Page 25 of The Pirate's Stolen Bride
Lord Montague pinched his temples and sighed. “You truly are your mother’s daughter.”
No insult could have cut deeper. Harriet sucked in a breath as if he’d punched her.
Shewould never abandon her own child.
Shehad been perfectly restrained until Rémy came into her life.
She had spent years contorting herself to fit into a tiny box of propriety, only to find herself forsaken no matter how hard she tried to appease her aristocratic relatives.
Rémy had blown that box to smithereens. She’d been happier with him for four days, half of them spent ill in bed, than in all her twenty-three years combined. He cared for her. Saved her life.
Yet now she had no choice but to get on this horse and stand by as Rémy was hauled away to face the hangman’s noose.
The heaviest truth was that the only choice she’d ever been offered was what color she wanted for the bars of her cage.
Rémy didn’t wasteenergy testing his bonds. He put every ounce of his energy into ignoring the sneering Guardsman who was stationed outside his makeshift cell.
Not far from here, Harriet was probably being cosseted and fussed over.What an ordeal that scoundrel put you through, her uncle would tut-tut. By now, she’d have had a hot bath and clean clothes and a good meal. His own stomach rumbled.
“Are you paying attention?” The surly guard rattled the bars with his baton. The crude weapon was a reminder that if he attempted to break out of this prison, he would suffer its owner’s wrath.
Not that he stood any chance of doing so. As he understood matters, Viscount Prescott had inherited a tumbledown estate with no fortune to maintain it. He had been selling off bits and pieces of the property to restore his funds. That was how his cousin Thierry had bought his sweet little cottage for such a good price. At the time, his now-wife hadn’t been pleased with the way he purchased it out from under her. They’d worked it out.
Word was that the Viscount acted as a conduit for smuggled goods into London for a cut of the proceeds. Once his shipments arrived on English shores, Rémy didn’t much care what happened to the goods he brought over on theSpectre. He paid his crew and collaborators and got back to France before the Waterguard could catch up.
“Non,” Rémy responded, shaking his head with all the French insouciance he could summon.
“You’ve already cost me my post once, you damned frog.”
Undoubtedly, this connard had lost his own post fair and square. The baton struck a bar near Rémy’s ear. He winced at the reverberating clang.
“I know it wasn’t you captaining theSpectrewhen she took out the Guard’s boat.” He braced his forearms on the bars and sneered down at Rémy. “Does the name Patrick Leacham mean anything to you?”
“Va te faire foutre.” Rémy turned his head and spat. This was Adeline’s uncle? The one who had taken advantage of her sweet nature for years under the guise of helping her? He wouldn’t have given up his cousin for anything, but he especially wasn’t caving to this toad of a man.
“Dunno what that means in English. Guessing it wasn’t nice.” Leacham rattled the bars again one last time. “We found your boat hidden in a cave. TheSpectrehas been impounded.”
Rémy’s heart sank. That was his home and his livelihood—his freedom. His life was on that boat.
“I’m headed to the Cock and Bull to celebrate. Tell Maggie and her parents all about how I brought in their best smuggler. Maybe inspect their books to ensure they’re not collaborating.” He winked and headed for the stairs. “We all know they are.”
“I hope they spit in your food,” Rémy called after him without heat. His thoughts miles away. Was Harriet plotting a way to help him escape, or was she planning to marry that Lucarran bastard and leave him to hang?
“Still better than what you’ll be eating when I haul you off to Bodmin Jail in the morning.” The excise officer brought Rémy back to the present. His boots punctuated his steps as he mounted the stairs from Prescott’s makeshift prison, an empty wine cellar with bars and a lock to prevent theft. “I heard Lord Montague has arranged for a special license. All they’re missing to complete the wedding is the groom. If he left as soon as he received the message, Lucarran should be here by tomorrow at the latest.”
He couldn’t see Leacham’s grin, but he could hear it in his smug tone. “The lady marries a lord. I get my post back, perhaps even a promotion. You, the criminal, will hang. Happy endings all around.”
Rémy kissed his closed fingers. “Perfection,” he said sourly into the darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NOTHING BUT A BURDEN
At Viscount Prescott’s manor, Harriet’s time with Rémy began to fade into dreamlike unreality. Yet one thing remained fixed in her mind: she did not want him punished for kidnapping her. Shehadto make her uncle see reason.
Upon their arrival, she had been ushered into the care of Miss Clarissa Penfirth, the viscount’s visiting cousin, and told they would discuss it after she had recovered.
Now Harriet was fed, clean, and ready to argue.
