Sir Ashley's Mettlesome Match. Mary Nichols

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      Ash had detected the moisture in her eyes, though it was disguised by anger. Until now she had been perfectly composed, answering his questions, apparently hiding nothing and unperturbed by his disclosure that he was on the side of the law. He had been prepared to believe that her young cousin had been innocent and he only wanted to speak to the boy to verify that, not to have him turn King’s Evidence. If the lad had simply gone down to the beach to watch, there was nothing he could tell him, certainly not the name of the real smugglers, the ones who paid for the goods and organised their sale. If they could be brought to book, the smuggling might be curtailed; he did not flatter himself he could bring it to an end. All this he had intended to explain to her, but before he could so, she had flared up like a glowing fire suddenly stirred into flame.

      In some strange way, her anger made her more attractive, not less, because under it he sensed a vulnerability he realised she would never admit. It made him feel protective towards her. But supposing she was involved with the smugglers—would he still want to defend her? It was a question he could not immediately answer.

      ‘I am sorry to find you in sympathy with lawbreakers,’ he said, probing.

      ‘I am not in sympathy with lawbreakers,’ she snapped. ‘How can I be when I have seen what they can do? They hanged a man on a homemade gibbet last year because he warned the Excise of a landing and as a result some of the free traders were caught red-handed. His body hung there for weeks as a warning to others. I do not want that to happen to Ben.’

      ‘Naturally you do not, but had you thought that travelling with me to visit a magistrate might be construed as informing? You were, after all, in a position to see what went on.’

      ‘I saw nothing that could be of any help to the Customs and Excise,’ she said. ‘Apart from Ben, I could not identify a single one of them. In any case, no one knew I was there. As far as the public is concerned, I am a simple female anxious to obtain the release of my innocent cousin.’

      ‘Why were you really on the beach?’ he demanded, smiling at the idea that she was simple. There was nothing simple about Miss Philippa Kingslake, except, perhaps, her clothes. He wondered why she had so little regard for her appearance. Most of the ladies of his acquaintance would not venture out unless they had spent at least two hours dressing in the latest mode and having their hair done and face covered in paint and powder.

      ‘I have told you. I often walk out at night.’

      ‘And do your smuggling friends know that?’

      ‘I have no smuggling friends. At least, none that I know of.’ There was a hint of a humour in her voice; she had evidently overcome her tears. ‘One can never tell who they are these days.’

      He smiled, too. ‘My involvement in securing your young relative’s release might also be misconstrued.’

      ‘Then I must face Lord Borrowdale alone. I will be broken-hearted, pleading for mercy for my cousin.’

      He laughed aloud. ‘Have you met his lordship?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘He is not one to be swayed by broken hearts and feminine tears. He is famous for his harsh punishments. He takes a pride in them. Being even remotely associated with free traders will be enough to condemn you.’ He put his hand briefly over hers. ‘I think, my dear, you had best leave it to me.’

      She did not answer, not even to tell him she was not his dear, not his anything, because they were turning in at the gates of Lord Borrowdale’s country mansion and she needed to gather her wits for the confrontation to come.

      Ten minutes later she realised Sir Ashley’s summary of his lordship’s character had been correct when a very superior servant in full livery announced them and she found herself facing the man himself. He was a big man, both in height and breadth, with bushy brows and a full brown wig. His grey eyes surveyed her from top to toe, taking in her plain wool gown, her wild red hair and lack of a bonnet as if wondering how this person had had the effrontery to invade his house. She was glad of Sir Ashley’s steadying hand under her elbow.

      Ash had used his considerable reputation and standing in society to gain them admittance and was not going to let a little thing like the other’s superior rank intimidate him. He gave the man a flourishing bow. ‘Your servant, my lord.’

      ‘Sir Ashley.’ The bow was returned. ‘I have not seen you since your late lamented father went to his Maker. How many years ago was that?’

      ‘Ten, my lord.’ He turned and drew Pippa forwards. ‘May I present Miss Kingslake of Windward House, Narbeach.’

      Pippa gave him a curtsy. ‘My lord.’

      ‘Narbeach, you say?’ his lordship queried, taking his eyes from Pippa and turning to Ash. ‘There was a landing of contraband goods there last night and the Revenue alerted. All but seven of the devils got away, though.’

      ‘Six,’ Pippa said, resolutely. ‘The seventh was an innocent bystander.’

      ‘Innocent bystander!’ his lordship scoffed. ‘On the beach in the middle of the night when cargo is being brought ashore and you call that innocent!’

      She refused to be intimidated. ‘I do, my lord. He is but a child, full of childish curiosity. He simply followed the others down to the shore. He was never part of the illegal activities.’

      Ash nudged her. She turned to look at him. His eyes СКАЧАТЬ