The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(79)

“Hush, I’m not going to hurt you,” a soothing and familiar voice said.

The artist.

She gasped, her hands opening and clutching his coat in her relief. “On thank God it’s you! I thought…”

“What did you think?” he asked. He held her comfortingly in one arm, but he seemed to be looking over her head, scouring the surrounding trees.

“There’s a man,” she said urgently, “a smuggler with a knife, a dagger of some kind. I don’t suppose you’re armed, sir, so we should flee!”

“Discretion is certainly the better part of valor,” he agreed, still scanning the woods. “Although you should know I am the very devil with a stick.” As she finally lifted her puzzled head from his too comfortable chest, he seized what looked like a trimmed branch which was propped up against the nearest tree, and made swift fencing motions with it. “See?”

“I see that you are just as mad as I remember,” she said shakily.

“No, no, it’s a perfectly sensible defense,” he assured her, still with his arm around her shoulder as he began to walk with her toward the edge of the wood. “Only why is a smuggler attacking you?”

“I followed him from the castle,” she confessed.

“How do you know he’s a smuggler?”

She frowned. “Who else could he be? I saw them last night, hiding barrels in the castle cellar and that is not something Braithwaite would approve of, so when I saw him again this morning. I tried to tell him so, only he wouldn’t stop to talk and then he just lunged at me, with a knife.”

“Good God,” the artist said, casting her a startled glance. “He actually attacked you?”

She nodded. For some reason, with his large person at her side, his arm around her, it no longer seemed too scary.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, my reflexes are quick. Too many games of tag when we were children. I was the champion.”

“Excellent practice for life, tag,” he murmured. “Um, are you acquainted with this man?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“Well they do say, the “gentlemen” are no longer gentlemen. Bonaparte has made it a much dirtier business than merely avoiding duty. We should go and visit my neighbor, who knows about such things.”

“Who is your neighbor?”

“His name is Jack and he and his family have a cottage on the shore, just a few yards along the street from mine.”

“Smuggler Jack?” she said in surprise.

“With such a well-known name, I’m surprised the authorities haven’t clapped him up.”

“Well, the authorities are local, too,” she pointed out as they emerged from the trees. “Besides, I think Jack might have retired from the trade. The excise men shot him a few months back and his wife works for the Muirs now.”

He cast her a glance sparkling with sudden amusement. “You are surprisingly knowledgeable in such matters.”

His laughing eyes would be her undoing. She became aware of his nearness, of his unconventional escort with his arm still warm around her shoulders. Whatever had happened to the dignified friendliness she’s been so determined to show him? Wretched smuggler.

Trying to squash the silly butterflies in her stomach, she drew away from the artist until his arm fell casually back to his side. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, the Muirs are friends of mine,” she said hastily. “Gillie Muir is now Lady Wickenden.” That should give him some warning of her status at least.

“I know,” he said.

She blinked. Well, everyone in town must know of Gillie’s brilliant marriage. All the same, his words brought to mind something he’d said yesterday, after she’d mentioned her troubles stemming from flirting with Lord Daxton. Well, he’s a fun person to be with. I’d probably flirt with him myself.

Daxton had a lot of odd and quite unrespectable friends. She shouldn’t be surprised that one of them should be him. But it was now more urgent than ever that he understand her position.

With a very deliberate carelessness, she said, “You do know, then, that I am Serena Conway, Lord Braithwaite’s sister?”

She wasn’t quite sure what she expected. Possibly a blanching of his face, or a look of horror, almost certainly an apology for his familiarity to call it no worse. And a change in his manner that she would, in spite of everything, be sorry for.

But the artist only smiled faintly, without much obvious interest in her words. “Yes, I know.”

She blinked. “You do?”

“Well, yes. It didn’t register just at first, but you seemed so at home here and there had been talk in town of your arrival at the castle.”

“Then…then it does not…bother you that I am Lady Serena?” she demanded.

At last, his eyebrows rose in surprise. “Of course not. It’s who you are.”

“Like the back of my head?” she said with a hint of tartness.

He grinned. “The back of your head is very charming, your nape delightful. I’m sure you already know how beautiful you are from the front.”

“You are outrageous!” she exclaimed.

“If you mean I should apologize for kissing you, I’m afraid I can’t regret that, for I liked it excessively. On the other hand, if I offended you, I am sorry—I meant it to have the opposite effect.”