Kiss From a Rogue

To my mom, who proved that when the going
gets tough and the tough lose their hair,
laughter and love will hold us together.

To Mike, my own hero.
Thanks for putting up with the insanity.

My thanks to Betty, Jessica, Joey, and Maggie for
coming through in the clutch, as always. You make
me a better writer (whether I want to or not).

And my thanks to JD, for such an
inspiring body of work.

Sylvia, Lady Montgomery, was a gently bred, gently reared female,…

“Do you plan to regain consciousness any time soon?”

“You’ve gone stark raving mad,” Alistair muttered as they watched…

Sylvia sat at the dressing table in her bedchamber, staring…

Husband?

Tony awoke in a strange room, morning light streaming through…

Within minutes, Tony was striding down a winding path along…

Tony went inside, where he found Sylvia seated at the…

She couldn’t breathe. “I did? You do?”

They were soaked to the skin by the time they…

Sylvia stepped back, gesturing. “Come in, all of you. We’ll…

The next two days passed in an exhausting blur, with…

Tony licked his bottom lip, tasting Sylvia, wanting more. His…

Her jaw worked, but no words came out. Images came…

With her spyglass still trained on the receding ship, Sylvia…

Sylvia paused in the hall outside Tony’s door and listened.

When they both finally sat up, Tony saw the red…

It required several hours, and the better part of the…

Sylvia paced on the tiny beach of Arish Mel in…

The fight going on around Sylvia was still fairly evenly…

Tony cleared his throat and stood up. After a moment,…

Lulworth Cove, Dorset
May 1816

S
ylvia, Lady Montgomery, was a gently bred, gently reared female, yet found herself standing on a cliff, staring out at the midnight-black sea, waiting to buy smuggled brandy from one of humanity’s most disgusting specimens.

She pulled her worn cloak closer about her shoulders, warding off the stiff breeze blowing in from the Channel. Moments later, a signal light flickered out in the cove, and Sylvia used her lantern to reply.

“You don’t have to do this, my lady,” Trent said, giving a steadying hand at her elbow as they picked their way down the steep cliff-side path. With no moon to guide them, they relied more on memory than sight.

She patted her pocket with the heavy purse, heard the reassuring clink of coins. “Yes, I do. You remember what happened last time Jimmy tried to take care of business? The captain nearly had him for supper.”

“Aye, my lady.”

Her brother-in-law was doing his best to fill her dead husband’s shoes, but the captain had no patience for green lads. He preferred young widows, because everyone knew that widows were fair game for rakes, rogues, and scalawags.

As soon as she reached the base of the cliff, Trent headed back up, to keep a lookout for the Revenue agents.

The cluster of men on the beach parted, murmuring greetings and clearing a path to the water’s edge for her, where the captain had just stepped out of the first longboat.

“Lady Montgomery, may I say you are looking especially fine this night?” He took off his hat and gave a low, sweeping bow.

She tried not to flinch at the overwhelming waft of odor his movements sent surging over her. Someone should tell him that all the cologne in the world would not mask the fact he hadn’t bathed in the last decade, and that salty spray washing over the deck didn’t count as a bath. “Good evening, Captain Ruford.” She kept her breathing shallow. Would he take offense if she breathed through her handkerchief?

The captain put his hat back on, hiding his thinning, overly pomaded hair. “Shall we adjourn to higher ground?” He took her elbow and led her back up the cliff path, out of the way, just as the next longboat slid onto the beach, followed by others. Men swarmed, forming chains to remove the casks from the boats and hide them in the caves. More than two dozen men moved about, only a single lit lantern in the entire cove, yet it was nearly silent save for the waves rolling ashore.

Attempting to finish their transaction as quickly as possible, Sylvia pulled out the purse.

“Ah, my dear, I had the most terrible time with the patrols on this voyage.” Captain Ruford accepted the purse with a shake of his head. “I had to bribe more officers than usual, and I fear I cannot absorb the added cost.”

Blast. She, Jimmy, and the villagers had barely been able to scrape up the usual funds to pay for this cargo as it was. Her head began to pound in time with the waves. “I am afraid we cannot absorb the cost, either, Captain Ruford. It is your expertise that we rely on, to avoid the patrols in the first place. You have assured me several times that no one knows this coast better than you.”

“Aye, and no one does. However, the government lads are getting craftier, aren’t they? I had to pay off several of them, and I won’t take it out of my fee. You’ll have to cover it.”

“No.” She fought to keep the anger and fear out of her voice.

Ruford lifted one hand to trail a fingertip along her jaw. With the cliff at her back, Sylvia had nowhere to go to avoid his touch. “Unacceptable answer, Lady Montgomery.”

She shook her head. “You have all our coins. There is nothing more to give you.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Ruford let his fingertips slide down her chin, along her neck, to the fastenings of her gray cloak. She forced herself not to cringe.

She heard a growl from down the path, and saw Jimmy walking toward them, his hand on the pistol tucked in his belt. She waved him off. They still needed Ruford, and he hadn’t yet crossed beyond what she could handle.

Ruford leaned in close, his putrid breath fouling the air even further, and lowered his voice. “I’m sure we can come to an amicable agreement.” He rested his hand on her shoulder, his fingers toying with the curls by her ear. “Montgomery is rotting in his grave, my dear. It’s long past time that you took another man to bed. Come aboard my ship for the night, and we’ll call the debt paid.”

She balled her fists at her side as indignation warred with nausea. However much she might wish, she could not end their business relationship. Not yet. The livelihoods of too many people were dependent on her actions. “Jimmy!” she called.

Her brother-in-law bounded toward them, his brow creased with concern, his hand at his belt, ready to draw the pistol. “Everything all right?”

“Leave the last cask in the boat. Captain Ruford will be taking it back aboard his ship.”

“But—”

“I’ll explain later.”

He shot a worried look over his shoulder as he walked away, but passed the message to the men.

“I think that more than covers the added expense you incurred, Captain.” Sylvia turned to walk up the path.

Ruford’s eyes narrowed. “This time. I warn you now, it will not be sufficient payment in the future.” He patted her derriere. “Pleasure doing business with you, my lady. I’m looking forward to our next meeting.” He headed back down to the beach, calling orders to his men.

By the time Sylvia had taken a half dozen more steps up the path, the beach was clear. Jimmy and her men had taken the trail back to the village and the Happy Jack Inn, and Ruford and his crew were rowing out to his ship.

She sagged against the cliffside and shuddered. Ruford had been getting bolder, more offensive each time they met. The fact she still wore half-mourning in honor of Lord Montgomery was no longer a sufficient barrier.

Personal affront aside, losing that cask of brandy would set them back, a loss they could hardly afford. But, much as she wanted to help the villagers, there was no chance in hell she would ever spend the night with Ruford.

She’d have to think of something else next time, some other way to deter his advances. A way that wouldn’t interfere with business, because the villagers still needed Ruford. Though summer had just started, under the best of circumstances the season was barely long enough to prepare for the cold winter weather and harsh storms. After the shipwreck last spring that claimed her husband and so many other men from the village, circumstances had been far from ideal. They needed the profit from the brandy to rebuild, to replace all that had been lost.

Ruford had made it clear on several occasions that he would only do business with the lord or lady of the manor on whose beach they landed their cargo. Jimmy may have inherited, but Ruford paid the boy little heed. So, Sylvia, the least supportive of the village’s return to smuggling, had ended up the leader of the enterprise.

She reached the top of the cliff and strode for home, through the tall grasses, to the road that twisted and turned, lined with trees and overgrown rhododendrons, to the manor house. The path through the cave and tunnels was shorter, but she always avoided it. She’d never admit to being scared of the bats that made it their home.

“Set yourself down, missy, and I’ll have tea ready afore the cat can lick his ear,” Galen said as Sylvia entered the warm sanctuary of the kitchen.

“Bless you.” Sylvia held her hands out to the fire blazing in the hearth. Within moments, a stool was shoved unceremoniously against the back of her knees, and the housekeeper set a tray of scones and tea on the hearth, before pulling up a second stool beside Sylvia.

“Did all go as planned?” Galen said around a mouthful of scone.

Sylvia nodded. Close enough to plan, anyway. She had time to grab only one scone for herself before Galen snatched the rest away and covered them with a towel. They’d be brought out again for breakfast in a few hours.

The estate’s small herd of dairy cattle assured them of butter and cheese, and the village fishing boats brought in mackerel, but Sylvia could only tolerate so much fish and cheese before she longed for more variety. Like more pastry. Fruit. Even vegetables.

Slathered with creamy butter, the scone melted in her mouth. She followed it down with weak tea. As long as there was still even a hint of flavor left, Galen would hold off breaking out new leaves. But it was enough to wash away the lingering scent of Ruford.

“The captain required additional payment for bribes again.” With the worst of her hunger satisfied, fatigue loosened her tongue. Galen was the closest she had to a confidante, even though the servant was old enough to be Sylvia’s grandmother. “He is increasing his profits at our expense, and I don’t know how to stop him. With so many repairs still to make, there’s barely enough to go around when we get our full share.”

Galen shook her head, iron-gray curls not moving a whit. “If only my Gerald were a few years younger. He’d show that peacock a thing or two!”

A few
decades
younger, perhaps. Sylvia kept the uncharitable thought to herself. The two fulfilled the roles of cook, housekeeper, butler, and estate steward, though they should have been pensioned off long ago, and she was glad of their company.

Galen let out a sigh. “One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but if I’d known what a mess Hubert would leave us all in, I’d have tanned his hide with my strop a few more times while he was still a lad. He should be dealing with the likes of Ruford, not you.”

Sylvia finished her tea. “If Hubert were still here, we’d have no need of Ruford, because Hubert had his own ship.” And if her husband hadn’t let the insurance lapse on his sleek, fast cutter, she and Jimmy wouldn’t be in the dire straits in which he’d left them. With a settlement from Lloyd’s of London in hand, she might have been able to talk Jimmy and the villagers out of resuming the smuggling runs, and give herself more time to come up with another viable,
legal
source of income.

And if wishes were horses, as her papa used to say, beggars would ride.

She pointed at the buckets of water lined up before the hearth. “Think they’re warm yet?”

“Aye. Been setting there since before supper.”

Sylvia peeled off her clothes while Galen hauled the tub out from the corner, brought it close to the hearth, and poured in the buckets of steaming water.

Once upon a time, they’d had enough servants in the household to heat the water and take it up to her bedchamber. But for the last year or so, after having to let go most of the other servants, she hadn’t the heart to ask that of Galen or Gerald.

However infrequently Sylvia indulged in a bath instead of making do with washing up at the basin in her bedchamber, Galen didn’t question her need to immerse herself up to her neck in warm soapy water after dealing with Ruford.

Galen emptied the last bucket. “Before I forget, my lady, stay out of the gold salon upstairs. More of the ceiling came down this afternoon. We moved the rest of the furniture into the rose salon.”

Ah, the lovely ground-floor rose salon, where Hubert had proposed. The room where he’d convinced her Uncle Walcott that he could provide for his bride. The only room in the manor that did not have peeling wallpaper or a collapsing ceiling.

Sylvia stepped into the tub. “Good place for it. If the summer doesn’t go well, we’ll all be sleeping in there when the rains come and the weather turns cold.” She sank into the water up to her chin.

Galen gave her a playful slap to the top of her head. “Buck up, missy. We’re off to a good start.” Her confident expression faltered. “Aren’t we?”

Sylvia suppressed a sigh. “Yes. Yes, we are.”

“Of course we are. Everyone’s garden is starting to produce. They’ll all be fat as lords in no time, you’ll see.” After setting the washcloth and soap within Sylvia’s reach, Galen gathered up the tea things and began cleaning up.

Sylvia washed quickly, trying not to picture the roofless cottages in the village, the families crowded together in the remaining sound structures. Two widows, with seven children between them, had resorted to combining their households into one after the shipwreck last year. Three families had given up altogether after the last storm, and emigrated to Canada.

They needed an entire summer’s worth of profitable shipments to repair the winter’s damage. If things kept getting worse, more people would leave until the village was abandoned altogether, and she’d have no choice but to return to her uncle’s home and his squalling brats. She wouldn’t allow that to happen.

She finished her bath, dried off, and slipped into the night rail and wrapper Galen had kept warming by the fire. Leaving the servant to tidy up the kitchen, Sylvia climbed the stairs to her room, and felt her way along in the darkness rather than waste burning a candle.

At this stage in her life, she had expected to have a child or two, perhaps another on the way. A husband who treated her with respect, if not actual affection. Supervising the housekeeper and deciding how to best stretch her household budget should have been her biggest worries.

Instead she was consorting with smugglers, fending off the advances of a deceitful, stinking lothario, had no children nor hope of any, and her husband had turned out to be a first-rate liar before inconveniently dying. She was left with the burden of an entire village with crumbling cottages and a population decimated by the losses from the shipwreck last spring and the war with Napoleon.

Finding another husband would solve many of her problems. But she’d looked over her options among the villagers, and the men she’d met in the nearby towns when there had been enough money to attend the occasional rout at assembly rooms. Between war casualties and the lost ship, most of the eligible men were gone. She was better off here, making the best of things with Jimmy and Galen and Gerald.

She climbed into bed, sighing as she sank into the lavender-scented mattress and pillow.

A moment later, soft footsteps padded across the floor, the bed dipped, and a fluffy tail fell across her face. “Lie down, Macbeth,” she muttered, pushing the tail aside.