A Warriner To Seduce Her. Virginia Heath
of night and onto quiet beaches.’
That didn’t make sense to Jake. This single band of smugglers had flooded the London market to such an extent they now dominated it. Both London and the entire south-east. ‘The volumes of brandy alone make that impossible. Even if he were using rowing boats, transporting that many barrels of illegal French spirits across the country to the capital would be problematic. They would be seen. We’ve had men watching all the roads into the town for months. He’s got to be bringing the stuff straight into London. By sea.’
‘The Excise Men assure me they have searched every nook and cranny of every ship linked to Rowley. They’ve had the cargoes apart the moment they’ve off-loaded and found nought that hasn’t been recorded on the ships’ manifest. Those vessels are clean.’
‘Too clean.’ These were the first words Leatham had said in the hour they had been sat in Lord Fennimore’s study. They all turned to look at him. He didn’t say much, but what he did was always worth waiting for. ‘In my experience, the best place to hide is in plain sight. I’ll wager he’s using those ships and bringing the goods right into London just as Jake said—right under the Excise Men’s noses. They won’t use the roads. Not when it makes sense to keep everything in the water. Quieter, darker and harder to stop.’
He had Lord Fennimore’s attention. ‘You think he’s solely using the Thames?’
‘I would.’
‘The river police patrol those waters like hawks. He’d be taking a risk.’
Leatham shrugged. ‘Maybe they offload the big ships well shy of London. Transfer the stuff onto local coasters or barges. There are thousands of smaller vessels which run those waters every day and never get challenged—just as generation after generation of Thames watermen have done in the past. If they can fool the Excise Men with legitimate loads like fish, bricks or hay, then I doubt a paltry few river police will worry them and that’s assuming it stays on the Thames. There’s also the Fleet, the Lee. Or the canals. There are hundreds of miles of canals, remember. There aren’t enough river police to watch everywhere or to check every boat and everyone knows they focus on the big ships and the docks. The ones that cross the sea rather than the local waters.’
Lord Fennimore nodded thoughtfully. ‘Smaller boats? There’d have to be a lot of them, a whole rotten network. Perfectly synchronised. But I suppose if they avoid the docks, once they are through the city they can move largely undetected and unchallenged throughout the country.’ His bushy eyebrows drew together and he nodded decisively. ‘Send some of your men to do some digging around the wharfs, Leatham, and see what you can find. Flint, see if Crispin Rowley, or any of his cronies, has any links in any canal companies or river hauliers. I’ll arrange for the Excise Men to pay close attention to the Essex and Kent stretches of the Thames Estuary. Get them to covertly follow a few of the regular wherrymen. It can’t hurt to explore the possibility further. Better safe than sorry, even if we are just shouting into the wind until we have credible intelligence on Rowley’s actual business dealings.’ At that, Fennimore’s head turned to Jake. ‘How are things going with the niece?’
‘We’ve met.’ That awkward introduction still grated.
‘Met? It’s been a week. Have you lost your touch, Warriner?’
‘Miss Blunt is not the sort of woman one rushes.’ Because she saw right through flannel. ‘I flirted with her tonight at the opera.’ Well, he’d gazed longingly at her. ‘And thanks to subtle enquiries—’ which involved flirting outrageously with several well-connected society ladies ‘—I’ve managed to piece together most of her engagements for the next few weeks. She will be attending the Renshaws’ Ball on Friday.’ Where he fully intended to sweep the pithy Miss Blunt off her canny northern feet.
‘Engage her in conversation about Rowley’s business interests. See if she’s heard any mention of canals over the dinner table.’
Jake rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, that ought to do it. Nothing says seduction like talk of barges.’ Although with hindsight, that might have been better than waffling on about birds of paradise. Anything would have been better than waffling on about those damn birds. ‘Leave Miss Blunt to me. By the time I’m finished wooing her, she’ll sing like a canary.’ Another crass bird analogy! Good lord, he was doomed.
If only he’d been able to stop thinking about the delectable Miss Blunt, then Jake would be more on his game. But there was something about her which had got under his skin and, even when it shouldn’t, his mind kept wandering back to her. It wasn’t just her beauty which appealed, although there was no denying the physical attraction he felt. Tonight, he could barely take his eyes off her. From the moment she had appeared in Rowley’s box, he had been transfixed.
She had looked stunning with all that honey-gold hair piled loosely on top of her clever head, outshining every other lady in the opera house. When the done thing was to appear bored, Miss Blunt had flown in the face of convention and been utterly charmed by the occasion. Openly smiling at the actors on the stage and swaying in time to the music. To do that when all around you were people behaving properly showed a tremendous amount of confidence. That confidence, that comfortable sense of self, made Miss Blunt very alluring indeed. The way she had closed her eyes in bliss at the taste of the champagne had done peculiar things to his nerve endings, creating all manner of unwelcome images of the vixen in the grip of pleasure. Images which resolutely refused to leave his mind now, when he was supposed to be concentrating.
Of course, it didn’t help that the copper-silk gown had shown off her magnificent figure to perfection. Cut to sit off the shoulder, the acres of creamy peach skin had tormented him each time the lights went up and haunted him in the darkness. Skin he now knew blushed more beautifully than any skin had blushed before—and from something as simple as a cheeky blown kiss when nobody was looking. A kiss he had every intention of delivering properly, in person, at the first available opportunity. And not because he’d been told to.
Flint’s fingers snapped in front of his face and Jake realised he’d missed an important part of the conversation. ‘Sorry. I was...’
‘Daydreaming about your conquest, if your expression was anything to go by.’ Flint grinned. ‘I said you might have some competition for Miss Blunt’s affections, dear boy. The word among Rowley’s crowd is he has her earmarked for Redditch.’
‘The Earl of Redditch!’ The very idea was disgusting. The man was in his sixties and smelled like feet. ‘I sincerely doubt I’ll have much competition from that quarter. Miss Blunt wouldn’t entertain an obnoxious fellow like him.’ Or at least he hoped she wouldn’t. Not that imagining her in the throes of passion with the aged Earl was any more distasteful than imagining her in the throes of passion with any other man. The mere thought made him strangely jealous and, if he was entirely honest, a tad nauseous.
‘Perhaps not—but her uncle is keen to make a match. I’ve heard he fetched her to town with the express intention of presenting her to the Earl. Redditch is recently out of mourning and has been quite vocal about his desire to marry again. His first marriage was barren, so it stands to reason he wants a wife young enough to give him heirs and he is as rich a Croesus. Despite his stinky disposition, he’s still quite a catch and one Rowley seems intent on catching. Miss Blunt does make attractive bait.’ Flint and Leatham shared a knowing, wholly masculine look which made Jake yearn to punch the pair of them for the heinous crime of having perceptive eyes.
‘Miss Blunt is a woman with her own mind and well past the age of majority. I wish her uncle all the luck in the world trying to bring her around to his way of thinking.’
Lord Fennimore frowned. ‘This is a dangerous and unforeseen complication.’
‘Hardly.’ Jake made a show of adjusting his cuffs. ‘I’m easier on both the eyes and the nose, and much more appealing than the Earl of Redditch.’
‘Not all women’s heads can be turned by a handsome face, Warriner. In case it has escaped your notice, most of the ton marries for status and wealth. As an earl he has the status—and he certainly