The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (8 page)

That night, Malcolm and Stephen sat idly in the library at Wroxton Hall, comfortably ensconced in deep leather chairs and playing a hand of piquet. A crystal decanter full of brandy was at Malcolm’s elbow, and candlelight glinted off his golden hair. They had eaten in the cavernous dining room, with white linens and the finest Arlingby china on the table, but had escaped as quickly as possible to the comfort of the library, where the gloom was dispelled by a fire burning warmly in the grate.

“You’ve made no mention of your interview with Miss Keighley,” said Stephen lazily.

Malcolm gazed at his cards. “That would be because I have no idea what to say about it,” he observed.

“Did she get the better of you?”

Malcolm cocked his head to one side and considered the question. “Dash it, Del, I don’t know. She may very well have. I promised to assist her in discovering the leader of the smugglers and shutting down his enterprise.”

Stephen gaped at him. “You mean to take on a band of smugglers?”

“It seems I do. Miss Keighley believes we need to stop them now, or they will continue to wreak havoc on the neighborhood.”

“We?” asked Stephen.

“Yes, we,” replied Malcolm testily. “Somehow she has convinced me to help her settle this matter.”

“Mal, what are you doing? Surely you don’t plan to rusticate here for weeks and leave Estella all alone in London while you chase after a group of rascals!”

“I hadn’t planned on it, but I gave Miss Keighley my word,” said Malcolm glumly. “You are free to return to London, of course. Indeed, I would be surprised if you did not.”

Stephen shook his head. “I can think of few thing more amusing than watching you dancing to Miss Keighley’s energetic tune.” He paused and regarded Malcolm suspiciously. “You don’t have a
tendre
for the girl, do you?

“Why would I have a
tendre
for Miss Keighley?” demanded Malcolm. “I have no mind to involve myself with anyone who wants more from me than Estella does.”

“Estella isn’t here,” observed Stephen bluntly. “And you’ve always had an eye for a pretty girl. Miss Keighley might be a bit of an Amazon, but she’d make a cozy armful for you, and you’ve already kissed her once.”

“Miss Keighley is no one’s cozy armful,” said Malcolm bitterly, reflecting that it was better that Stephen not know of the second kiss. “She is far more interested in stopping the free traders than in a dalliance with me.”

Stephen put his cards down and peered at Malcolm closely. “You don’t sound all that pleased about it.”

“Don’t be a fool, Del.” Malcolm’s voice was scornful. “I promised my sister I would make the countryside happy, and Miss Keighley appears to be the key to that.”

“Surely the county merely expects you to post guards on your beaches and chase away the smugglers. No one could ask more of you.”

“Miss Keighley could.”

Del picked up his cards again and gazed at Malcolm over them. “Well, I think it’s very odd.”

“Do you? It seemed to make sense at the time.” Malcolm frowned. “I’ve given my word, and I can’t back out now. Don’t feel obliged to stay, Del. I’m sure it will be damned dull for you.”

Stephen chuckled. “I have no intention of leaving any time soon. This will be a far sight more amusing than standing up at Almack’s with some girl fresh out of the schoolroom. Watching Malcolm Arlingby round up a band of smugglers might be the most entertaining thing I’ve done in some time. Your dealings with Miss Keighley will be fascinating as well, I’m quite sure.”

Malcolm grinned sheepishly. “I won’t say I’m not glad you’re staying. Rattling around in this huge house by myself would be tedious. But don’t go around telling people I have an interest in Miss Keighley. I mean to wrap this up as soon as possible and high tail it back to London and Estella.”

“When do you and Miss Keighley begin your attempt to defeat the smugglers?”

“She plans to show me the caves they’re using on my beach tomorrow morning.”

“Really?” Stephen raised an eyebrow.

“Dash it, there is nothing else to it, Del.” Malcolm put down his cards and stood. He refilled his brandy glass and, cradling it in his long fingers, moved to the window. “I’m doing this for Wroxton. I need to do honor to my name.”

Stephen gave a hoot of laughter, and Malcolm shook his head dismissively. He gazed out the window at the dark landscape, and suddenly stiffened.

“Del, come here,” he said.

Stephen rose lazily from his chair and joined the earl at the window. “What is it?”

“There.” Malcolm pointed to the horizon. “Do you see those lights? Like lanterns moving across the land.”

Stephen squinted. “Aye, I see something,” he said. “Who would be out and about on a night as dark as this?”

“If there was one light, I might think it a farmer seeking a lost calf,” said Malcolm. “But there are at least a dozen. They’re smugglers, and on my land. Arlingby land.”

Stephen shrugged. “A year ago you would have told them to give you a cask, and you’d leave them alone.”

“A lot has happened in this past year. I don’t like it, Del. I don’t like it all.”

“Then you and Miss Keighley have quite an adventure in front of you.”

“Blast you, Del,” said Malcolm, but he smiled as he spoke. He wandered back into this chair and dropped down into its depths, the brandy still in his hand. He took a sip.

“There’s nothing to be done about it tonight,” he said. “Let’s finish this hand. I’ve a mind to win my money back from you.”

Malcolm rose early in the morning and sent for the bailiff. He was consuming a hearty breakfast when that individual appeared, and he greeted him with enthusiasm.

“Ah, Bulkeley,” he said. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

The bailiff bowed. “It’s my pleasure, my lord. How may I be of service?”

“I plan to make a stay of some days here at Wroxton. I’d like to see the accounts. Will you please see they are in my library by this afternoon?”

“Certainly sir,” replied Bulkeley. “Though I think you will find all is in order. Your cousin was most punctilious when it came to the land.”

“I have no doubt he was. But I feel I should be familiar with the estate. I have not been here in many years.”

“We are all glad to have you back. It was a sad day when your father died, and while your cousin is a fine man, it does my heart good to see you return.”

“Thank you, Bulkeley.” Malcolm sat back in his chair. “Now, please tell me about the smugglers.”

“The smugglers, my lord?”

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. “I’m told there are brandy smugglers in the area.”

“There are smugglers all along the Kentish coast, my lord. On a fine day you can see France from here, so of course there is some activity occasionally. I do not think there is a problem on Wroxton lands; I believe their chief activity is centered on Dover.”

“I have heard otherwise,” said Malcolm briskly. “Last night I also saw lights that could be nothing but contraband being moved across the estate.”

Bulkeley looked concerned. “If that is so, my lord, we must do something about it.”

“Indeed,” said Malcolm. “Engage some men to guard the beach at the foot of the cliffs. I’m told they use the caves there to store the brandy by day, and move it by night. If we can keep them from landing the casks it might spare my tenants some grief.”

Bulkeley nodded his head. “Be sure I will do so, my lord.”

“Very good. Report back to me when you have hired the guards.” Malcolm turned back to his breakfast.

“Certainly, my lord.” The bailiff hesitated. “If I might ask a question, my lord—”

Malcolm looked up. “Yes, Bulkeley, what is it?”

“Whence had you this information about smuggling, my lord?”

“Miss Keighley spoke to me of them yesterday,” said Malcolm.

“Miss Keighley? My lord, if you would permit me—”

“Yes, Bulkeley?”

“My lord, Miss Keighley is, of course, a very competent woman,” said Bulkeley anxiously. “I am sure your meeting with her convinced you of that. However, she is very protective of her land and is, if you will forgive me, given to imagining problems where there are none, perhaps as a result of being forced to take the reins when her father died, while her brother was so young.”

“Is she? I would never have guessed. I will keep it in mind, Bulkeley. In the meantime, engage those men.”

Dismissed, Bulkeley bowed and left the room. Malcolm put down his fork and gazed after him for a moment. Then he sighed and returned with enthusiasm to his meal.

Half an hour later Malcolm strode to the stables, having asked that his horse be ready promptly at ten o’clock. When he arrived he was surprised to find Stephen there, dressed in boots and breeches and preparing to mount a horse.

“What are you doing up so early?” Malcolm asked. “I thought you’d be abed for hours.”

“My head might not be as hard as yours, Mal, but I’m not done in by a few glasses of brandy,” observed Stephen. “I thought I’d ride with you to see Keighley Manor. There is little else to do here.”

“Keighley Manor? Is that all you wish to see?” Malcolm swung easily up into his saddle and gave his friend an inquiring glance.

“But of course. Why else would I wish to go with you?” Stephen’s voice reflected injured innocence.

“Perhaps to see Miss Keighley as well?”

“Of course I mean to greet her, and her brother. It would be most improper of me not to.”

Malcolm shook his head. “Come along then.”

The two men set out for Keighley Manor, trotting down the beech lined gravel drive of Wroxton. It was a clear day, the sky very blue with wisps of white clouds dotting it, the sun, still ascending in the east, shining clear and bright. A fresh breeze blew off the Channel, bringing the tang of sea air. As they turned off the drive to ride cross-country, Malcolm looked around contentedly at the fields, recently planted and already bearing the promise of a good harvest. When they came upon a grassy field, Malcolm gave the horse his head, allowing him to open his stride to a gallop. Stephen did the same, but the man and horse ahead only gained ground on him. At the end of the meadow, Malcolm brought his gelding calmly to a collected trot and then set him to doing piaffe as he waited for his friend.

Stephen cantered up and watched Wroxton unbelievingly. “Wherever did you learn to ride like that, Mal?”

“Austria,” he replied briefly and then turned his horse. “Shall we trot on?”

When they arrived at Keighley Manor they rode into the stable yard and dismounted as grooms ran to the heads of their horses. Malcolm paused a moment, looking around.

“I’m to meet Miss Keighley,” he said to one of the servants. “She said she would be at the stables this morning.”

“Miss Keighley is in the barn,” said the groom. “I will fetch her for you.”

“No need,” said Malcolm. “I’ll find her myself.”

He walked across the stable yard towards the barn, Stephen at his side.

“Do you think this is wise?” asked Stephen, mischief in his voice. “The last time you were here with Miss Keighley you kissed her.”

“I know what she looks like this time. It won’t happen again.”

“Not with me here, anyway. Perhaps it is just as well I am present to play the chaperone.”

Malcolm sighed. “I will find myself regretting you did not choose to return to London.”

“How can I, when you have such need of me? Particularly as Miss Keighley is very lovely.” Stephen laughed, and Malcolm glared at him.

A stall door opened, and Helena stepped out into the passageway. Malcolm and Stephen stopped abruptly and stared at her, the former reflecting bitterly that if she had looked like this at their first encounter, he would never have mistaken her for a servant. She wore a riding habit made up in a sensible dark green wool twill, but its form fitting cut, and black passementerie trim and frogging elevated it above the ordinary. She had her long skirt caught up over one arm, revealing a hint of lace trimmed petticoats, and shining black boots.

“Miss Keighley, how delightful to meet you again,” said Stephen. “You must forgive me, I invited myself along with Wroxton here. It seemed too lovely a day to remain inside, and I have heard much about the beauty of Keighley Manor.”

Helena smiled charmingly at him. “Of course I forgive you, Mr. Delaney. How could I feel anything but complimented by your wish to visit my home? Will you ride out with Lord Wroxton and me?’

Stephen grimaced comically. “I think I will beg off from that, Miss Keighley. I am sure the ride would be delightful, but the walk down to the beach would doubtless wreak havoc on the shine of my boots. I thought I would see if your brother is about, and have him show me the property.”

Helena laughed. “Coward,” she teased.

“Certainly ma’am, anything you say, as long as I don’t have to walk down a dusty path to a beach and then trudge up again!”

“What a pity,” said Helena cheerfully. “Arthur will be pleased to see you, however. We get so few visitors, and my company cannot possibly keep him amused. He is in the house, going over accounts. I’m sure he would delighted if you were to wrest him away from them.”

Stephen bowed gracefully. “I will do my best to lead him astray, Miss Keighley!” With a smile and a nod to Malcolm, he turned and walked toward the manor.

“What a personable gentleman,” said Helena, looking after him, a smile in her eyes.

“Del? Aye, he has a way with the ladies,” said Malcolm shortly.

“Does he? Well, I suppose it is no surprise. He is handsome and well spoken, and many women require little more.”

“Do you?” Malcolm couldn’t resist asking.

Helena shook her head. “My requirements are immaterial, Lord Wroxton. I have no intention of marrying. Shall we set out?”

“Certainly.”

Malcolm watched as Helena signaled to a groom, and her horse was brought out, a fine chestnut with powerful hindquarters and a well set neck. He eyed it admiringly, and stayed the groom with a look as he moved to help his mistress mount.

“If I may, Miss Keighley,” he said.

Helena raised her eyebrows, but allowed him to assist her into her saddle, putting her foot into his clasped hands, so he could toss her up. As she bent to adjust her skirts and the stirrup, she looked down into his smiling face, almost catching her breath as she once again breathed in his scent. She drew back and looked away to hide her confusion. “I am quite settled now, thank you,” she said.

Malcolm swung up into his own saddle, and they walked their horses out of the stable yard, the groom trailing behind them.

“Is he necessary?” asked Malcolm.

“Certainly, Lord Wroxton, if I value what remains of my reputation. You are the Wicked Earl, after all.”

“I believe I was wanted for murder, not for ravishing females,” said Malcolm with a grin.

“Ah, but in the days after--and if the stories are true, before--your exile, you also had quite a way with the ladies,” said Helena primly. “I’m told you have brought your mistress with you to Wroxton.”

“My mistress?” repeated Malcolm blankly, an image of Estella appearing before his eyes. He realized he hadn’t thought of her in days. “Why would I do that?”

“Doubtless to slake your interminable lust. Wicked men are like that, I hear.”

“Dash it, I don’t think any mistress of mine would care to be sitting about Wroxton while I chase after smugglers,” protested Malcolm.

“Ah, but she is American, and thus completely dependent upon you,” observed Helena.

“Is she indeed? Where would I conceivably meet an American woman of easy virtue, especially one who wished to cast her lot in with a disgraced Englishman?” wondered Malcolm.

“That you will have to tell me. I have so little experience in this area.”

“I’m not at all sure we should be discussing my mistress, imaginary or otherwise,” objected Malcolm.

“But I will not be able to fan the flames of the local gossip if you give me nothing to pass along.”

“Ah, I see. You are in quite a quandary. Perhaps I can be of assistance.” Malcolm appeared to ponder the question. “She is from Virginia—no, from New Orleans,” he said. “French women are far more exotic, are they not? She is from New Orleans, then. Her father was a member of the French aristocracy who had to flee to the New World after the Revolution. There he loved and wooed an Indian woman—no doubt a princess of her tribe. My mistress is their only child; her mother died giving birth to her. Her father has never loved again and has immured himself on his vast estate on the bayous, full of sugar cane and live oak trees dripping with Spanish moss.”

“Gracious, what a sad story,” said Helena, trying very hard not to smile. “What is her name pray tell?”

“Emilie?” said Malcolm. “No, that is too common. Aurelie. I believe her name is Aurelie.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“How did you come to meet her?”

“Clearly, I went to New Orleans.”

“You did? I thought you had remained on the Continent all those years?”

“Not at all,” said Malcolm expansively. “I travelled extensively. A Wicked Earl cannot be contained by a mere continent. I went to the Orient, and to the Levant, and, quite naturally, to the Americas.”

“Were we not at war with them until just a few months ago?” asked Helena teasingly.

“I disguised myself. Could you not guess that?”

“Oh, of course,” agreed Helena. “That would explain how you were not arrested.”

“I am a master of deception,” Malcolm assured her.

“That may prove useful. How did—Aurelie was it? How did Aurelie come to be your mistress?”

“We met at a masked ball at her father’s home and fell desperately in love before we saw one another’s faces.”

“Of course,” murmured Helena.

“But her father would have none of me; I was the Wicked Earl, after all, and was wanted for murder. So, we fled under cover of night, chased by his servants, and sailed for Europe. We have been together ever since, inseparable!”

“But now that you are no longer a murderer, surely you could marry her?” suggested Helena.

Malcolm appeared to be confounded, but rose to the challenge after a moment of thought. “We would marry, of course, but she was wed as a very young woman to a gentleman of New Orleans who was revealed to be a pirate! He sailed away when she abandoned him for his wicked ways and has not been heard of since. “ He glanced at Helena and saw her begin to form another question. “No one knows if he lives,” he inserted hastily, “and, as she is a Papist, we cannot marry until we know she is free.”

“How you and Aurelie have suffered,” said Helena with a heavy sigh.

“Suffering is good for the soul, I’m told,” responded Malcolm cheerfully.

“And is your soul therefore quite pure?”

“Devil a bit. Were we not just discussing my mistress?”

“A topic not suitable for my ears.”

“You introduced it, I believe. I hope you have sufficient information for the gossips now. I dread hearing tales some months from now about my American mistress who is married to a pirate. If word gets back to Rowena, I shall regret it.”

Helena smiled up at him. “It was kind of you to humor me, my lord.”

Malcolm’s gaze caught hers, and he again felt the odd sensation he was coming to expect in Miss Keighley’s company, as though all were just slightly askew. He shook his head.

“It’s a lovely day, and these open fields are too tempting for us to continue at this pace,” he said. “How much farther to the beach?”

“It is on Arlingby land. I would guess it is a mile or two.”

“You ride as though you are a notable horsewoman. Would you mind very much if we galloped?”

A spark of pleasure lit Helena’s eyes. “I thought you would never ask,” she said, and prodded her horse to a canter.

When they neared the path that led to the beach, Helena reined her horse in, and Malcolm followed suit. He turned his horse and came back to her, pulling up next to her. The wind had whipped several curls loose from her chignon, and they clustered around her face. She was smiling broadly, clearly delighted by their gallop.

“Oh, that was lovely,” she breathed.

“Do you not often gallop on your own?” asked Malcolm.

“It’s not the same by yourself. It is far better to have company.”

Malcolm found himself gazing at her flushed face intently, and fought off the urge to move closer. He glanced at the groom, who sat astride his horse at a distance, gazing off over the water.

“Does he go with us to see the caves?”

Helena shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t ask it of him. His knees are not what they used to be, and the path is steep. I doubt much could happen between us in a smuggler’s cave.”

Malcolm nodded, not sure why he was so pleased. He dismounted and, turning to Helena, grasped her about the waist as she slid from her horse. With the groom watching, he resisted the urge to hold her longer than was proper, and set her gently on her feet.

Helena glanced up at him through her lashes. “Thank you, Lord Wroxton.”

Malcolm stepped back and beckoned to the groom, who took the reins of their horses.

“We won’t be gone long, Macklin,” said Helena sunnily. “I merely wish to show Lord Wroxton the beach.”

“You be careful, miss. I don’t like this. There might be folks about who would do you harm.”

“I’m sure Lord Wroxton will have a care of me.”

Macklin gave Malcolm a doubtful glance, but refrained from speaking. Helena indicated a path some yards in front of them.