Rapture Becomes Her (43 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Rapture Becomes Her
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Barnaby would have argued, but the glitter in her eyes told him she would not back down from her stand and further comment would be useless. “Very well. Who do you want to go with you?”
Without hesitation, she said, “Lamb.”
Luc looked disappointed, but her choice made sense. If he was going to be poking about in a tunnel with the possibility that he might come face-to-face with a smuggler, he’d prefer Lamb at his side rather than a man who had just risen from his sickbed not many days ago.
“When?” Barnaby asked, not happy with his wife risking her neck while he remained safely behind.
“Now,” she said, rising to her feet and shaking out the skirts of her indigo velvet riding habit. “It is the middle of the day and none of the smugglers will be about. Simon is in the village and Peckham is at the house. Our horses are saddled and ready. Lamb and I should be gone less than an hour.”
Barnaby looked at Lamb. “Bring her back to me safe and sound.”
Lamb nodded.
Watching Emily and Lamb walk out of the room was the most difficult, painful thing Barnaby had ever been forced to do. Every instinct demanded that he stop her from leaving, the need to protect her, to keep her safe clawing at his vitals. He fought down the frantic urge to call her back, but he knew it would be futile—just as he would not be prevented from offering himself as bait, so would his wife not be diverted from her task. He scowled. Sometimes, he decided bitterly, they were too damned much alike for comfort.
 
There was only one exchange between Emily and Lamb as they mounted their horses and prepared to ride away from the Dower House.
Eyeing her closed expression, Lamb said, “You’re angry.” She flashed him a look that scorched his bones and retorted in a voice that did not invite further conversation, “No, I’m not, angry. I’m
furious.
”
Pointing to a track through the woods that avoided the main drive and would give them cover, Emily kicked her horse into a canter and Lamb meekly followed. Brave he might be, but not even he was prepared to take on a blazing-eyed Amazon.
Twelve minutes later, Emily turned her horse off the narrow path they’d been following around the bottom of a series of sloping hills. She guided her horse several yards into a patch of trees that crowded along the side of the path before halting. Dismounting, she said, “From here we are hidden by those hills over there, but as the crow flies, we are less than an eighth of a mile from the house. The barn is about fifty yards ahead, through that stand of beeches. Tie your horse and follow me.”
Lamb admired her coolness and the silent way she slipped through the woods. The Amazon knew what she was about and he decided that if his back was against the wall, he’d be honored to have her at his side. The woods thinned and the barn came into view. Emily examined the area carefully and then leaving the cover of the trees hurried across an open expanse and sidled up next to the rear of the old wooden barn.
Looking over her shoulder at Lamb she said softly, “The main opening faces the road, but around the corner from us there is a smaller door—we’ll enter that way.”
A moment later, they were inside the barn, both noting that the door opened easily—perhaps, a little too easily for an old seldom-used building. It was gloomy inside the structure, the scent of hay and livestock filling their noses. Emily took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light and then she moved forward purposefully. A row of sagging stalls stood along one side of the building and on the other, bundles of hay and straw were piled high, leaving a wide aisle-way running down the middle of the barn.
Dust motes floated in the air—kicked up from their feet as Emily, followed closely by Lamb, crept forward. Their progress was careful in the dimness of the interior, all of their senses alert for the presence of others. They did a hasty reconnoiter, determining at the moment that they were the only inhabitants. Stopping in the middle of the barn, Emily stared at the thick carpet of hay and straw strewn across the floor.
Softly she said, “If anybody looked, the hay would hide any signs of their activity.”
Lamb nodded. “Probably laid down on their way out after unloading the contraband.” He looked around. “Where’s the entrance?”
“Over here,” she said, moving away. Halfway down the row of stalls, she stopped and, throwing open the heavy stall door, with Lamb at her heels, she stepped inside the stall. The ease with which she had opened the door to the stall told its own story, and a quick examination of the catch and hinges revealed that they had been well oiled. The floor of the stall was heaped with straw, but it took only a moment to kick it aside, exposing a trapdoor. Lamb grasped the handle hidden in the straw and lifted. The door opened soundlessly. A black hole yawned at their feet, the tip of a ladder showing at the edge of the darkness.
Lamb cursed under his breath. “We didn’t bring a lantern.”
Emily grinned at him, the ride to the barn having banished most of her fury. She edged around the trapdoor and reached into the manger filled with hay. Triumphantly, from beneath the hay, she pulled a small lantern and a piece of flint.
Lantern lit, after a short argument over which one should go first, Lamb descended the short wooden ladder. Clutching the skirts of her riding habit, Emily scrambled down behind him.
Lamb hoisted the lantern and, staring at the piles and stacks of contraband pushed against the walls of the big cavern he was standing in, he whistled. Together they walked along the rows of goods, barrels and tubs of overproof brandy and gin, ropes of tobacco, bolts of silk and velvet and packets of lace and fine thread, among other things.
“Merciful heavens!” Emily exclaimed, awed. “This isn’t just from one run. It’s a storehouse of contraband—they can supply anyone with anything at any time.”
“I agree,” Lamb said. “We’ve found what we’re looking for. We need to leave.”
Though the impulse to explore further was strong, beyond showing him where the tunnel narrowed and would lead to the house, Emily didn’t argue. Within minutes, they were out of the cavern, the lantern doused and, once cooled, hidden under the hay in the manger. The trapdoor was shut and the straw scattered over it. Careful to leave no sign of disturbance, they exited the barn and hastened to their horses.
 
Rushing into the room where Barnaby and Luc waited, her face bright with exhilaration, Emily launched herself into Barnaby’s arms and cried, “We were right! We found a
mountain
of contraband. There’s enough goods stored in the tunnel to supply half of London for six months.”
Clutching Emily to him as if he would never let her go, Barnaby glanced over at Lamb, who followed her into the room. Smiling, Lamb nodded. “They’re not only using the tunnel to hide their contraband, they’re using it to warehouse the goods. They can go weeks without making a run yet still keep their buyers supplied.” His smile faded. “I’m not surprised that Simon wants you dead—there’s a bloody fortune involved. This is no small smuggling operation by a band of desperate fishermen—it’s huge and worth killing for.”
The mention of Simon’s lethal designs on her husband shattered Emily’s exhilaration. Even with his arms cradling her close, a chill slid down her spine. Forcing herself to leave behind the comfort of his warm body, she made one more attempt to change Barnaby’s mind about placing himself in danger. “Revealing the whereabouts of the contraband to Lieutenant Deering would be devastating to the smugglers,” she said. “They’d lose their warehouse and the contraband. Simon would have no reason to try to kill you.”
Barnaby shook his head. “I don’t want to simply take away Simon’s reason for wanting me dead: I want him and the Nolles gang destroyed. Yes, losing the hiding place and the goods would be a massive blow, but it wouldn’t stop them. The contraband would be in the hands of the authorities, but everyone connected to the smuggling operation would remain untouched.” When Emily started to argue, he warned, “Remember, all we’d be giving Deering is the location and the smuggled goods—we have suspicion aplenty, but we have no proof of Nolles and Simon’s participation. We can tell Deering what we suspect, but without proof he can’t touch them. I’ll wager that within a matter of months, perhaps, weeks, with Simon’s backing, Nolles would be in business again. Mayhap, not on the scale they are now—at least not right away, but in time, they’d reestablish themselves. All Deering will do is eliminate one hiding place and deal them a financial blow, but nothing else. The gang, the contacts, the routes and the bribed revenue officers will all remain.” A grim smile flitted across his face. “I’m sure Simon is clever enough to find another place to safely warehouse the enormous amount of contraband he’s moving regularly from France to London now. It might not be as convenient, but I’m sure it exists.” He frowned, struck by a thought. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he already has a site selected. He’s not a stupid man—he’d have considered all angles.”
Gloomily, Emily conceded that Barnaby was right. Blast him! Simon and Nolles had to be destroyed once and for all.
 
It was difficult for her to greet Simon in her usual friendly manner that evening. She smiled and laughed at the appropriate times, but her heart wasn’t in it. Cornelia was in fine form flirting with both gentlemen and Barnaby appeared to have no trouble conversing amiably with a man he knew had tried three times to kill him and would, most likely, try again. Emily was grateful for their contributions because she could barely bring herself to speak to Simon. While the conversation ranged around her, from beneath her lashes Emily studied Simon, wondering how he could be so dastardly, wondering how she could have misjudged him so badly. How could he accept Barnaby’s hospitality and act as if he enjoyed his company, yet all the while plan to kill him? Her lips thinned and rage billowed through her. He was a black-hearted beast, she thought savagely, glaring at him over the rim of her wineglass. By God, she’d like nothing better than to run him through.
Simon’s eyes met hers and fear rushed through her. Praying to God that he had not glimpsed her rage, she forced a smile and glanced away. After that, to her unease, she caught Simon staring at her from time to time, his expression puzzled. She wasn’t, she decided, very good at deception.
Emily got through the long evening and she was thankful when Cornelia bid the gentlemen good night. Knowing that Simon wouldn’t be so foolhardy to attack Barnaby in his own home and that the watchful Lamb would be nearby, Emily joined her great-aunt, leaving Barnaby and Simon to amuse themselves.
Walking up the stairs, Cornelia glanced at her and asked, “Do you want to tell me what Simon has done to be in your black books?”
Emily’s step faltered, but recovering, she sent Cornelia what she hoped was an innocent look. “Simon? In my black books? Why, whatever do you mean?”
Cornelia’s magnificent eyes narrowed. “You never were a very good liar and you have not improved with time.”
She sighed. Cornelia was right: she wasn’t a very good liar—and there was no need to lie to her great-aunt. She and Barnaby hadn’t intended to hide anything from Cornelia—there just hadn’t been time to tell her. As they reached the landing, she asked, “The hour isn’t late. Shall I join you in your room for a chat?”
Cornelia stared at her a moment. “Yes,” she said. “I’d enjoy that.”
Arriving at Cornelia’s rooms, the minute the door to her sitting room shut, Cornelia said, “All right. Tell me what is going on.”
Emily did, leaving nothing out.
When she finally stopped speaking, Cornelia snorted. “You’re fair and far off if you think that Simon Joslyn is a smuggler and trying to kill Barnaby. The boy doesn’t have it in him—and you should know it. My money’s on Nolles—he has as much reason to want Barnaby dead as anyone.” Her brow arched. “After all, he is the smuggler. Why does he need anyone else to do his dirty work for him?”
Emily stared openmouthed at her for a moment. Was it possible that Nolles was acting on his own? It made sense. Then she remembered the London backer and her lips snapped shut. Shaking her head, she said, “You’re forgetting whoever is backing the operation. That person certainly isn’t Nolles.”
“You’re right,” Cornelia said slowly. Unhappily, she looked back at Emily. “I just can’t believe that Simon would align himself with smugglers and involve himself in murder.” Her lip curled. “If you’d mentioned Jeffery’s name, now
that
I’d have no trouble believing.”
Emily smiled wearily. “Jeffery doesn’t have any money. He could never finance the sort of operation Nolles and his men are running.”
“I cannot believe that it is Simon,” Cornelia said bluntly. She wagged a finger at Emily. “But if you’re going to persist in this folly, you’re going to have to be a better hostess than you have been so far if you don’t want him to become suspicious.”
 
Simon
was
suspicious. He knew Emily too well not to know that something was up. His lips quirked. From her glances tonight, he feared she’d separate his head from his shoulders, but rack his brains though he did, he could think of nothing he had done to offend or upset her. Remembering the hostile gleam in her eyes, he shook his head. She looked at him as if he were an enemy. . . . Barnaby had hidden his reactions better, but there was something in the way his host looked at him. . . .

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