Page 18 of The Spinster's Secret Scoundrel
Adrift.
He hadn’t figured out what he’d do with himself after he found a property to purchase and settled down with a pretty girl. There was no way he’d give up smuggling entirely. That was why he liked Cavalier Cove, in particular. Everyone was in on it.
At the top of the hill, a footman who’d been assigned to ensure Thierry returned his borrowed wagon waved him into a barn.
“Mrs. Gosling awaits in the rear parlor.”
Thierry tucked one precious bottle into his elbow and headed for the servant’s entrance. A farmer did not knock at a viscount’s front door—and although he was Cornwall smuggling royalty, he wasn’t dressed like it.
Along the way, he hissed at a cluster of large white birds. They eyed him with beady hostility, unfazed by his mockery.
“Come, come,” Mrs. Gosling said from the entryway. “I trust no one saw you?”
“If they did, they saw a farmer with a wagonload of hay,” he replied, bowing extravagantly. Upon rising, he held out the precious bottle of amber liquid. “For you, my lady. A gift.”
“What would I do without a gentleman like you to bring me the finer things in life?” She examined the label. Her gray brows rose. “I haven’t seen the likes of this since my days in service to the duke.”
“Napoleon may be a bloody-minded bastard, but you can’t deny his excellent taste in liquor.”
“Indeed. I expect you’ve more where this came from?”
“Crates of it.” He grinned, though it faded quickly. “TheSpectrewas nearly captured by the Waterguard.”
“Careless of your cousin to let them get so close.
“Precisely what I told him.”
The old woman laughed. “The devil you did, or you wouldn’t be able to see out of both eyes. He has a quick temper.”
“We French are not known for our even temperaments.”
They both chuckled.
“How did you escape with all the bottles intact? Don’t tell me you went overboard.”
“No harm done.” Thierry shrugged. “Not a single bottle broken in transit, though they did get jostled a bit along the way.”
Mrs. Gosling tsked.
“I doubt I want to know the true origin of these bottles.”
“Indeed, you do not.” Thierry had plundered them from a cellar belonging to a man who’d profited handsomely from Napoleon’s wars. The owner, by now, must be absolutely apoplectic at having lost so much rare and valuable liquor. Said owner, however, was in France, and therefore not his problem (unless he returned there; he’d worry about capture if he ever set foot on French soil again, and not a moment before). Thierry had paid handsomely for access to the storage area, and presumably, his contact also disappeared without a trace.
After the damage Napoleon had inflicted upon the continent, Thierry couldn’t summon any regret for his actions against Bonaparte’s supporters. If the worst thing his enablers suffered was the loss of their best drink, well, Thierry was only too happy to deprive them.
“How much do you have?”
“Fourteen crates.”
“That’s more than the Cock and Bull and the Ram’s Head can fence. You’ll need help getting the rest to London.”
“Hence, that bottle you’re holding.” Thierry took a seat by the fire.
“I know a bribe when I see one.” She smacked his shoulder. “You owe me for the wagon and the change of clothes, too.”
“Indeed. I am grateful for the loan. The bottle more than repays my debt.”
“Getting your shipment to London may take some time, Thierry. The Excise Office has sent round Leacham and his Riders to investigate Cavalier Cove again. Everyone is keeping a low profile. Where are you staying?”
