Page 27 of The Pirate's Stolen Bride
“I am not your little niece in need of protection anymore,” she added. “I can make my own decisions. I am pleading with you to help Rémy make amends for his crimes, which I do not believe to be as bad as they have been painted by the Waterguard. No one was injured when his cousin sank that ship. He brings goods to England, but he is French. He owes nothing to the King of England. If anything, it is the people who accept his goods who ought to be paying the duties.”
Harriet wasn’t entirely clear on how excise taxes worked, but this felt true. The Cornish people were insular and clearly took no issue with smuggling as a general proposition, yet they were plenty happy to let Rémy take the blame for a crime they all collectively committed. The dynamic offended her sense of fairness even if it didn’t bother Rémy. He certainly didn’t deserve to hang for it.
“Clearly, my darling little niece is still in need of protection, if this is the kind of decision she makes when left to her own devices.”
Lord Montague strode out of the sitting room, leaving Harriet crestfallen.
Miss Penfirth touched her arm. “I know we have only just met, Miss Turner, but I have had several days to become acquainted with your uncle. I trust you will understand when I advise you to let him think for a bit. He despises being backed into a corner. Give him time, and he will come around.”
“Will he?” Harriet said despairingly.
“I believe so. In the meantime, I have a suggestion. Come. Let us speak with my cousin. Viscount Prescott may have an idea.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A COCK AND BULL ESCAPE
Rémy barely twitched when the hatch to his cellar prison scraped open. Light poured down the stairwell.
He sat up straight when two women darted down, holding their skirts.
“What is this?”
“We are breaking you out. This is Miss Penfirth, Viscount Prescott’s cousin. She stole his key. We’re coming to save you!”
His heart swelled, yet his stomach sank.
“Mon cher, I cannot allow you to do this.”
Harriet ignored him, sticking the key into the lock and twisted. “I won’t let them hang you.”
She got the stubborn old lock open with help from her companion, a statuesque brunette with an air of patient reserve. A friend? He realized how little he knew about Harriet’s life.
“You don’t have any say in the matter,” he told her as she threw herself into his arms. Rémy stroked her hair, inhaling in her warm, sweet scent and thinking wistfully of the life they wouldn’t have together. “I knew this was coming, Harriet. I have no regrets about taking you”—roses bloomed in her cheeks when she understood his double meaning—“but now, for your own safety, I must set you free.”
He kissed her, cutting off any protest. Harriet squirmed. She pulled him closer, then gave him a good hard shove.
“Rémy Desmarais, stop being so self-sacrificing. I still want to marry you. Are you going to get out of that cell and make good on your promise to elope with me or not?”
A grin split his face.
“When you put it that way, marrying you is a far superior fate to a hangman’s noose.”
“If you have concluded your lover’s quarrel, we ought to be going. Quickly,” said Miss Penfirth.
The three of them darted to the stairs and climbed them as quickly as they dared—only to discover their path blocked by a broad-shouldered, well-dressed man.
“This is why you wanted my key, Clarissa? To aid a known criminal?”
“‘Criminal’ is a bit hypocritical of you, isn’t it, cousin?”
A muscle in Viscount Prescott’s jaw ticked. “The Frenchman’s been breaking the law for years.”
“So? You’re his biggest buyer. I know you’re doing it for the good of the family, but you’re also taking advantage of a man who has helped make rebuilding your fortune possible. If the Frenchman should hang, then so should you,” said Clarissa, lifting her chin.
Rémy tucked Harriet close beside him and bent to whisper, “Miss Penfirth has a steel spine.”
Harriet smiled. The viscount’s gaze cut to her, and Rémy watched her throat work as she swallowed nervously. “You truly want to marry a lowborn smuggler?” asked the nobleman.
