Kiss From a Rogue (17 page)

She retrieved the bottle from the cupboard. “Rest your arms on the table, and lay your head down.” Tony complied. She rubbed the liniment into his warm, smooth skin, feeling his every bone and muscle.

The strength and vitality she’d sensed in him that first night, when he’d been unconscious on the sofa, was nothing compared to this, being able to rub her hands on him, no clothing as a barrier, no crowd of observers. She was not caressing him—this was a medical necessity.

“That stuff smells like you.”

She looked up.

“Lavender, I think.” Tony leaned back, tugged her toward him and…sniffed her hair. His exhale warmed her ear and sent tingles down her spine. “Definitely lavender.”

“It’s useful in a lot of preparations.” She stood up before Jimmy came back and caught her in a compromising position. “I modified Doyle’s horse liniment recipe, added a few things. Lavender reduces inflammation, helps prevent infection.”

“You don’t say.” Tony slid his hand down from her wrist, tangling his fingers in hers.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her heart, which was beating much too fast. One would think she’d never held hands with a half-dressed man before. “And chamomile seems to help wounds heal faster.”

“I don’t smell chamomile. Just the lavender. Your scent.”

She swallowed. “I bathe Macbeth in lavender water. Keeps the fleas away. And—”

“I didn’t think you could bathe a cat.” He tilted her hand back and forth. “Hmm, no scars.”

“You can if you start bathing them when they’re too small to put up much of a protest. After a while they realize it’s for their own good. He actually looks forward to it.”

Tony’s brows rose in disbelief.

“Well, he at least doesn’t try to jump out of the tub. He knows I won’t let him on my bed if he has fleas.”

Tony stroked his thumb over her wrist. “I imagine he’d put up with almost anything, to be allowed into your bed.”

The heated look in his eyes was making her insides jump and quiver. If he kept this up, she’d throw him down on the table and have her wicked way with him.

That was probably his plan. The only plans he seemed to make were for getting her into his arms, into his bed.

Sylvia tugged her hand free, and pushed his undamaged shoulder back down. “Let me finish,” she said brusquely. She dribbled more liniment down his back.

He closed eyes, resting his cheek on his forearm. Suddenly he chuckled. “We seem unable to break our habit.” She paused, her hand at the base of his spine. “You, ministering to my injuries.”

“Perhaps you should break your habit of getting injured.” There was a bruise just above his hip, at the waistband of his breeches. It disappeared below. Dare she?

Medical necessity. She dribbled more liniment on her fingers and worked it into his skin. His breathing hitched as her contact became more personal. She followed the contours of the bruise, dipping her fingers just inside his breeches.

“Careful.” His eyes remained closed, though he reached around to loosely grasp her wrist. “Don’t start something we can’t finish right now.”

Right. She had been getting carried away again by the sight, and feel, of all his lovely bare skin.

He let go, and she slid her hand up along his spine, proving that she’d had no ulterior motives whatsoever, and capped the bottle.

“Is that what I think it is?” Jimmy bounded into the room, staring at Tony’s back.

Sylvia busied herself putting the bottle away and wiping her hands, hoping no one else noticed their slight tremble.

Jimmy leaned over Tony, staring at the tattoo. Crumbs from the tart in his hand fell onto the bare skin.

“Did you bring enough for everyone in class, young man?” Tony hadn’t opened his eyes yet.

“I, um…”

“Thought not.” Tony sat up, but made no move to put his shirt back on. He held it bunched on his lap. “Yes, it’s what you think, and I don’t recommend getting one. Hurt like the devil for over a week. Not to mention making a bloody mess of my shirts.”

“Syl, do you remember old Preston? He had a tattoo like that, only it wound around his entire forearm.” Jimmy straddled the bench and sat down. “Said some tribal savages held him down while they pricked his skin with really sharp ivory sticks, over and over and—”

“Enough.” Tony shook out his shirt and pulled it on. “I prefer to remain blissfully ignorant of the details, if you please.” He stepped away from the table, tucking his shirt into his breeches.

Sylvia was sorry to see all that bare skin covered up, but it was probably for the best. She had apparently used up all her willpower when it came to Tony.

He sat down again and dragged the account book closer. “Now that my injuries have been treated and my survival ensured for at least another day, we have a problem to deal with. Any suggestions?”

We.

Sylvia’s heart swelled. She sat down, on the opposite side of the table. Really, perhaps she needed to get more rest if she was going to get so emotional over someone taking on their problems and making them his.

This was dangerous. She couldn’t allow them to rely on Tony. He was here temporarily. Things would only be that much harder after he left if she let herself rely on him.

She sighed. “If we had our own ship again, we wouldn’t need Ruford. And smuggling was much more profitable that way, even after paying a crew to sail it.”

“Yes, well, Hubert took care of that, didn’t he?” Jimmy clenched his fist on the table. “Bloody idiot couldn’t navigate his way across a duck pond. If he hadn’t wrecked on Mupe Rocks we’d be papering the gold salon in pound notes by now.”

“He managed to find his way between Liverpool around to London and back several dozen times.” She laid her hand on his. “It was a storm, Jimmy. How many ships have wrecked on Mupe Rocks in your lifetime alone?”

He stared down at the table, and traced the grain of the wood with his thumbnail. Suddenly he looked up. “If we eliminate Teague as a customer, Ruford won’t have anyone to sell to but us.”

Tony stared at Jimmy. “Eliminate?”

Jimmy shrugged. “You asked for suggestions.”

“We are not the Worbarrow Bay gang,” Sylvia said. “How many times do I have to say, we will have no bloodshed?”

Jimmy mumbled under his breath.

“Let’s see if we can come up with something a tad less bloodthirsty.” Tony closed the account book. “I imagine simply offering more money is not an option.” At her nod, he continued. “Perhaps we can barter with him.”

Jimmy took a cloth-wrapped bundle out of his pocket. “Well, Syl has all sorts of remedies. Most of the villagers come to her instead of the apothecary in East Lulworth.”

Sylvia cringed at the thought of treating Ruford or any of his men. “I’m sure he has his own surgeon on board.”

Tony helped himself to a chunk of Jimmy’s cheese. “Ruford and his crew are not going to come anywhere
near
Sylvia.”

“Mackerel? With Sawyer and Baxter going fishing every day, we always have plenty of fish.”

Sylvia shook her head. “The crew can drop a line over the side anytime, and catch all the fish they need to on their own.”

Tony had started to pop the cheese in his mouth, but pulled his hand back. “Cheese.” He gazed at the chunk as though he’d never seen it before.

“That’s certainly something we have plenty of.” Jimmy made gagging motions. “Sometimes I get so sick of it, I never want to see cheese or fish again in my life.”

True enough. Which was why she’d started experimenting with the traditional local cheese recipe, despite Mrs. Brewer’s protests in the dairy workroom. Sylvia and Miss Atwood had started adding different herbs to the mix, and letting it ripen in different locations. “Fortunately we’ve only lost a few of the cattle to disease or other disasters that have plagued the village in the last few years. We skim the milk first, to use the cream for butter, and let the cheese ripen up to six months.”

Jimmy snorted. “Any longer than that, and the rinds get so hard, Doyle threatens to use them instead of wheels on the carts.”

Tony grinned. “There you are, then. What captain would turn down fresh rations for his crew?”

Could it be that simple? The answer to all their problems was…cheese?

The three of them walked down to the Happy Jack at dusk, and settled at a table in the corner, their backs to the wall, watching the door. Mrs. Spencer brought them each a mug of cider and bustled away again after squeezing Sylvia’s hand and whispering “Good luck.”

Several of her men were gathered on the benches before the fire, all looking as though they had nothing better to do of an evening but drink at the local alehouse. At least, that’s what Sylvia hoped Ruford would think. Even Baxter was there with his aunt, Mrs. Miggins, eating at another table.

Just as her nerves were stretched to the breaking point, Ruford entered. He peered through the dimness of the gloomy interior for a moment, noting every person present, before he strode to their table.

“My lady, may I say how nice it is to see you again.” He raised her hand for a sloppy kiss. Sylvia struggled to keep the smile on her face. “Gentlemen.” Jimmy and Tony exchanged nods with him, and Ruford sat down. He eased his chair to one side so that he too had a view of the door. Sylvia nudged her chair closer to Tony, trying to get upwind of the captain.

Tony waved, and Mrs. Spencer brought out another mug of cider. After a few excruciating minutes of drinking and idle chitchat, Jimmy set the purse on the table with a thud.

Blast. He was supposed to save that as a last resort. That money was needed to finish rebuilding after the storm. Sylvia reached into the basket at her feet and brought up a sizable chunk of cheese wrapped in cloth, and set that on the table, blocking the money from the captain’s sight.

“I’m eager to hear what you have to offer, my lady.” Ruford patted her knee under the table.

The captain wouldn’t touch her if she was sitting on Tony’s lap, would he? Tony wouldn’t mind if she moved there, she was sure.

Tony rapped his knuckles on the table. Ruford finally dragged his gaze from Sylvia to Tony. “You have to buy rations for your crew with the money you make. We’re offering to save you that step. Have you tried the Dorset blue vinny?” He pulled the knife from his boot, cut off a chunk, and offered it.

“Cheese?”

At least Ruford hadn’t laughed outright.

“It’s very nutritious. It will keep your men strong, and able to work hard.” Sylvia tried not to look too eager.

“And it’s tasty.” Tony popped a bit in his mouth.

“Cheese is cheese. We can get all we need when we dock in Swanage, along with our other provisions.” Ruford sat back, arms folded across his chest.

Sylvia took the chunk off Tony’s knife and held it out to the captain. “At least taste it. It’s my own variation on the traditional recipe.”

“Yours? Very well. For you, my dear lady.” He took the chunk, brushing his fingers along hers.

Tony wiped his knife blade and stuck it back in his boot. Sylvia reached down to pat her half-boots, checking that her own knife was still in place. She’d grown so accustomed to carrying it, now she hardly left the manor without it.

The inn door slammed open, and Ruford dropped his cheese.

Sylvia’s relief at the newcomer not being Teague was short-lived as she recognized Tipton’s tall, spare frame. The Revenue agent’s gaze swept the room.

Sylvia grabbed the purse from the tabletop and bent over to hide it in her basket.

But the basket had been kicked to the far side of the table.

She tucked the purse under her skirt, between her knees, trying to muffle the clink of the coins. A shadow fell across the table just as she arranged her skirt again.

“Good evening, Lord Montgomery, Mrs. Sinclair.” Tipton doffed his hat. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with the captain.”

“We’re trying to reach an agreement on terms for a business arrangement. Do go away.” Tony took a sip of his cider.

Sylvia felt the color drain from her face.

Tipton leaned on the table. “What business arrangements would you need to make involving a sea captain, pray tell?”

She pressed her knees together to prevent them from shaking. And clinking.

“Cheese, of course. We’ve had an excellent year, and need a more efficient method of transporting it to market.” Tony gestured at the round of cheese on the table.

“Ah, yes, Lulworth Cove’s delicious secret recipe Dorset blue vinny. Even the folks up in Shaftesbury have heard of it.”

“They have?” Jimmy sounded even more surprised than Sylvia felt.

“So the goods you have need of transporting are…cheese?”

Tony cut off another bit and offered it to Tipton. “What else could there possibly be?”

Tipton popped the bit into his mouth. “I bid you good evening.” He sketched the slightest of bows toward Sylvia, and claimed the only free table in the taproom. Mrs. Spencer hurried over to take his order. Moments later she brought him a platter and a tankard, and he dug into his meal.

The outer door opened and another man walked in, headed straight for Tipton’s table.

Jimmy leaned around Tony and whispered. “What’s Danielson doing here?”

Sylvia shook her head. “Tipton’s not supposed to report to him for another three days.”

“That’s Mr. Tipton’s superior?” Tony murmured.

Sylvia nodded. “All of the riding officers who patrol the Lulworth coast report to Danielson—but they usually report to him at the office in Weymouth.”

Tony scratched his jaw. “I wonder what brings him our way?”

“This can’t be good,” Jimmy muttered.

“I need to get back to my ship before the tide turns,” Ruford suddenly announced.

His ship was anchored in the cove—she’d seen the masts when she’d walked to the inn. It didn’t matter what the tide was doing. “But—”

“However, I plan to take a walk on the beach in the morning.”

“The view is particularly lovely at about nine,” Tony said.

Moments later he was gone. Danielson summoned Mrs. Spencer over. Tipton lifted his tankard in salute. Jimmy and Tony nodded back. Sylvia couldn’t move.

Move. Oh, no. She tugged on Tony’s sleeve, and he bent close so she could whisper in his ear. “Hayden, Monroe, and several others are supposed to move the brandy tonight, from the caves up to the inn’s cellars. We have to stop them.”