The Defiant Lady Pencavel Read Online Free Page A

Miss Pencavel disrupted his composure. He gritted his teeth. He’d left Langoron House as soon as he’d informed the earl he had to think the situation over.
    Rain started to splatter on his face. The dots of moisture were cold comfort. He trotted his mount into the yard of Jamaica Inn and an ostler rushed out.
    An isolated place high on the Bodmin Moor, the L-shaped, two-storied inn was a notorious hideout for smugglers to conceal their contraband on its way up country. Griffin was familiar with its operations. Tea, silks, tobacco and brandy had been smuggled through Cornwall since customs dues were first introduced in the thirteenth century.
    The government kept enacting laws to stop it, but many the revenuer would accept the odd bribe. Griffin had the misfortune of attracting the few honest excise men left—but that only added to the intrigue.
    Inside the expansive taproom with low, thick beams, he ordered a brandy and sat near the granite hearth. Smoke and the smell of alcohol drifted around him. He could break the betrothal, or allow Miss Pencavel to do so, if he revealed his bad character. She was not yet in her majority, so would be perfectly in her right to rebuff him. They’d spent no private time together, so he couldn’t be accused of impropriety with her, as tempting a piece as she was.
    She didn’t seem concerned that her reputation might be tarnished by putting an end to the agreement. In fact, she acted too anxious to dissolve their arrangement.
    He fought a smile as he’d always savored a challenge.
    Griffin took a long drink from his glass, the smooth taste warming him. Miss Pencavel was beautiful, and captivating, if you enjoyed being berated. But he had no need for such a creature. He was reluctant to take on a wife at all. Then why prolong this farce?
    He only worried that the earl might threaten a breach-of-promise suit at a final refusal, though the man appeared to be of mild character. His father had often said his friend Pencavel should have more back-bone, especially when it came to his feckless wife. Hopefully—for her sake of course—the daughter didn’t harbor the same base inclinations.
    A grizzled man approached. He wore worn linen breaches, along with the leather gaiters sported by the working class. “Lord Lambrick, is it?”
    Griffin glanced up into the stranger’s dirty face. He’d made arrangements to meet someone here, but had to be careful. “I could be. Who wants to know?”
    “Name’s Clem, sir. Might I sit?” The man sat before being invited. He leaned a grubby sleeve over the table. “I been told ‘ee be the man to speak to, by a mutual friend.”
    “I have few friends. And you are too brash, and unwashed, for your own good.” Griffin sipped more of his brandy to hide his suspicion. The embers in the blackened hearth sizzled and snapped. “You wish to speak to me about what, specifically?”
    “I might have somethin’ downstairs ‘ee should be interested in.” Clem’s foul breath blew across the table.
    Laughter from a group of miners in soiled drill coats soared from another table. A buxom girl sashayed by with pewter tankards of ale. Her ample cleavage almost made up for her pock-marked face.
    “Are you here to trap me into something nefarious, my uncouth fellow?” Griffin asked in mock severity even as his curiosity rose. “My revenge would be painful.”
    “Don’t worry none, sir. I’m as honest as a man can be, an’ still be a criminal.” Clem chuckled coolly. “I heard you be wooin’ the earl’s pretty daughter. A ripe handful she be, ess?”
    “That is none of your business. I’d watch my tongue if I were you.” Griffin’s defense of Lady Pencavel was stronger than he intended. He gripped his brandy glass, already anxious to be done with this fetid fellow.
    “No disrespect, beg pardon.” The man tugged on his forelock, yet his gaze remained sly. “Come wi’ me, sir, an’ I’ll show ‘ee what I have. That’s what you’re here for,