The Foundling Bride. Helen Dickson

his most vulnerable. ‘I am surprised to find you here at this late hour. You must forgive my absence. I have been occupied with other matters tonight.’

      ‘I saw.’

      Edward smiled thinly, pouring himself a drink. Dropping into a leather chair by the fire, he stretched out his long booted legs. ‘As long as you were the only one who saw then I am not concerned.’

      Before Marcus had left for America he had known that Edward had become the leader of a well-organised smuggling ring operating hereabouts. It would seem nothing had changed.

      ‘I had thought you would have put the trade behind you with your new position. Even the cleverest smuggler will make a mistake eventually—and then he will be either arrested or dead.’

      Edward’s brows lifted imperturbably. ‘I and more than half the population in Cornwall do not see smuggling as a crime. Those involved in various ways either buy, sell, or drink—respectable ministers of the church, doctors, lawyers, and...oh, yes...even magistrates and excise men. They all look the other way for a drop of fine French brandy or a bolt of silk or lace for their ladies.’

      ‘You are good at impressing people, aren’t you, Edward? People who don’t know that beneath your fine clothes and affectations you are in possession of a ruthlessness and cruelty which will stop at nothing to possess or destroy what you cannot possess. But there are those who are law-abiding and will not turn a blind eye to your activities for ever. You would do well to remember that you are not beyond reach of the law.’

      Marcus had spoken quietly—too quietly for Edward’s comfort—and there was a judgemental expression in the cold, pale eyes assessing him.

      ‘The law can go to hell,’ Edward bit back, with apparently righteous indignation. ‘The various schemes I devise with those across the Channel for our mutual profit will continue until I call a halt. I shall continue to land contraband in that cursed cove until I can no longer elude the Revenue men and the dragoons.’

      ‘Nevertheless it is still a crime, and should you get caught your title will not save you.’

      ‘So you imagine I might be arrested?’ Edward said, tilting his head to one side and peering at his brother through narrowed eyes. ‘Perhaps you may propose to do something yourself.’

      Marcus shrugged. ‘What can I do that the excise men can’t? I can’t forbid you to cross the land to the cove, since you own it. But you will not escape without retribution—and if you were not my brother it would be all the sweeter if it were by my own hand. I know you, Edward. The methods you use for disposing of those who get in your way are not mine. I am first and foremost the King’s servant. Eventually you will be caught, and you will have to stand trial and suffer the ultimate penalty for your crime—and when you do you will ask yourself if it was worth it.’

      Edward laughed lightly, unconcerned by his brother’s argument. ‘The men who work for me are as audacious and cunning as I am. We are not such amateurs that we would leave contraband lying around for the excise men to find.’

      ‘And those in the community who are not directly involved? Huge rewards are offered for the successful conviction of smugglers. Does it not concern you that someone might speak out?’

      ‘Anyone tempted by the rewards will know that their lives would be short if they were to do that. The Cornish coast is long, Marcus, with many hidden coves riddled with caves. Smuggling goes on from Land’s End to the Tamar and beyond. The excise men and the dragoons cannot be everywhere at once. But I suppose if I should be arrested that would please you, would it not? To become Lord of the Manor?’

      Marcus didn’t answer. He knew Edward was trying to bait him, but he refused to be drawn.

      ‘The funeral is over, Marcus,’ Edward said, having had enough discussion of smuggling and wanting a change of subject. ‘Our father has been interred in the church next to my mother.’

      Marcus knew exactly what he was alluding to. He wanted to remind him that his own mother took second place as their father’s second wife. ‘I know. That’s as it should be. I came as soon as I received Mother’s letter.’

      Edward glanced at his brother. ‘Is it your intention to return to the war, or are you home for good?’

      ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Edward, but I am here to stay. My time with the army is at an end. I’m weary of war—which is not going well for the English.’

      ‘I am aware of that. The world has not passed me by here at Tregarrick,’ Edward replied drily.

      ‘I am surprised to find you still at home, Edward. In her letter informing me of our father’s demise Mother mentioned something about you going to London. I imagine that now you have the estate to manage you will not spend so much of your time in the city as you have in the past.’

      ‘Why not? I employ Watkins to oversee the work here. He worked well for my father—’

      ‘Our father,’ Marcus corrected coldly.

      Edward smiled thinly, arrogant in his demeanour. ‘Whatever you say.’

      ‘Have you considered getting yourself an heir, Edward, and marrying again? It’s two years since Isabel died.’

      ‘I will—when I am good and ready. It has crossed my mind to go up to London for a time, and I might have a look around for a woman who suits my needs while I’m there. I’m in need of some pleasurable diversion. However,’ he said, swirling the brandy round the bowl of his glass and settling back into the chair, his lips curved in a self-satisfied smile, ‘at this present time I have to say that a certain young woman at Tregarrick is proving to be the most charming diversion since she has come to work at the house.’

      ‘Really? Do I know her?’

      ‘You should. You were the one to bring her here after all!’

      The dawning of understanding filled Marcus’s eyes. He stared at Edward. ‘Lowena?’ His face hardened. ‘Are you telling me that you and Lowena...?’

      Edward laughed mirthlessly. He could almost feel the effort his brother was exerting to keep his rage under control. ‘Absolutely. She has the face of an angel—a beautiful, fallen angel in every sense. She certainly has fire in her veins. You know the type... I’m tempted to remain in Cornwall a while longer. She helps in other ways, too,’ he said quietly, meaningfully, watching his brother carefully for his reaction. ‘She is particularly alert on the nights when there is a run and we need someone to man the beacon—or woman, in her case.’

      There was nothing subtle about his mockery. It was direct. Marcus looked at him, lounging in his chair, arrogant, smug, self-satisfied, with a triumphant light in his eyes. He shook his head, as if to clear it of the monstrous thought his intellect was already beginning to form, but it clung on with the tenacity of a limpet on a rock. The mere thought that Edward had made Lowena a pawn in his illegal ventures almost sent him over the edge.

      ‘Are you telling me that you have involved Lowena in smuggling?’

      Edward looked at him. ‘Why not? She is in my employ, so she has to do as she is told. She does have her uses—in many ways.’

      Marcus went cold as what Edward had implied settled round his heart like an iron band. An awful, impossible thought came sliding slowly into his mind. It was too wicked for words—and yet suddenly he knew. He had a deep-rooted conviction that it had been Lowena he had encountered earlier—the girl who had been standing as lookout on the coastal path. He hadn’t been able to see her identity because of the dark.

      It was bad enough that Edward had implied that he was in a sexual liaison with Lowena—which Marcus refused to believe—but to be told that she took part in his nefarious practices was hard to take in and to accept. Edward had never been one to look beyond his own gratification. The mere thought of his brother tarnishing that sweet girl with his corruption sent a pain through his heart.

      What Marcus remembered about Lowena was pure and good—all Edward would see