Randall's Romance (Behind Closed Doors) Read Online Free Page A

this afternoon alone he'd marveled at tall cliffs, golden expanses of beach revealed by the low tide, and eerie wind twisted trees that divided fields from one another.
    The place was a smuggler's paradise. The waters of the little bay were tranquil and protected. Cargo could quite easily be offloaded in waterproof barrels and sunk, then hauled ashore as the tides permitted. The beaches were smooth, hidden unless you happened to be standing in full view at the top of a cliff looking straight down, in which case you made an excellent target for the gentlemen. It was while peering over just such a steeply sloped, nearly vertical cliff that an auk colony caused him to misstep and stumble. He'd nearly pitched over the cliff to his death, and in the contortions required to bring himself safely about, had somehow managed to injure his ankle. After resting a bit, he'd set off for home and a dram of whiskey or brandy, smuggled but legally purchased form the excise office, and a hot bath. He discovered as he walked that he'd come farther than he'd thought, and that what had seemed a serene and easy ramble while hale and hearty was in fact a torturous trail when he couldn't put his full weight on his right leg.
    The sun dipped down below the horizon and chill breezes wrapped him in the salty fresh scent of the ocean. He trudged on, setting his mouth against the pain of his injury. No more than a slightly used track, the path was barely visible in the rising moonlight, but Randall persevered, making his weary, slow way back to the house. He'd spent the afternoon exploring the surrounding area on foot, not even seriously looking for traces of smugglers or illegal activity. He'd wanted exercise after spending the last portion of the journey cooped up in the carriage with Cecy, and rationalized that it would be of benefit to get the lay of the land before his meeting with the local magistrate, one Caleb Jeffries, Lord Haytor according to his briefing.
    He'd planned to be out of the way long before darkness fell. For one thing, he hadn't wanted to alarm Cecy with his absence, for another, he hadn't wanted an encounter with any of the local gentlemen before he'd addressed the magistrate. He well knew that the entire residency of the countryside would look on him as the enemy. There had been scarce a house in the village or on the path he'd traveled this afternoon that hadn't proudly displayed its bit of glass, signaling their sympathy for the local trade. He wished he could shout it out, to all the squinting men who'd shuffled there feet in silence as he passed, that he had no interest in their attempts to make a living. Times were hard, but when the aristocracy paid well for good brandy and delicate lace, what point was there in arresting every fool with a skiff who ventured over the channel in search of riches? These folk were lucky to make enough to feed their children. No. If the government had any real desire to stop the smuggling dens, then they'd pursue the purchasers instead of the purveyors.
    Randall's mission was very specific. Peregrine had emphasized the necessity that he avoid any conflict with the local smuggling gangs before he discovered whether they were complicit in the treasonous trading of information that had led to the deaths of one of Perry's squads of intelligence agents in Paris.
    Four men had lost their lives, brave souls who'd undertaken a task that most soldiers deigned dishonorable...to live and work as Frenchmen in Paris under Bonaparte's rule and send back information that might aid Wellington, or the home office in bringing this whole bloody debacle to an end.
    Instead, he'd made a careless step, slid halfway down a cliff and twisted his foot. After some judicious cursing, he decided to leave the boot on and make his way slowly, and painfully back to the little house on the edge of town he'd taken. If he were fortunate a passing local would offer him a lift in. The tight leather of his boot was painful, but