My Lady Smuggler (13 page)

“Some things are better left unsaid,” was Melvyrn’s only reply.

Then that night, just before he and Lord Denholm left Cliffe Manor for the Chadlingtons’ ball, a courier from the War Office delivered a dispatch from the Marquess of Roeburn about the movements of Napoleon’s troops, which could well influence Wellington’s decision to confront Joseph Bonaparte in Spain sooner rather than later.  He should be about arranging a run for France tomorrow night, Melvyrn thought, instead of attending the Chadlingtons’ blasted ball. 

The two noblemen
arrived late at the Chadlingtons for Roeburn’s messenger had been instructed to wait for an immediate reply.  Thus, when his coach rolled to a stop at the stone steps of the Chadlingtons’ Elizabethan manor house, they were greeted by an effusive Lady Chadlington.

“Oh
, Lord Melvyrn, Lord Denholm,” she tittered, “I had begun to think you both had forgotten our little ball tonight.”  The gold fringe on the purple turban that covered her hair was in constant motion as she led Melvyrn down a long, stone tiled floor to a ballroom at the rear of the house.  “Dear Sylvia was quite disappointed, you know,” she said, tapping Melvyrn’s arm with her fan.  “You were not here for the opening dance, which you had promised to her.”

“My apologies, Lady Chadlington,” Melvyrn replied, feeling not at all sorry
.  Fact was, he couldn’t remember making such a promise.  “Something unexpected came up that required my immediate attention.  I will certainly make it up to Miss Chadlington, however.”

“Dear boy, of course you will.”
With her purple satin gown billowing about her, Lady Chadlington preened with anticipation as she looped her arms through his.  “Now, let me introduce you both to my dear friends Lord and Lady Billinger, who have come from Brighton just for tonight.”

~~~~~

“La, Rosalind, you must find a new modiste,” Sylvia said as she tugged on Rosalind’s sore arm and led her over to a room just off the ballroom where refreshments were served.  

Rosalind
bit her lip against the pain and drew in a deep breath before asking, “What is wrong with my gown?”  While it wasn’t new, the yellow silk gown’s neckline and flounce, trimmed with embroidered rosebuds and a silver ribbon cinched below her bosom, were still in style. The off-shoulder sleeves also nicely hid the bandage covering the healing wound.

Sylvia
gave an unladylike snort.  “You’ve worn it to the last two dances.”

“
Folkestone does not have a modiste,” she replied.

“Don’t I know it,” Sylvia said
snidely, rolling her lovely china blue eyes.  “But really, Rosalind dear, you must leave this backwater and take in a London season and acquire some town polish.  Mother and I plan to leave next week.” 

“I thought your papa didn’t want to rent a house
this year?”  Rosalind remembered Sylvia’s displeasure when she’d imparted that information at Squire Wilcox’s Christmas dance.

“
Well, as to that, my aunt, Lady Willis-Altson, has invited us to stay with her.” Sylvia looked around the corner into the ballroom and smiled broadly.  “La, there is Lord Melvyrn.  He came to dinner two nights ago, you know, and brought his friend, Lord Denholm.”

Rosalind didn’t know.  She hadn’t seen the Earl or Tolly, for that matter, for several days.  As she felt a
constriction in her chest, she put it down to irritation that Melvyrn would waste his time with someone as superficial as Sylvia.  Following her back into the ballroom, Rosalind tried not to look in Melvyrn’s direction and was thankful when one of Squire Wilcox’s sons asked her to dance.

Still, there was no way she could avoid Melvyrn, and several dances later
he stood before her where she sat beside Mrs. Boroughs and several other matrons who were chaperoning their daughters.  

“Miss Wensley,” he said, bowing over her hand, “
allow me to introduce to you my good friend, Lord Denholm.”

Beside Melvyrn stood a tall, slender gentlemen, who stepped forward and bestowed a kiss on her outstretched hand.  His chiseled jaw and cheekbones offset his aristocratic nose as hard gray eyes searched the depths of hers.  “A pleasure, Miss Wensley,” he drawled, rising.  “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

Rising, Rosalind allowed him to lead her to the dance floor where a new set was forming.  As she expected, he was an excellent dancer, and his light banter put her at ease.  Still, she caught him watching her with a calculating glint in his eyes several times.  Afterwards, he led her back to Mrs. Boroughs, and Melvyrn appeared, requesting a dance.

Nodding, she allowed him to take her elbow and lead her onto the dance floor.  However, when the first stands of a waltz started up, she felt more than a little flustered.  There were only a handful of couples on the floor since the waltz was still considered quite scandalous by provincial standards.  But before she could refuse,
she felt the heat of his hand as he placed it on her waist. 

Drawing her to
him, he glided into the first steps of the dance.  While he was not as tall as his friend, Rosalind noted the broad breath of his shoulders and remembered how strong and muscular they felt when he’d carried her from the stables.  Though she came only to his shoulder, it felt natural, and she remembered laying her head against his chest, hearing his heart beat.

Hoping
to retard the color heating her cheeks, she frowned and focused her eyes on the diamond stickpin in his snowy cravat.

“You look unhappy, Miss Wensley
,” Melvyrn said smiling at her. “Please tell me it is not because of your partner.”

S
he lifted her chin and met his deep blue eyes.  To cover her confusion, she said, “No, my lord, it is the choice of dance.  You must know the waltz is frowned upon by many.”

“Ah, yes, and I can see from the fuming expression on Miss Chadlington’s face that I have chosen the wrong partner for this dance.” 

“Wrong partner?” 

“Surely, Miss Wensley, you’ve deduced the reason for my popularity with the Chadlingtons.” 

As Sylvia and her partner, Lord Denholm, danced by, Rosalind received the full glare of Sylvia’s spite.  Letting out a sigh, she said, “You could have danced with her.”

He looked at her strangely. 
“Not jealous?”

Rosalind straightened her shoulders.  “You flatter yourself, my lord.”

“Ah, you’re still angry with me for being concerned over your safety,” he said with a knowing smirk.

She shook her head.  “Tolly and I have had that conversation several times, my lord.”

“Yet you persist in putting yourself in danger?” he said in a near whisper. 

“Please, not here.” 

“Then perhaps you’ll smile for me, Miss Wensley?” She was thankful when he didn’t press for an answer and smiled as she gave herself up to the movement of the waltz.  She was rewarded with a similar smile from Melvyrn.

At the end of the dance, he led her over the Mrs. Boroughs and bowed his head close to hers.
“May I call on you tomorrow morning?”

Rosalind heard the intensity in the request and straightened her shoulders.  “
Come whenever, my lord.”

When he chuckled, she looked at him sharply, and he said, “I do believe, Miss Wensley, that is the first time I’ve heard a note of encouragement in your voice for me.”  As she felt
her cheeks burn, his laugh deepened.  He took her hand and brought it to his lips.  “Until tomorrow.”  Then he straightened and raised one eyebrow.  “For now, duty calls.”

Watching his broad shoulder
s as he walked toward Sylvia, Rosalind shook herself mentally.  She had to remind herself that the Earl of Melvyrn’s only interest in Folkestone was using the smuggling crew to pass government dispatches. 

Still, the memory of
his broad chest and strong arms about her as they’d waltzed lingered even when she closed her eyes to sleep later that night.

After a bruising gallop with Denholm on his dark brown stallion, Melvyrn settled Hector into a leisurely trot as they took the main road to Ashford Hall.  “I’ll miss racing these two each morning,” he said.  “Even though Rufus loses, a good race with him takes the fire out of Hector.”

De
nholm laughed.  “Still think you’d be better off trading that beast.” 

Melvyrn shook his head.  “Actually, I’m thinking of racing him
before letting him loose in my stables at Lincolnshire.  He’s got superb bloodlines.”

“Speaking of bloodlines,” Denholm said, giving Melvyrn a meaningful look, “Miss Wensley is quite the beauty.”

“And difficult to manage,” Melvyrn added with a laugh.

“No one would suspect she’d been recently shot, flesh wound or not,” Denholm said.  He was thoughtful for a moment.  “
If you continue to stand by her smuggling activities, you might be setting up your own stable soon.”

They reached
the tree-lined lane to Ashford Hall and slowed their mounts to a walk.  “It’s not something I plan to do in the near future.”  Melvyrn looked at Denholm and said, “But neither do I find the idea repugnant.”

Before Denholm could re
ply, Thomas called out to Melvyrn, “Good morning, your lordship.”  The groom took charge of both their mounts, leading them around to the stable. As the two noblemen ascended the stone steps, Tinsley opened the door and accepted their hats and gloves, placing them on a table just inside the door.  “Miss Wensley is in the study, my lord,” he said to Melvyrn and led the way. 

Watching
Rosalind rise from behind the big desk, Melvyrn considered what he’d just confessed to his friend.  She was a spirited filly, unlike any young woman of his acquaintance.  He studied her petite yet womanly figure, the light brown curls escaping the neat bun at the back of her slender neck, the self-assured tilt of her small chin and those remarkable large slate blue eyes. If he had to marry, he would prefer someone with her intelligence, her fire and passion for life. 

After ordering tea, Miss Wensley sat on a settee and indicated the two gentlemen take each of the armchairs across from her. 

“You should know, Miss Wensley,” Melvyrn began, “that Lord Denholm works for the War Office.”

As Denholm
acknowledged this with a nod, she asked without preamble, “Then you have received word of tonight’s run?”

Denholm’s eyebrow shot up.  “You already know about it, Miss Wensley?”

Melvyrn answered for her.  “Of course, Luther Tolliver would have told her right after I saw him this morning.”

“Yo
u must not be angry with Tolly, my lord.  He is only doing what we agreed upon,” Miss Wensley said, leveling a sapient eye on him.

“Perhaps you should reconsider your role in this, Miss Wensley?” Denholm said.  “After all, you have already been shot.  Who knows what else might happen if you persist in this?”

“How else might I help?” she asked, tilting her chin up.

“For one, you could provide shelter to returning soldiers,” suggested Denholm. 

She gave him a sad smile.  “Ashford Hall already does that, my lord.  It is one reason why I do not entertain or go about in society--to discourage neighbors from dropping in unexpectedly.”

Ah, thought Melvyrn, that explained her aloofness.  It
might also explain why Bailey’s Janey turned mute every time his valet tried to question her about the smugglers.  “Still, those involved in the smuggling know and word would get out.”

“Some people do know,” admitted
Rosalind, “but most, like the Chadlingtons or Squire Hopkins, do not.”  She turned to Denholm.  “I am adamant in my desire to help who I can, Lord Denholm, and will not change my mind.”  As Tinsley brought in the tea tray, she directed the topic toward an upcoming fair.  It wasn’t until the gentlemen were making their adieux that she asked Lord Denholm, “Do you plan to go tonight?”

Denholm shook his head.  “
I’m afraid I’ve already overstayed.  Whitehall is looking for me, so I leave for London this afternoon.”  He took her hand and bowed.  “While I believe you are putting yourself in unnecessary peril, I respect your desire to assist our soldiers and wish you God’s speed, Miss Wensley.”  Rising, he looked at Melvyrn.  “I hope we’ll soon meet again.”

~~~~~

Standing next to Tolly on the beach, Melvyrn could just make out the youthful figure striding toward the
Arrow
before scudding clouds obscured the moonlight.  Under his breath, he said, “Why you let her become a part of this is beyond my ken.”

“One way or another, Miss Rosalind was determined to help them soldiers,” Tolly said, offering no apology. “You heard her yourself.  If she don’t go with us, she’ll bloody well find others.” 

She stepped up to Tolly and asked, “Everything ready?”  He nodded and then lifted her in his arms to place her in the lugger. 

Melvyrn helped the men shove the
Arrow
further out in the surf and then hauled himself over the side.  When he made to sit next to Miss Wensley toward the stern, he caught Tolly shaking his head and so sat near the bow instead.  Melvyrn took advantage of the half moon flirting with the clouds and slept a good part of the crossing.