“That’s more dangerous than coming to France. If the Company learns what you’re doing, they’ll have you hanged for treason.”
“It’s not as though I supply the Yanks.”
“But you are making them unnecessary. If they can’t justify being there, then how will they gain a western route to China?” The captain dipped his chin and raised his eyebrows. It was the single most important reason Keith and his connections worked in secret, and it was the gravest danger the Pedricks faced as the manufacturers.
“I will take care.” Keith reached out his hand and accepted the silver-filled pouch. It was money the British government paid to quartermasters for bribes. The government knew it was a necessity, but they didn’t realize the money went into the hands of smugglers who undercut the need for the East India Company.
Keith watched as his men continued to toil. They loaded one barrel after another of the black powder that only at a glance resembled black tea leaves. Anyone who looked—or sniffed—too closely would easily recognize the gun powder for what it was. In the past, when he knew he faced the greatest danger conveying his cargo to his ship in England, he packed the gun powder between grain, filling the bottom third of the barrel with the seeds, then the gun powder, then a final layer of grain. It meant the recipient had to sift through the contents, but it disguised it from the excisemen when they insisted upon prying the lids off barrels. He often soaked the burlap sacks in tea, absorbing the scent into the fabric. When the tea smell permeated the sacks, it gave the impression the leaves filled the sack when it was really gun powder. With his Letters of Marque, making him a legal privateer according to the English government, he would claim he’d confiscated the tea and was returning it to the East India Company. When he truly carried tea, it was smuggled from France to England. He’d gotten creative over the years.
Time slipped by as he rejoined his men. Once they’d unloaded their illegal cargo, they filled the hull with Champagne, lace and silks, cocoa, and tobacco. The lace and silks he hid in his cabin in his trunks’ false bottoms. While he risked crushing any poorly made crate, he’d hid the bottle of spirits and wine at the bottom of stacks. He knew the excisemen gave up when the top half of the stack contained legal goods he carried as a diversion.
Keith said his farewells before he and his crew were once more underway. He sailed west for another day before making landfall. He accepted barrels of brandy that would fetch a price higher than gold once Rajesh received them. His friend and fellow privateer hadn’t known his family’s involvement in the south coast smuggling ring before being earl. While he’d actively sailed, he’d brought goods to his now-dead brother, Arjun, who was then the Earl of Devon. Arjun kept Rajesh uninformed, so he thought his brother engaged in legitimate trade. It wasn’t until Rajesh inherited the earldom that the truth emerged.
His brother’s and sister-in-law’s untimely deaths never felt like an accident to Rajesh. Investigating led him to documents his father and brother hid. Even now he wondered if his brother ever planned to share their family secrets with him. He knew his brother well enough to be certain Arjun believed he took care of his younger brother by not making him aware of the illegal activities. Being a privateer was already dangerous enough without adding smuggler to the mix. He still owned five ships that privateered, so Rajesh soon accepted the role of a nobleman smuggler.
The weather grew uncooperative, and it took him three days to sail home. The journey back to England was always slower than when he left. But for those long days at sea, the winds assailed him, rocking his ship more like a dinghy than a brigantine. His ship had two masts and was large enough to carry a crew of one-hundred-and-twenty-five men. That day, he sailed with only three dozen, but the sturdy and speedy ship shouldn’t have fought the currents as much as it did. Waves crashed over the rails, and there were times when the crew lashed themselves to the masts. Keith avoided his cabin since he was little more than a pea rattling around in a tin can.
The delay frustrated him since he wished to return to Lydia. Guilt plagued him for leaving her after such an intimate interlude. He knew she understood, but he still felt like a cad. He knew how momentous the time together was for him, so he imagined it left Lydia unsettled since she lacked experience. At least, he hoped she shared his sentiments about their brief but passionate tryst.
He’d already been gone more than a fortnight, and he was restless to return to her. He feared she changed her mind while he was gone. In contrast, he’d only grown more resolved that he wished to make her his duchess. He would ask Rajesh’s advice on how to approach his uncle about courting Lydia. It was with a sigh of relief that he dropped anchor near the beach below Powderham Castle.
“You look knackered.” Keith grinned as he walked up the cliff side path to meet Rajesh.
“And you look—and smell—like shite.” Rajesh extended his hand, which Keith gladly accepted. They’d repaired their friendship when Keith arrived two weeks earlier for the gunpowder. “Charlie isn’t sleeping well now that she’s so close to her confinement. I feel badly for her, so I stay awake until she falls asleep again.”
“You’re a good husband.” Keith wondered if he would do as well as Rajesh. He knew his friend had sworn for years he would never marry. At least, he would never marry an Englishwoman. He’d avoided the matrimonial noose with a mistress he’d kept in Antigua for years. But Rajesh had fallen in love with Charlie almost immediately. Keith hadn’t believed it at first, but it hadn’t taken long to realize the couple was devoted to one another. A twinge of jealousy pinched his chest whenever he thought of them and how he was uncertain Lydia would want him once he returned. “What news do you have?”
Rajesh hesitated as they walked to the house. He stopped and turned toward Keith. He’d sensed Keith’s interest in Lydia when he sneaked into Forde Abbey. His friend confirmed it during his last visit. He loathed telling him what he knew. “Uncle Will persists in introducing Lydia to more suitors. He promised her it would ultimately be her choice, but he’s pressuring her more. His last letter, which arrived two days ago, insinuated he’d found someone he thought was an undeniably good candidate. I don’t know who.” Rajesh raised his hand as Keith opened his mouth to demand that information.
“Bloody hell. It’s another day’s sailing from here since the wind’s been against us. She could be betrothed by now.” Keith gazed east as though he could see all the way to Lyme Regis and Abbington House. It tempted him to set sail that very minute.
“The tide won’t turn for another three hours. Come in and eat. A bath wouldn’t be remiss if you intend to storm their gates and claim her.”
Keith scowled, finding no humor when Rajesh’s grin widened. He nodded his agreement, and he soon found himself in a guest chamber with a tub of steaming water before him. The maids offered what they believed were enticing smiles, one going as far as to hold the soap hostage and cocking her eyebrow. But he ordered them gone. It only irritated him when they delayed him even a minute. As he slipped into the warm water, it tempted him to soak and ease his tense muscles. But then he recalled why he was so tense. He scrubbed himself until his skin was pink.
“Even if her father betrothed her the minute you set sail, they still haven’t posted the banns three times. She’s not married,” Charlie reassured as she held her swollen belly. In the fortnight since he’d last seen her, Keith was convinced her waist had expanded twofold. He didn’t doubt she was uncomfortable.
“I’d rather not take the risk that Abbington settles for a common license and foregoes the banns. You two did.” Keith took his seat for the midday meal, but he found no interest in his food.
“I doubt that. Uncle Will is a stickler for propriety with his daughters. He refuses to do anything that might cause gossip or give anyone reason to look down at Lydia and her sister.” Rajesh set down his fork. “Don’t glower at me. I’m not the one who’d speak against them.”
While there were Indians in England, they were a small population. People outside of London or other trade towns were less familiar with the culture or the people. Even in such a diverse city as London, with foreigners coming and going, Lydia’s family could cause a stir. While most people were polite, at least only staring but not talking to them, some were brazen and insulted the family. Rajesh’s uncles, Theo and Will, were fiercely protective of their wives and children. His own father had been the same way.
“No one should dare.” Keith felt his temper spiking, and it was utterly unusual for him. He’d learned to control his temper as a child, forced to accept his father’s beatings without a sound. The old duke had tormented him and struck him anytime he showed a moment of emotion. Each time he’d flinched had resulted in a birch branch across his backside when he was six. Not that he felt no emotions now; he’d learned to mask them and keep them under a tight rein. But the thought of Lydia marrying another man sent him in a tailspin.
Keith ate with such haste he nearly dribbled sauce down the front of his shirt. He caught it with his napkin in time. The last thing he needed was to arrive at the Abbingtons’ door with soiled clothing and looking disheveled. When the meal ended, he did his best to be gracious to his host and hostess, but he practically sprinted back to the dinghy that would ferry him to his ship. He bellowed orders for them to get underway while he climbed the rope ladder to board his vessel. When the shoreline alerted him they were near home, he donned a fresh set of clothes, appearing more like a duke than a privateer with his hair pulled back in a queue, ruffled cuffs, and a starched cravat. He loathed the attire, but he would make a good impression on Will. He intended to go directly to Abbington House without detour.
His moment of ease lasted only that. As he approached Abbington House, he spied a carriage. As he drew closer to it, he recognized the crest.
“No. It can’t be. Not him of all bloody people.”
* * *
Lydia fought notto roll her eyes as her father paraded yet another suitor before her. She’d alluded to her interest in Keith and that he reciprocated, but her father’s face turned into a thundercloud. Apparently, the baronet took no issue with smugglers, but he drew the line at Viking-looking pirates. He argued Keith’s reputation set him apart from men like Rajesh, who merely boarded Spanish galleons and removed their cargo. Keith was known to sink ships—with crews still aboard. He had a reputation for brawling in taverns on Caribbean islands, and he’d supposedly left a trail of broken hearts throughout the Lesser Antilles. That was the single detail that wounded Lydia.
Keith had been away two days, and her father had spared no time, ensuring a new prospective husband presented himself before her. At first, she’d had a niggling feeling the man appeared familiar as she watched him enter the drawing room. The moment their eyes met she’d known. She wasn’t certain how, but Keith and the new arrival were related. She’d cast an accusing glare at her father, but he studiously ignored her as he introduced the newcomer as Oliver Gwyn, Viscount Sackville. The moment she heard the name, a wave of loathing washed over her. Her gaze hardened to a glower, surprising the young man. He smiled and appeared charming, but Lydia trusted him not at all.
“Lady Lydia, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
