Mr. Beckworth dozed on.
NICE LITTLE SHEEP
Leopold closed his eyes, but remained partly alert, listening for approaching vehicles through the sounds of the rain or any other sort of troubles that would disrupt his plans. Nonetheless, he’d risen very early that morning, and since his little prisoner had resorted to pouting, he wouldn’t waste time trying to pull information out of her.
For now.
If this wasn’t what he would consider more of a rescue than an abduction, he’d not drop his guard like this, but she was a spoiled debutante, one who, no doubt, wouldn’t know how to make herself a cup of tea without the help of two or three servants.
And yet… she had surprised him.
Peering at her from hooded eyes, he couldn’t help but question her resolve to maintain her elegant posture. Even snatched out of her environment, she held herself like a queen—or at least, how he imagined a queen would.
When she brushed a wayward lock of hair behind one shell-like ear, he conceded that he’d never seen a prettier complexion.Roses and cream. The words came to mind before he couldstop them. The hint of her tongue swept over her lips, causing something deep in Leopold’s gut to tighten.
Her beauty, he surmised, was practically a freak of nature.
He refused to allow his thoughts to return to the moment his hand had landed on her bottom or how he’d been tempted to give it a punishing squeeze.
Because he’d promised Winterhope that he’d treat her like a lady.
Essentially.
Letting his eyes fall shut again, he determined he'd find out what she knew about her father’s dealings with Crossings later—once she was finished feeling sorry for herself.
Only a foolish twit refused good food like that—especially one as thin as she was. That voluminous gown provided the illusion of womanly curves, but underneath all the fabric, she’d felt delicate, almost waiflike.
It was bloody unnecessary. For the sake of fashion, she likely starved herself intentionally.
Stupid woman.
If she wanted to act like this, so be it.
Crossing his ankles, he stretched out, resting his boots on the opposite bench, not at all disturbed when the driver hit a rut or rock. He’d slept in worse conditions. Far worse.
None of which he regretted—not even a little. Quite relaxed, his thoughts automatically jumped to the next items on his agenda.
His own shipment expected to land this week, and the logistics of transporting it to London still needed to be arranged, along with all the components involved in distribution.
He had systems in place, but never complacent, he was constantly analyzing them, looking for greater efficiencies.
Each turn of the wheel brought him closer to home, to the coves, and consequently, closer to potential threats to thebusiness he’d spent three-quarters of his life building. Threats posed by officials, but also competition. It had all become more complicated as the opium-tea trade flourished.
Which provided Leopold’s primary motivation to take out the Duke of Crossings.
The coves carved into the cliffs near Smuggler’s Manor had been used for centuries by both smugglers and invaders. There were three different beaches, all conveniently tucked into the rocks. Treasure Cove, the largest, was a safe and easy landing for most small vessels. An arguably greater advantage, however, was the network of secret tunnels that connected the beach to his cellar. From there, the transport of any less-than-legal goods was much simpler.
All reinforced and guarded.
He was going to have to hire more watchmen, however, if Crossings continued to elude?—
A rush of cold, wet air had Leopold shooting up. He blinked. Even staring at the open coach door and empty seat beside him, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.
Leopold pounded on the roof for his driver to stop.
What the hell was the blasted woman thinking, throwing herself out of a moving carriage like this? In the middle of a storm, no less. Was she trying to kill herself?
Without waiting for the vehicle to stop, Leopold followed her out into the rain.
