Page 20 of A Heart Worth Loving

“We did, once,” Hamilton said.

“If you found nothing then, what makes you think there is a connection now?” Ewan asked.

“Just because nothing was hidden here before, doesnae mean nothing is hidden here now,” the other man said.

“Quiet, John,” the constable ordered.

John’s lips thinned, and he exchanged a look with the other man, but remained silent.

“These questions could have waited until morning, after the rain stopped,” Ewan said.

The constable grunted. “If we waited for the rains to stop, we would get nothing done.”

“Still, ‘tis a miserable night to be going door-to-door looking for smugglers. What forced you out in this storm?”

Hamilton hesitated, then said, “Some French lace turned up in a nearby home.”

On the hem of a nearby noblewoman’s dress, he meant. Still, Ewan wasn’t convinced. The appearance of French lace wasn’t enough to get these men out on the road this stormy night.

“Where did she get it?” he asked.

“That isnae your business,” John snapped.

Hamilton yanked his gaze onto the man. “If ye cannae be quiet, John, then return to your horse.”

“Hamilton—”

“You heard me.” Without waiting for an answer, the constable said to Ewan, “I would like to speak with the other men here.”

Ewan laughed. “Logan occupies the rector’s house on the east side of the property, but you are wasting your time there.” The constable lifted a brow, and Ewan said, “He walks with a limp, and often uses a cane. He could no more smuggle goods than he could run a race.”

Understanding flickered in the man’s eyes.

“Where did you fight?” Ewan asked.

“France, the Peninsula War.”

Ewan gave a slow nod. “If you return tomorrow, I will make sure the others are here to speak with you.”

He nodded. “That would be best. If you see anything…”

“I will let you know.”

The constable rose and Ewan accompanied them to the front entrance, then closed and locked the door behind them. He retrieved Kyla Brodrick’s keys from the library desk drawer, then started to light a lamp and thought better of it. If the constable decided to prowl the abbey grounds, he could spot the lit lamp.

Ewan would light a taper in the refectory. He strode down the hallway, through the chapter house, and up the half dozen stairs to the upper level and out the door. He picked up the pace along the arcade walkway. Halfway through, he stepped from the open walkway into the rain and cut across the compound to the refectory.

He hadn’t been this big a fool since— Since when? Ah, yes, since he’d been twenty-two years of age and fancied himself in love with Lady Hannah, the Duke of Atwell’s daughter. She’d been ten years his senior. Their affair had been filled with all the passion only a young man of that age can feel. When her father learned of their affair, he threatened to kill Ewan. When Ewan begged to marry Lady Hannah, it wasn’t her father who refused, but Hannah. As it turned out, she’d wanted nothing more than a young buck to pleasure her.

Ewan hadn’t thought himself capable of being that blind again. But at the mature age of thirty-six, a pretty face had thoroughly distracted him from the obvious: she was the smuggler. Or, at least, she was involved with the smugglers.

He reached the refectory and retrieved a candle from the small shelf where they kept a few supplied. He lit the candle, then went to the section of wall Kyla had emerged from last night. As he suspected, a panel opened when he pressed on the wall and one of the keys fit into the small lock hidden by the panel of wood. He slid the door aside and started down narrow, winding stairs to a large room. He found no contraband—he hadn’t thought he would. No doubt, they had removed everything last night when Miss Brodrick had been there.

The light extended before him, Ewan bent and scanned the dirt floor. Traces of crates and barrels marked the dirt floor. He was losing his edge. Smugglers had moved goods last night under their very noses and not a one of them had noticed. Ewan smiled grimly. The others wouldn’t like that one bit, particularly Rhys. He was always looking for a reason to be angry. In truth, Ewan wouldn’t mind a fight himself. If the constable had found the stolen goods on Blackstone Abbey property, they all could have ended up in prison, or hanged.

Ewan straightened and shone the light up a half dozen stairs leading to a trap door. He climbed the stairs and, with his arm braced over his head, shoved the door upward. Rain pelted his face. He dropped the door, slid the bar into place, and backed down the steps. No doubt about it. His beautiful neighbor had moved her stolen goods last night. She’d entered through the refectory, as he had, and unlocked the door for her partner in crime. Mallatratt wouldn’t have been able to carry the crates and barrels out by himself. He’d had help.

Ewan looked up at the trapdoor. Last night, the door must have been locked, for why else would Kyla Brodrick have entered through the refectory? Why leave it unlocked now? Because they didn’t plan to store more goods here. Well, at least the lady had some sense. Her encounter with Mallatratt on the road today came to mind. What had she said to him? “You must wait until my father returns.” Was her father the ringleader? That slip of a girl couldn’t be a smuggler.

Maybe not, but she was still part of a smuggling ring. Ewan was startled—and a little angry—to realize that he wasn’t certain he cared. He should care, shouldn’t he? What had he hoped for beyond another kiss from her? To bed her, that’s what. Christ, his mother had been right. Not only were men ruled by their cocks, but a pretty face could make a fool of any man, young or old.

If he was going to be a fool, he might as well enjoy himself. He’d already envisioned those lean thighs and what lay between them. He might as well find out just how good an imagination he had.