Smuggler's Lair Read Online Free Page A

trip. Her breath was exhausted and she had a painful stitch in her side when she saw a door up ahead. Hope plummeted as she realized she had reached the tower’s summit. “Please let it be unlocked!” she beseeched heaven.
    Tory lifted the latch and pushed hard. The heavy oak door swung open. She stumbled through it, slammed it shut, and leaned back against it, weak with relief and gasping for breath.
    â€œWho the devil are you and what the hellfire are you doing here?” a deep masculine voice demanded.
    Victoria found herself in a luxuriously appointed chamber at the top of the round tower. “Peregrine, is that you?” she asked breathlessly. “There’s a leopard outside this door!”
    He advanced toward her. “The leopard lives here. It’s your identity that is in question.”
    Tory stared at the man who looked like Sir Peregrine and yet he was somehow different. Perhaps it’s his brother. “You are wearing a wig,” she blurted.
    His hand swept off the powdered wig and negligently tossed it onto a gilt chair. His own black hair fell to his shoulders. “And you are wearing the ugliest garment I’ve ever seen.”
    Tory looked down at her gray cambric dress with its leg-of-mutton sleeves and was highly offended.
    â€œYou are extremely rude!”
    â€œRude, crude, and tattooed,” he affirmed. “What is your name?”
    She lifted her chin. “I am Victoria Carswell.”
    â€œCarswell?” He spat the name as if it were an abomination. “If you’re Thomas Carswell’s offspring, you’re here to spy on me.”
    â€œMy father, the Right Reverend Thomas Carswell, is deceased.”
    â€œReverend? You must think me simple in the head! He’s the bloody customs officer who just gibbeted George Chapman on the village green.”
    Oh heavens, the man is mad . . . it must run in the family. Tory backed away from him. They keep him locked up here in the tower.
    He picked up a sword and took a threatening step toward her. “D’you know the fate of a spy is imprisonment, or worse, wench?”
    â€œPlease . . . I was merely exploring the castle.... I’m not a spy.”
    He bowed gallantly. “Ah. In that case, feel free to leave.”
    She moved toward the door and remembered the leopard.
    He gave her a wicked grin. “Exactly.”
    â€œYou cannot keep me here,” she gasped.
    â€œI can.” He flourished the sword. “You might as well make yourself comfortable.” He swept her with a critical glance. “If we are to dwell together, I must rid you of your offensive garb.” With a deft flick of his wrist, the slim blade of his sword swished through the air and slashed her dress from neck to hem.
    Tory screamed, then stared in dismay as the gray cambric parted to reveal her corset and drawers. “You lecherous swine!”
    The wicked grin returned. “Lord Hawkhurst, at your service.”
    The name was familiar to Victoria from the history books she read. The town of Hawkhurst had been named after the noble lord who had owned Bodiam Castle a century ago. Could it possibly be? No, I’m just being fanciful!
    â€œWhy d’you wear your hair screwed into a knob?”
    Her hand moved to her head. “It’s a bun.”
    â€œIt’s bloody ugly.” He set aside his sword. “Here, let me help you.” He took hold of her leg-of-mutton sleeves and pulled off her dress. Then he took the pins from her hair and it came tumbling down in a silken mass that curled about her shoulders.
    Tory flew at him and tried to scratch his insolent face.
    He took firm hold of her wrists and appraised her with bold black eyes. “By God, wench, you are quite a showy piece.”
    â€œWench? My name is Victoria—I was named for the queen!”
    He let go of her wrists. “The queen’s name is Caroline.”
    â€œCaroline was King George the Second’s