Randall's Romance (Behind Closed Doors) (7 page)

"I couldn't say. Philippe...I'll ask. I'm certain that if he knew, he wouldn't have..." It wasn't confusion or dismay that made the man hesitant. No, his eyes were narrowed in thought, and he seemed to be considering Randall's inquiry. "I can only ask. I don't interfere much with the local gentlemen, as there is plenty of more dangerous outlawry in these parts. I'll send word to you when I find anything."

Taking his dismissal at face value, Randall nodded shortly. "Thank you for your time, Caleb." The friendly term slipped out, and Randall realized he still valued this old friendship. "You might call on Cecy, while she's here. I once hoped to call you brother."

"I think not." The man's gaze drifted over to the window, and he stared off at the distant sea. "That ship has long since sailed."

Chapter Eight

His dark clothing may have kept Jason from being visible, but it did little to keep the nippy evening chill from his bones. The scent of Randall Gretton's cologne still clung to the black mask, a constant reminder of the man's smile, his eyes, the fire his touch evoked.

Grains of sand whispered softly under foot as Jason crept carefully toward the position he'd marked earlier in the week, a shallow cavern that overlooked the beach. It was too small to be of use to the smugglers, and hidden partially behind an outcropping of rock. The rock was cold were he pressed against it, seeking to blend into the background.

Scraggly shore plants and bits of debris grabbed at his clothes and stabbed his shins. He bit back his curses and persevered. If he were lucky, he'd be able to hear the smugglers without giving himself away.

Creeping up and down the coast spying on gang after gang of smugglers in the hopes of finding the one that was trading secrets as well as lace and brandy was about to pay off. The information he'd found in Gravesend's study had sent him here, now he just needed to bide his time and catch the villain himself.

Once the mastermind had been taken down, he could head back to London, take out Gravesend, and reveal himself to Peregrine Gretton.
And reconnect with his brother.

Pleasure can wait
, he chided himself.
Justice takes precedence. You owe it to your men, the men who trusted you to lead them, to protect them
. "So close." He inched his way along the outcropping of rock. Catching a glimpse of the flashing light in the window at the big house overlooking the water had been a stroke of luck. From here, he could see the ship with her own signal out in the distance.

The wind carried an occasional snatch of garbled conversation to him, but so far he'd been able to distinguish only the rough talk of the locals. What he wanted, was a dulcet toned aristocrat with a French accent. Clouds masked the sliver of moon, providing some cover, but these were by far the boldest gang of smuggler's he'd encountered in his travels.

They seemed to have not the least concern for the proximity of Randall Gretton's home, or the excise men at his command. And why would that be unless they had the protection of someone high up? Perhaps the man he sought held a position of power in the British government...

A few more feet...his cave, little more than a depression in the surface of the rock was just ahead.

Click.

He froze, mind darting rapidly through the possibilities. That tiny click sounded alarmingly loud amid the hushed noises of the night. His hand went to his own weapon. "Please, this isn't what it seems." He kept his voice calm, hoped the sudden rapid throb of his heart wasn't audible. Jason started to turn but a mocking, all too familiar voice stopped him.

"That's enough of that, my friend. I should have put two and two together and realized you were no ordinary highway man." An edge of something hard in Gretton's voice caused an unpleasant churning in Jason's gut.

"I never said I was." He drew in a steadying breath, removed his hand form his weapon and raised both of them in the air. "I know this seems strange, but...could we just walk ahead here a bit?" Did the man know what was happening on the beach not fifty feet from them? "I'd hate for our friends over there to take exception to our presence." He jerked his head in the direction of the men working diligently to haul in barrels of cargo.

"Your friends, you mean. Danny...I trusted you. I realize I had no reason to do so, but damn it! Don't you
care
that the information you're trading is causing the deaths of good British soldiers?" The disgust in that dulcet voice hurt.

"Please," Jason cast a swift glance at the rough looking smugglers. "Inside the cave, and we can talk. I promise, I'm not going to try anything."

To his relief, Gretton grunted and nudged him in the back with the gun. "Go on then. I'm right behind you. I warn you, if you signal them in any way, I will kill you."

They advanced quietly into the rocky depression. Stepping inside, Jason realized his mistake. His eyes widened. What had appeared to be a faint depression in the rock, perfect for hiding in, was in fact a fair sized cave with caverns cutting off the main room to the left and the right.
Damn
. "This may not be such a good idea, after all." He ventured, turning around to find himself nose to nose with Randall Gretton's pistol.

"Why? Afraid you won't be able to talk, or seduce your way out of it?"

Wincing at the jab, Jason shook his head. "No, I thought this place was a small sheltered spot that I could hide in while I watched the smugglers. I didn't expect it to be such a large space."

"What does it matter?" Gretton's brows drew together between the stormy blue eyes.

"It's not safe. Where do you think they're going to stash those barrels? How many caves do you think are nearby?"

"They could bury them in the sand, load them on a wagon. Quit stalling. I want to know what you're doing here if you're not one of them."

Huffing impatiently, Jason growled softly. "Did you
see
any carts or men digging? No? Neither did I. They're going to roll those barrels in here, and if they find us, there will be hell to pay."

"Right. Nice try."

"Oh,
sacre bleu!"
Swift as lightning, he snatched the pistol from Gretton's grip and tossed it across the cave. He followed up that foolish bravado by pulling the man into his arms and crushing his open mouth in a fierce, angry kiss. Instantly lust that had been simmering since he recognized Randall's voice exploded in a surge of need and want.

After a muffled protest, Randall melted against him, kissed him back with an ardor equal to his own. As though realizing what he was doing, he shoved Jason away and stumbled back a few steps himself, putting some distance between them.

Heart racing, blood roaring in his ears, Jason pulled back and stared at the man in front of him in the dim light. His eyes glittered, his moist mouth beckoned, his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. "No! Keep your distance, Danny. You wanted to talk, now talk."

Unreasonable fury at hearing the name he'd himself insisted on Randall using rushed through Jason. He tugged off his mask and sent it flying after the pistol. "I am part French, my mother was a ballerina, a dancer in the opera. She was a beautiful woman, and as all beautiful women do, she caught the eye of a wealthy man. He used her, tossed her aside, and left her with child when he returned to his home, England. So I am also, part British. I was raised in Britain, schooled there. My loyalties lie with my father's country, though he certainly never felt any loyalty to me or to my mother."

Pausing for breath, he noted that Gretton was looking him over, searching his features intently. A liquid heat simmered in his belly, he pushed it aside. It was time to tell the truth, to clear the air. "I might be a cousin of yours. I hope that doesn't bother you?"

"Come here." Gretton commanded in a low, gravelly voice. Jason stepped obediently closer, unsure why he found himself unable to refuse.

"My name is Jason Dancourt." He breathed softly when he came to a stop at last, so close he could feel the heat of Randall's body through the layers of their clothes.

Cold fingers combed through his hair, smoothing it back behind his ear. Randall traced the curve of his ear to the lobe, fingering it curiously. "All the Gretton's have unattached lobes. Yours are attached..."

"I am aware. My father refused to believe my mother when she said she'd never slept with another man. That was his excuse for putting her aside as well, the ear lobes." He shrugged, taking a chance and wrapping an arm around the trim waist, jerking Gretton close so their bodies were tight together. Randall could no more hide his passion than Jason could, and as their pricks aligned, he gasped out another protest.

"Not the place, Jason."

"I know." Reluctantly Jason released Randall and allowed him to retreat further into the darkness of the cave. "I am not a smuggler."

"I know."

"You do? A minute ago you were prepared to see me hanged as a traitor for smuggling information to the enemy." He raised an inquiring brow. "What changed your mind?"

"My brother Peregrine sent me here. He wanted me to look into something for him. It seems there's a leak at the home office, and a traitor is selling information to the French. Some of that information led to the death of an entire squad of Perry's men, among them one Jason Dancourt."

"I wanted him to think me dead. I didn't know who I could trust; I just knew that someone from home had betrayed us."

"You may rest assured that he does, indeed think you dead. We actually buried you in the family plot. On the edges, to be sure, but never the less, your tenuous hold on the family name has been acknowledged in your death if Uncle Sebastian hadn't the courage or honor to do so in his lifetime."

Startled, Jason opened his mouth to speak but Randall cut him off.

"I'm here to find and shut down the avenue of information. I take it that is your intent as well?"

"In part, I intend to avenge my men. Doing so should ensure that the information highway is closed as well."

"And you think that these gentlemen on the beach tonight are connected to our traitors?"

It warmed him a little, humbled him, how readily Gretton accepted his word. "I'm fairly certain of it. I found a diary of sorts at Gravesend's and it indicated that this town was a key location. There are, of course, a number of smuggling gangs working the area, but I've spent the last two weeks watching, and all the rest have proven to be mundane brandy smugglers. A bit of tobacco, the occasional trinket. None of them deals in people, and despite their shipping ventures, all of them appear to be stalwart supporters of the crown and country."

"You are correct. According to my source, this group has occasionally brought in a bit of human cargo. They have dealings with some Frenchman who comes over with them at times. They are paid well, and don't ask questions."

Lust drained away and a flare of triumph took its place. "Then whoever he is, he is our man."

"He's not. He's just some French courier. The man we want is the one who delivers the packages to him."

"You're right of course. We should get closer to the beach, see what we can hear."

"Me thinks ye've already heard a'plenty." Pain exploded at the base of his skull as he saw Randall's eyes widen.

Chapter Nine

Nudging a loosened tooth with the tip of his tongue, Randall spat a mouthful of coppery blood on the sandy rock floor of the cave. Another meaty paw grabbed him by the shoulder, another fist caught under his chin sending him reeling into yet another of the smugglers. "There's been a misunderstanding." He mumbled through swollen lips. He frantically tried to find Jason in the darkness. The man had gone down like a stone when the behemoth had struck him from behind. A swarm of ill-tempered ruffians had followed him into the cave, and every last one of them had taken one look at Randall and recognized the Riding Officer who'd recently moved to the village.

"Only misunderstandin' here is why you keep standing. Yer friend there got the right of it." This time the blow knocked Randall to his knees, and he grimaced as his lame ankle twisted painfully under him. Sweat stung his eyes and the split in his lip. Fear, for himself, for the defenseless Jason, chilled him more than the late autumn night had.

"Hey! Get that cargo stowed and let's go!" The commanding voice stilled the taunts and slowed the vicious circle, but a gritty boot lashed out and struck Randall in the ribs sending him crashing to the ground, clutching at his side in agony.

"What the fuck?"

"Found us a riding officer, cap'n. He were here when we brought the cargo in."

"Fuck it." The smuggler's ringleader cursed when he stepped into the cavern and saw the circle of snarling men taking turns kicking and punching at Randall. "You lot! Get the casks put away and let's clear out!"

"He's a revenue officer, Cal!" The protest came from a broken toothed man who'd grinned with pleasure while punching Randall in the kidneys. "We should kill them."

"Tie them up. Let the tide take care of them." The voice came from the shadows, well behind the man called Cal and out of Randall's sight. That French accent was unmistakable though. Could this be the man Peregrine sent him to find? The man Jason sought? "We've deliveries to make tonight."

The hulking figure that the other men called Cal grabbed Randall by the shoulder and manhandled him into a corner. Head spinning, Randall squinted at the man through a trickle of blood from a cut in his forehead. Someone had thrown him into the wall of the cave and he'd come away with a scrape. His hands were pulled painfully behind his back and tied briskly with a length of rope.

The man behind leaned forward and growled in his ear. "Couldn't leave well enough alone, could you Gretton?"

Though a few torches had been placed at intervals to light the cave, it was impossible to distinguish anyone's features in the dim shadows created by the leaping flames and gnarled rock. The voice though, as well as the massive frame, were familiar. Gasping in recognition, Randall opened his mouth to speak. His arms were jerked sharply upright, and he wound up shrieking instead. "Damnation, man!" He snarled at Lord Haytor, arms throbbing, head pounding.