Page 117 of Counting on a Countess
She and Kit couldn’t flee and they couldn’t thrash her uncle. There was nothing to be done but move forward—and pray that she could find an explanation for whatever evidence Jory provided.
Tamsyn had always kept an alibi ready if ever she was caught. She had planned to admit to the charge, but say that she’d been coerced by a ruthless criminal overlord to commit the crime.
Her old alibi wouldn’t work, though, not with Kit included in the accusation.
“My lady,” Edwards said more insistently.
Tamsyn exhaled, then moved out of Kit’s protective hold.
“After you,” the senior officer said, glancing at the door meaningfully.
There was no running now. No hiding. She had to face her uncle’s threat—but Kit would be beside her. It was and wasn’t a comfort. There was no denying that she had brought him into this disaster, and if there was punishment to be meted out, he’d get a substantial share of it.
She, Kit, and Edwards moved through the house. The sun shone too brightly in her eyes when she emerged outside, and she squinted to make out the forms of Jory, Gwen, and Wright waiting in the drive. Her aunt’s expectant smile kindled more fury within Tamsyn.
Like hell will I let her see me squirm.
But what was Jory’s evidence? If she knew, maybe she could come up with a reasonable excuse.
He hadn’t led them to the basement. He’d said nothing about the locked door, either, or the secret corridors beneath the house.
She seized hold of this hope. Perhaps he didn’t know about any of it. If he’d been aware of them, he would have said something—wouldn’t he?
Don’t look at Kit. Not with all these eyes on us.
“All here?” Jory asked, looking around.
“Every one of us, my dearest,” Gwen answered.
Jory clapped his hands together. “Right, then. Hope you don’t mind a little walk, gentlemen,” he said to the officers.
“Just get on with it, my lord,” Edwards answered brusquely.
Her uncle deflated a little, robbed of milking the moment. Scowling, he strode in the direction of the village.
Feeling like a condemned prisoner, she walked after Jory while her mind whirled. Last night, she and the villagers had been careful as always to conceal signs of their movements, smoothing over their footprints in the sand and returning the pier to its place of concealment.
Had they forgotten something? Or had Jory found a villager willing to confess to the crime in exchange for compensation or leniency?
The procession of Jory, Gwen, the customs officers, Kit, and Tamsyn moved down the hill, taking the road directly into Newcombe’s high street. As they entered the village, she fought the urge to twist her hands together anxiously.
Kit walked with the upright bearing and steely expression of a soldier heading into battle. Gone was the insouciant charm, the insolent winks. Regret stabbed her—he’d wanted to leave the world of soldiering behind, and she’d brought him right back into it.
People in the street stopped and stared at the sight of Tamsyn with customs officers. Children clung to their mothers’ skirts, and men gathered at the door to the Tipsy Flea. Nessa came out of her house, with her family trailing behind. Their eyes gleamed with alarm and their postures were wary.
Tamsyn discreetly gestured for calm, struggling to allay so many fears. When Denny Oates reached for a thick board, clearly intending to use it as a cudgel, she gave a minute shake of her head. She wouldn’t condone violence against the riding officers—and it wouldn’t solve the problem.
Jory led them quickly through the village, then down to the boardwalk, and the beach beyond it.
God help us, we’re going to our cove.
Walking on sand was never easy, but each step made her breath come in ragged gasps. From one inlet to another, they continued relentlessly on. Her mouth went dry when they finally arrived at the cove.
There had to be something she could do. Some way to stop this from happening. But it unfolded relentlessly.
Fear threatened to strangle her as Jory marched up the sand. He neared the opening in the cliff through which the smuggled goods were brought into the caverns. The opening was disguised with large rocks, but perhaps Jory knew what they concealed. As they got closer to the secret entrance, she managed to stop herself from looking at Kit with alarm.
Her uncle kept walking. His continuing steps kicked sand on the rocks blocking the opening but he didn’t spare it a single glance as he trudged onward.
