Chapter Twenty-One

Red could not help feel a little smug when the dressmaker had promised Hannah two new dresses in two days. Of course, his pocketbook had helped persuade the woman to readjust some nearly completed gowns to fit Hannah and delay giving them to the original intended owner. The woman took Hannah aside to get her measurements, so Red stepped out of the small shop. Being surrounded by lace and fabrics was not his idea of fun, and he'd far rather be out in the fresh air.

The town bustled as lunchtime dawned. Most carriages travelling through the south stopped here, assured of excellent service and food, as well as a chance of running into fine company. He cared little for the company, but he hoped Hannah appreciated the food and good services. They would have had little chance of finding her some new clothes in the smaller towns.

She had seemed on better form since he had suggested getting her a new gown or two and he was certain she had enjoyed the scones and cream. Lord knows he had, but mostly because she had been sitting opposite him with the wildest expression of bliss on her face. Hell, he'd burned his mouth because he had been staring at her for too long, and when she had put her finger in her mouth to lick off the cream...Jesus, he was as hard as stone.

"Well, I'll be damned."

It was probably not a bad thing he had been interrupted from his reverie or else he would be making a fool of himself right here in the main street. He certainly did not expect to see Harry Coolidge. It had to have been over a year since he had seen him.

"Harry," Red said, extending a hand.

The man shook his warmly. The year had not been kind to Harry, but that was likely because of his wartime experiences. He had aged since he had ferried him across from France at the dead of night. It had been one of the few journeys that Red had decided he could be of more help on deck rather than at home, waiting by the coast. The English spy had been injured and was in possession of important information on Napoleon's next moves. What they were, Red couldn't say—only Harry ever knew the information he possessed—but with him suffering a nasty wound to the leg, they had brought him directly into London, slipping past the customs men by running dark. There were French spies everywhere, as they were all too well aware. Harry was probably the most precious cargo they had ever shipped.

"How goes it?" Red asked. He peered up into eyes that were creased and ringed with dark circles. A hint of grey touched Harry's sideburns. "Still in the business?"

Harry shook his head and tapped his leg with a cane. "Hardly up to it anymore. It caused some mighty damage and still pains me when the weather is bad. Still the crown gave me a nice retirement fund so I cannot complain, though I shall confess being idle is a strange business."

"You could always join me in Cornwall. I could keep you busy."

"But for how long, Red? The war will come to an end eventually. Don't tell me you shall remain a smuggler for the rest of your days."

He shrugged. "Perhaps I shall."

Harry smirked. "You act the rogue, but we all know why you do what you do. Were it not for the war, you would never have even considered such an occupation."

Red did not deny it. Were it not for Nate and his ambitions to help the war cause, perhaps he might not have thought to do a thing. He was not heartless—the men losing their lives for a cause they likely did not understand bothered him aplenty—but as a titled man, there was little he could do except donate charitably to the soldiers and their widows.

"What are you doing in Taunton anyway? A little far from Cornwall for you. I know how you loathe to be anywhere but the very end of the country."

Hannah emerged from the dressmaker's and came to his side. He naturally extended his arm, and she took it. To have her next to him or near him was becoming as normal as breathing. It would be odd indeed to have her gone.

"May I introduce Miss St. John. I am escorting her to London."

"Ah," was all Harry said.

Red narrowed his eyes, fully understanding his friend's assumption. He thought Red had been lured away from Cornwall by the flick of a petticoat.

"This is Mr. Harry Coolidge. An old friend," Red explained.

Hannah swung her gaze between the two men and smiled. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Coolidge. How is it you know Red?"

"Socially," Red interrupted. "We spent time together a few years ago."

A crease appeared between her brows. "I see."

"Well, I had better leave you two to your shopping," Harry said, bowing his head. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss St. John. Do look after Red here for me."

"Of course."

"Take care, Harry." Red shook his hand and watched him walk away, his limp only just noticeable. It made Red feel ridiculous for hobbling along with a swollen toe.

"So you met a few years ago?" Hannah quizzed.

"Something like that."

"Where exactly?"

Red led Hannah along the street, intending to take them back to the inn for luncheon. "I cannot recall."

"And yet Mr. Coolidge seemed so fond of you. Were the feelings not reciprocated?"

"I consider Harry an excellent friend."

"But you do not recall where you met? Or what you did to become good friends?"

He scowled. "No."

"Why do you insist on playing the rogue, Red, when it is becoming quite clear you are the opposite?"

"I am not sure where you got the idea that I am some sort of fine gentleman, but I can assure you, you are wrong."

She tugged him to a halt. "No, you are wrong. I do not think of you as some sort of fine gentleman. You have your moments but you are mostly coarse and rude and you take some absurd pleasure in it. But I also do know you do not have the sort of hard heart you seem to wish you had."

"Hannah, you are talking in riddles. Now, I am hungry and I should like to get a seat at the inn, but if we dally any longer, we shall be lucky to find a haystack to sit upon."

"I heard what Harry said," she replied softly, looking up at him from under her lashes.

"Pardon?"

"I heard what he said. About you helping the war effort. I will admit, I have spent most of our journey pondering over why a man like you would take up smuggling." She grinned. "It all makes sense now. You use it to cover taking over spies."

Red hauled in a breath. He spied a nearby bench, tucked against a backdrop of leafy trees and a stretch of grass that was no doubt covered in picnic blankets during better weather. He sat and motioned for her to sit next to him.

"We take over goods too and bring them back. Sometimes we supply the soldiers when our warships cannot get supplies across. No one questions the presence of smugglers. And of course, we take information."

She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Why did you not just tell me?"

"What I do is dangerous, Hannah, not simply because of the excise men. Spies like Harry rely on my secrecy to continue their activities. Were it not for his injury, the chances were, I would have been shipping him back over to continue his mission. Anyway, what difference would it have made if I told you?"

She tilted her head. "I am not sure."

"I still smuggle. I bring in goods that we would not otherwise have access to in England. I make a profit."

"So now you are trying to convince me that you are still a rogue?"

"No, I am merely pointing out that I am only human, not a saint. My method works, but it works twofold. In a time of uncertainty, these profits are ensuring my estate thrives, and I cannot complain about the consequence of my actions."

"Why did you decide to do this?"

"My brother intended to join the army, and it was my father's ambition for him too. Unfortunately, after my father passed, my brother's eyesight deteriorated. It is not so bad, but he has to have glasses so he cannot purchase a commission. At least this way, he can feel he is doing something to help. Being a first son can mean a great deal of pressure, but being a second son can leave one adrift. I have seen it many times. I did not wish that for Nate."

A soft smile curved her lips. "And now you have persuaded me you are no longer a rogue but simply a caring brother. Which one do you wish to be, Red? Rogue or gentleman?"

He didn't say it but right at that moment, he wished to be the rogue. To tell her of his deepest desires and how her small smile made him want to tip her off this bench and kiss her until she begged him for more. Unfortunately for him, but most likely fortunately for her, the gentleman was here for the day.