The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (9 page)

“This is the way to the cliff edge,” she said.

Malcolm followed in her wake as they moved through the scrubby trees clustering along the top of the cliffs. He found himself watching the sway of Helena’s hips under her riding habit, and hastily searched for a topic of conversation.

“Your groom does not appear to think much of me.”

Helena laughed. “Macklin? He doesn’t think much of most people. He barely tolerates Arthur and me, and we pay his wages. You needn’t worry that you’ve done something to offend him.”

“So, it is not that I am the Wicked Earl?”

“No, it is that you aren’t a member of the Keighley family. Macklin is very loyal; his family has served ours for generations.”

“How fortunate you are to have such strong roots here,” said Malcolm. “You know the history of your family and estate so well.”

Helena shrugged. “I have little else to do; I go out in society so little and even the stables and the accounts cannot fill my whole day. Surely you are interested in your family’s story?”

Malcolm laughed ruefully. “Our family’s honors are much newer than yours, and I fear I was an indifferent student when I was told the stories. As I recall, the first earl did a great service for Charles II, and the title and lands were bestowed at that time.”

“Did your ancestor stand with the king during the Great Rebellion?”

“I’ve not heard tell of it. He was a wealthy landowner of good, but not noble family, who, so far as I am aware, stayed out of the conflict by siding with whoever was winning.”

“So the service was - ?”

Malcolm grinned. “My ancestor had a wife of surpassing beauty. His service was to stay out of the king’s way when he came sniffing around the future countess.”

There was a moment’s silence. Malcolm could not see Helena’s face, but when she spoke there was a quiver of amusement in her voice. “That was a service indeed.”

“I fear you have a very poor idea of my family now, what with my own sad story and now the revelation that there is a Wicked Countess in its past as well.”

“Was she very lovely?” asked Helena.

“There’s a painting of her by Lely in the gallery at Wroxton,” said Malcolm. “You will have to come view it sometime, and you can tell me what you think.”

“I would like that,” said Helena. “I’m sure she was ravishing.”

“I’m dashed if I can tell,” said Malcolm. “All of Lely’s women look alike to me. I don’t know if the king just liked ‘em painted that way, or if every last woman in his court had the same face.”

“No one in my family was fine enough to be at Charles II’s court,” said Helena teasingly. “So we have no Lely’s, I fear.”

“Did none of your ancestresses resemble you? Because she would surely have caught Charles’ attention,” said Malcolm. “After all, he was known to favor women with hair the color of yours. Nell Gwyn and Lady Castlemaine come to mind.”

Helena laughed. “Flatterer. No, I believe all the women of my family were pillars of virtue. We have no kings lurking in our boudoirs.”

“They must have been very shocked when the first countess moved here,” observed Malcolm.

“No doubt. The Arlingbys have been setting the neighborhood by the ears for more than a century now.”

“Aye, we’re known for being a bit mad. My father was a domestic soul, though.”

“Your father was very kind to me when I was a girl. He was a friend of my father’s before—before he fell ill and died. And, of course, I think of Rowena as a friend.”

They had reached the path that led to the beach. It went steeply down the side of the cliff, doubling back at times as it snaked its way to the water. Malcolm gazed at it and whistled softly.

“I haven’t been here since I was a boy. I thought it would look less impressive now that I am grown, but it still appears to be quite a trudge. You don’t mean to tell me you walk down here often, do you?”

Helena shook her head. “Not in some time. But when I was a child, yes, I came here as often as I could.” She glanced up at him curiously. “You have no recollection of Rowena and me playing at Wroxton?”

Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. “I have some memories of a red-headed child playing with my sister years ago, before I went to Oxford. Rowena couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old.”

“You seemed terribly grown up,” said Helena. “Rowena and I were quite in awe of you.”

“Not so grown up that I could keep myself out of trouble,” observed Malcolm. “I’d have been better off staying at Wroxton.”

“Ah, but then you would not be the Wicked Earl, and would be far less interesting,” said Helena.

“I’d give up the notoriety in a flash.”

“Would you?”

“I would. As for the lessons learned—well, I won’t say twelve years in exile were worth it, but I suppose I’m wiser than I would have been otherwise.”

Helena tilted her head and considered him. He laughed.

“Do you doubt my wisdom?”

“Not at all,” said Helena politely.

They had reached the cliff edge, and after pausing a moment to look out over the whitecaps on the Channel, Helena turned away and started down to the beach, her steps sure on the narrow path. Malcolm walked behind her, and found himself admiring the straightness of her spine and the confidence with which she held her head. A strong breeze blew off the water and whipped some curls out from under her hat, and she reached up absently with one slender hand to tuck them back. He blinked, and looked away. The water of the channel spread out before him, its white-tipped waves shining in the noontime sun, and the wind whipped past him, salty and fresh. He wondered at how familiar it all seemed, despite the many years that had passed since he had been in this place.

They eventually reached the end of the path, and Helena paused as Malcolm joined her. The beach sloped away from them, larger rocks giving away to pebbles and then sand. The water lapped at the land, its sound soothing to the ears.

“Do you remember the caves?” asked Helena.

“They’re over there, aren’t they?” asked Malcolm, gesturing across the sand to where a cliff loomed over them.

“They are. Helena began to walk towards the cliff. “Were you allowed to play in them?”

“I wasn’t supposed to, but I did,” grinned Malcolm. “What about you?”

“Rowena and I were tended by a maid at all times, and she didn’t like to come here; the walk was too long and she felt it was not the proper sort of activity for girls.”

“So you were here rarely as a child?”

Helena smiled. “I didn’t say that. We would manage to slip away from her, and we invariably came here, as we knew she would never follow us.”

“You and Rowena seem to have been extraordinarily ill-behaved children,” complained Malcolm. “Yet somehow, it is I who have the notoriety.”

“From what I have heard, your sister is still not the retiring type. Though some years have muted the scandal, my name is also well enough known in certain circles that I do not go out in public much.”

“I didn’t mean to remind you of your difficulties,” said Malcolm hastily.

“I understand. Rowena and I were quite startlingly naughty at times, and perhaps that has led to some of our troubles. I am so happy she has a husband who cares for her.”

“She was lucky. Brayleigh suits her, though why I’ll never know.”

“He was not a friend of yours, I’m told.”

“Not at all. We loathed each other,” said Malcolm frankly. “But we have come to an understanding; so long as Rowena loves him, I have no need to find fault with him.”

“You are a happy family, then?”

“Happier than many,” shrugged Malcolm. “We don’t yell at each other in public.”

They had reached the cliff, and Helena stepped forward, pushing aside some grasses growing in the dark clay to reveal an opening. It was barely a yard wide, and only a few inches higher than Helena’s head. She looked at Malcolm dubiously.

“You will have to be careful not to hit your head before we reach the cavern.”

“When I was a boy, there was no need to worry about that. How things have changed.”

“I didn’t think to bring a lantern,” Helena remarked. “It is not a long way back to the cavern, but it will be very dark.”

“I thought you might want to explore, so I brought a tinderbox. With most ladies, that would be the last thing I would bring, but you, Miss Keighley, are an exception to almost everything.” He glanced around on the beach and snatched up a likely piece of driftwood. He pulled a tinderbox from his pocket and, with only a few attempts, produced a flame that he fed with some dry grass. More quickly than Helena had imagined, he had produced a passable torch.

“You’re very accomplished,” she said.

“I’ve had need to learn various things. There were some caves in the Ardennes—well, it doesn’t matter now.” He stepped in front of her. I had best go first. Are you sure your skirts will not hamper you?”

“If I recall correctly, the ground is quite even,” she replied. “I should be fine.”

Malcolm nodded and moved into the opening, his shoulders hunched forward. Helena followed closely behind him, as the daylight faded to gloom and the yellow glare of the torch lit only a small circle of darkness around them. The air grew damp and cool, and smelled of earth, and Helena felt a tiny shiver down her spine as the warmth of the sun slipped away.

“Are you nervous?” asked Malcolm. His voice sounded slightly deadened in the closeness of the tunnel.

“Not at all,” replied Helena. “I must have been here a hundred times as a child.”

“I only fear I will crack my skull on these jagged rocks.”

“You must be very careful, for my nursing skills are not renowned. I would be of little help to you.”

Malcolm laughed, and then gave a sigh of relief. “Here is the opening to the cavern. It was a shorter distance than I recalled, for which I am grateful. My shoulders were beginning to ache.”

He stepped forward and Helena followed quickly behind him. While she would never have admitted it, she found the narrow passage oppressive and the proximity of the earl a bit disconcerting. She stepped forward to stand at his side as he held the torch high.

The space they had entered was not terribly large, perhaps twice the size of the drawing room in Keighley Manor. It was cool and musty, and the walls were an indeterminate shade of greyish yellow. The roof soared over them so high that the light did not reach it.

“Ah, how I remember being here,” said Malcolm absently. “I wonder—”

He took several steps to the side, his fingers trailing gently along the rough stone. After a moment he stopped, and felt along the wall at shoulder level. He paused, a disappointed look on his face. But then he glanced at Helena and grinned.

“I was shorter then,” he said. He continued sliding his hand down the wall, and then gave a chuckle of triumph. “Here it is.”

He handed Helena the torch, and pulled a small box from a deep crevice in the wall.

The hasps were rusty, but the wood still shone darkly in the torchlight.

“What is that?”

“I kept things that were important to me here when I was a boy. I’m afraid the servants didn’t always appreciate the wonders of pebbles and fishhooks.”

“And it’s still here?”

“I never moved it; I suppose the last time I was here I was fourteen or so, and I hid it well. I must be getting old; seeing this makes me oddly sentimental. Of course, I never expected to be here—or at Wroxton—again.”

Helena glanced up at him, surprised to see the distant look in his blue eyes. She laid one hand gently on his arm.

He looked down and chuckled. “Are you feeling sorry for me?” he asked. “You need not. I am back at Wroxton, whether or not I am worthy of it.” He tucked the box back into its niche.

“Do you not want to know what is in it?” asked Helena.

“Lord, no. As I said, it is probably pebbles and fishhooks. Maybe another child will find it one day—perhaps even my son or daughter.”

He took the torch from Helena’s hand, his fingers lightly brushing hers. He turned towards the cavern and held it high.

“We are here to see what the smugglers are up to, not to wax nostalgic about my childhood.” His voice echoed dully in the dark. “Do you see anything?”

“There.” Helena pointed across the cave. “They would not put it near the entrance; as we well know, local children come here.”

Malcolm peered through the gloom, and then began to walk across the cavern, Helena close behind him. As they approached the back wall, some bulky shapes emerged out of the gloom. He gave a grunt of satisfaction.

“Brandy,” he said, seizing the canvas draped over the shapes and revealing a number of wooden casks piled against the wall. “A lot of it, too.” He raised his eyebrows. “I have no way to get it up the cliff, or I’d take one for myself.”

“Next time we can bring a pony to help with that,” said Helena, her voice laden with sarcasm.

“An excellent notion. If I put some of this away now, my grandchildren would be very grateful in fifty years.”

“So, the Wicked Earl means to have grandchildren?”

“I suppose I must marry at some point,” said Malcolm blithely. “It comes with the name and the title.”

“Who do you expect to honor with your noble intent to continue the Arlingby name?” Helena’s voice was sharp.

Malcolm laughed easily. “You have forgotten Aurelie. I must simply wait for her pirate husband’s death to be discovered.”

Helena had to smile. “You are ridiculous.”

“I suppose I am.” Malcolm pulled the canvas back into place. “We’ve confirmed they are indeed storing their illicit wares on Arlingby land. Now, we must decide what to do about it.”

He stood for a moment, pondering, and in the silence that followed, Helena heard a sound. She turned towards the entrance to the cavern, her senses quivering. A light was moving down the tunnel leading to the cave, its golden shimmer showing a path for whoever carried it. She clutched at Malcolm’s arm.

“Blast,” he said, following her gaze. Quickly, he drew her against the wall where the casks were stacked highest. He tested the pile with his hand to make sure it was stable, and then urged Helena behind it, following her into the cramped space.

“Shhh,” he said.

“I think I know better than to talk—”protested Helena, and then subsided at the look he shot her.

Malcolm glanced at the entrance to the cavern one more time, and then doused the torch in a puddle at their feet.

“How will we get out?” protested Helena.

“Hush,” said Malcolm impatiently.

“Did you bring your pistol?” whispered Helena.

“Why in damnation would I bring a pistol?” asked Malcolm, forgetting his order to remain quiet.

“Because of this very reason!”

“No, I did not bring a pistol. You’re lucky I brought a tinderbox. I suppose you might have thought to bring a pistol, if you’re so pleased with the notion,” observed Malcolm.

“Well, I like that - ” began Helena, but Malcolm startled her by sliding his hand across her mouth.

“This is not a game, Miss Keighley. I do not wish to see you hurt.”

Helena stiffened when she realized that in the darkness he had moved behind her, and she was held tightly against his body. It was completely dark except for the glow coming from the tunnel, and she realized that their circumstances were not only dangerous, but wholly improper.

Malcolm moved again, placing his body between her and the cavern, and urging her down on the ground. “Be silent,” he breathed in her ear, his breath warm on her neck. She nodded.

Malcolm crouched next to her, his thigh resting against hers. Gradually the glow came nearer, and the cavern filled with a dim light as two men entered, both holding lanterns high. They wore the rough clothes of the local farmers, and Malcolm narrowed his eyes, hoping to recognize them. But their faces and voices were unfamiliar. He suddenly wished he knew the local populace better.

The men approached the casks, and one pulled the canvas aside. “Excellent,” he said. “Last night’s landing was clearly a success. The master wants it moved out, and the moon will be dark the next few nights. We’ll take it across Wroxton lands again; the Keighley girl is suspicious, and his lordship shows little interest in his estates. We’ll be safer there.”

“We used that path the other night, and Wroxton is in residence. Do you think it wise to go there again?”

“The earl won’t notice. He’ll be drunk, I imagine, or playing cards with his London friend. Soon he’ll go back to town and leave us be. He won’t notice,” said the smuggler. “I’m told there will be a still larger shipment in a month’s time, and we want to have this lot out of here before it arrives.”

“Then we’d best do it,” replied his companion. “The master has a short temper, and I don’t want to be on the bad side of it. How many casks are there?”

“That’s what I came to see. We’ll need ponies to take it up the cliffs, or many men, I don’t care which.” He pulled the canvas off and began counting the casks. His steps brought him closer to where Malcolm and Helena were hiding, and she felt the earl stiffen, ready to leap out if necessary. But the man turned back before he reached their hiding place.

“I make it about forty. It’s quite a few, but we can handle it; we’ll just need four or five extra ponies. Be ready at midnight to transport this lot. The wagons will be waiting up on the road.”

“Aye,” said the second man. “There’s too much money to be made to leave this here long. And we can’t have others finding it.”

“Midnight, then.” The man twitched the canvas back into place, and turned away.

Helena felt some of the tension leave Malcolm’s body as the men moved off, the light receding with them. As they entered the passage to the beach, the shimmer faded away, until there was only total darkness.

Helena gave a sigh of relief, despite her inability to see anything around her. “At least they didn’t find us. I have no idea what we would have done, you being without your pistol.”

Malcolm made an exasperated noise. “Once again, I saw no reason to bring a pistol. You strike me as being dreadfully bloodthirsty.”