under her chin with a fierce tug. “There is friendship between us. How many women can claim such blessing?”
“Few. But I want love for you, too.”
“Doing my duty and caring for our nephews—that is all I hope for.”
“Perhaps God has more for you. Trust Him, Gemma.”
Hot tears pricked the back of her eyes. She had set aside any such dreams long ago. Still, she nodded at her sister before she hurried outside.
She strode down the drive in seconds, at such a pace. Angry as she was with Cristobel, it was Mr. Knox whose face filled her thoughts. She swiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. Hugh’s retreat was not Mr. Knox’s fault. But, oh, how glad she was Tavin Knox and his amused, arched brow would not be in London to watch her wait for Hugh’s proposal.
She stomped through sodden grass toward the copse of trees skirting the base of Verity Hill like an emerald-ribboned hem. Above the trees, the rise loomed green and steep before her. She hadn’t stood at the top in a long time, but reaching its crest, perched higher than her surroundings, would feel defiant. Victorious, somehow.
Gemma would conquer Verity Hill, since she appeared incapable of surmounting any other obstacle in her life.
* * *
At the sound of movement behind him, Tavin lowered the spyglass and slid it under his coat. Would he never get the drawing room to himself?
Tavin spun and then let out a breath. It was only Wyling. He passed his friend the spyglass. “Aye, since the whole purpose for coming here was to stand at this window today.”
“Am I supposed to see anything?”
“Soon. They’re coming from the far side of the hill. Once they come ’round this side and enter the trees, I’ll know it’s safe for me to climb to the summit.”
“Where your informant will have left you something of an incriminating nature?” Wyling confirmed. “One would think a path called Smuggler’s Road would be better concealed. Same with those who make use of it. Are they not called Gentlemen of the Night for a reason?”
“Usually.” A grin pulled at Tavin’s cheeks. “But here in the New Forest, smuggling occurs regardless of the hour. And you can see how the Smuggler’s Road allows visibility for miles. Should a revenue agent be about on his rounds, the free traders can hide in the dense foliage of the forest.”
“But that won’t happen today. You led the revenue man on a false trail, correct?”
“For his own protection. He’s north, leaving Smuggler’s Road clear for the party hauling contraband from Christchurch.” He hoped. “It’s imperative this plan to learn more about how the smuggling ring works.”
Nothing had worked for so long. What it would feel like to get the upper hand for a change? To at last put a stop to the smuggler known as The Sovereign—a murderer who thought so highly of himself that he called himself after the king.
While Wyling used the spyglass, Tavin’s thoughts returned to Miss Lyfeld, her light brown hair framing her sad blue eyes when she spoke of being forgiven. Did she question God’s forgiveness like he did? She had no reason to. Of course she was absolved. Her sins were no doubt the sort God could easily pardon. She was no thief, no liar. No murderer.
Something he could never claim.
“I upset Miss Lyfeld. Again.” He fumbled with the cuff of his black coat.
“Did Gemma wish to know your whereabouts yesterday? I gather you didn’t tell her.”
“No, I walked in on her and Beauchamp.”
“Did he do it, then?” Wyling lowered the spyglass, his expression eager. “Are they betrothed?”
“He looked like he was being strangled by his cravat, so it’s possible he was about to ask. But they hadn’t finished their conversation when Beauchamp left.”
“You didn’t leave them to it?” Wyling’s brows lowered.
“I made an attempt.” The words sounded feeble.
“You should have tried harder. She’s waited years for Hugh to gather his courage.”
“Don’t give me that look. I thought he was just making moon eyes.”
“Cristobel would not have allotted privacy for mere moon eyes.”
“I don’t have sisters. How should I know?”
“Because you’re a gentleman. Alone means betrothal.”
Tavin shook his head. Had he known that? Perhaps. But he was no gentleman anymore. These past years, he had stuffed his upbringing away with the natural efficiency he demonstrated when tucking a trouser cuff inside a boot.
Nonetheless, the trouser cuff was still there, even though it was not visible. Why had he forgotten everything he’d been taught?
“I am incapable of interacting with decent people anymore.”
“That’s not true.” His friend clapped his shoulder. “But you have been among a different sort for too long. I hope it will not be much longer before you can stop this sort of thing.”
Tavin took the spyglass, aiming it toward the New Forest, as thick with thieves as trees. Weary as he was with his life, he had a debt to repay. Perhaps if he succeeded today, he’d be able to cease being an undercover agent for the Board of Customs. He could serve King and country in another—less dangerous—capacity.
He scanned the view. No activity on the hilltop. “I’ll apologize to her again later, but right now—”
He thrust the spyglass at Wyling. “This makes no sense.”
“What?”
Tavin pointed to a red-cloaked figure emerging from the trees, ascending the hill at a smart pace.
“It’s Gemma. Out for a walk.”
“Wearing a red cloak.” His plan unraveled like a skein of yarn at the paws of a cat. “I’ve got to stop her before—”
“What?” Wyling gripped his arm, wasting precious seconds.
“She’s signaling the smugglers, whether she knows it or not. There’s a woman in these parts. She mounts that hill to signal her brethren to turn back if a government man is nearby. By night she burns a lamp. By day, she dons a red cloak. Like the one Gemma is wearing.”
“And the smugglers will see her.” Wyling’s ruddy complexion paled.
“Aye. And if they turn ’round, they’ll smack into the revenue agent. If they stay the course, they’ll encounter Miss Lyfeld and may not treat her kindly.”
Tavin spun from Wyling’s grasp, bounding downstairs and out the front door. The spongy earth sucked at his boots as he ran across the park toward the hill.
You have
