Page 107 of Counting on a Countess
His addled wits struggled to logically piece together what he saw. It truly was her. She must have emerged from the opening carved into the stone at the foot of the cliff. It appeared that large rocks had been concealing the opening, but they had been moved aside to permit entrance and exit.
A three-masted sailing ship was anchored several hundred feet from the beach.
It signaled to the shore with a light.
Kit scowled at the sight. He’d been in a considerable number of clandestine missions before—sneaking behind enemy lines in Spain to retrieve valuable information on troop movements—but this was England. This was peacetime. None of this was supposed to be happening.
Someone on land signaled back. It was Tamsyn, holding up her lantern. She covered and uncovered the spout with her hand. On the ship, the signal blinked in response.
At the far end of the cove, boulders on the sand formed a ridge that jutted toward the water. Men clambered over the rocks, then reappeared at the farthest end of the ridge. He couldn’t tell what it was they dragged from behind the rocks. Angling for a better look, he sprinted forward and took cover behind a chunk of cliff that had long ago broken free and now rested on the sand.
One of the men turned and looked in Kit’s direction, but he stayed hunkered down, holding his breath. Finally, the man went back to his work.
From his vantage, Kit saw that the men hauled what appeared to be a wooden walkway. No, it wasn’t a walkway. It was a pier—the same used for mooring boats.
People waded into the water as they pulled the pier around the stone ridge, pushing it out into the water before anchoring the end to the rocks.
A large rowboat disengaged itself from the ship and began heading in the direction of the pier. He watched with fascination as villagers formed a line leading from the pier to the opening in the cliff.
Finally, the rowboat reached the pier and men on the boat hefted something heavy into the waiting arms of the villagers.
Casks. The cargo they transported was casks. He didn’t doubt they contained contraband French liquor.
Like a fire brigade, they passed their cargo from one to the other. Some staggered under the weight of the casks, but they were helped by brawnier, stronger men. The cargo moved toward the people at the entrance to the bluff, who brought the casks within.
All the while, Tamsyn strode up and down the line. Though she barely spoke, she directed the cargo’s movement and paused now and then to consult with someone before stepping onto the slip and conversing with someone in the boat.
Kit sank down onto his haunches, the blood in his ears roaring louder than the surf as the truth finally revealed itself to him.
His wife was a smuggler.
His mind whirled as his body shook. It was impossible to make sense of anything with his thoughts and heart tumbling in confusion. What the hell should he do?
You’ve been in tight spots before,he reminded himself.Take one step at a time.
He seized on a thread of logic to help him move forward.
Years of warfare taught Kit that confronting her now could mean his death. Smuggling gangs carried bats and clubs in case they encountered customs officers. Doubtless the villagers would use the same weapons on him if he made his presence known. They’d beat him first, then ask questions later. They wouldn’t much care that he was their leader’s husband. He was an outsider and a threat.
The farmer had warned Kit about strange and dangerous doings in Newcombe, but never did Kit believe thathis wifewas at the center of it all. Ever since he’d arrived in the area, his military instinct had told him something was wrong—and here he had proof.
The only thing he could do now was get away without calling attention to himself. The rest he would have to figure out moment by moment. Now he had to work out the best retreat strategy.
He edged back, then retraced his steps along the beach. Despite his shock, he moved quickly, finding the darkest places as his mind spun.
No answers would come to him. Cold bewilderment receded, replaced by blazing anger.
She was a felon flouting the laws he and his men had fought to preserve. And all this time, Tamsyn had hidden this from him, knowing how he felt about crime. But as to the how of it, he could not begin to fathom. Questions pummeled him, questions that no one could answer. Except Tamsyn. She knew everything.
After reaching the village, he went back the way he’d come, walking quickly through the town. Though he kept himself aware of his surroundings, his thoughts were a morass that threatened to overwhelm him.
The way back to the estate offered no solace, only a choking sense of doom. It was all tied to this place—which was why she’d refused to leave.
The way the operation on the beach had moved with such practice and precision revealed that it had been going on for some time. She had been engaged in smuggling since before their marriage. They had wed with her holding this secret.
Whywould she marry him? It made no sense. She only jeopardized the security of her smuggling endeavors by doing so.
Was nothing between them real? Was he merely her pawn?
