Page 144 of A Perilous Passion

Cheeky chit.

He should ask her about Essex. And demand she tell him who her father was. Not knowing was eating him up inside.

“I don’t believe you’ve been honest with me, Charlotte. How can I trust you when you don’t tell me everything I ought to know?”

She put her hands on her hips. Distracting him. Lord, what fine curves she had!

He shook the thought away and fixed his gaze back on her face.

Was it his imagination, or had she gone pale?

“I assumed,” she said, “since you’ve delved deep enough to discover my scandalous elopement, that you’d found out all you wanted to know about me. What else is there? What dastardly things can a nineteen-year-old woman have done in her brief lifetime to discomfit an earl?”

She had a point. All he had was the hearsay of a single man, eyewitness though he may be. Even if Triggs’s suspicion wasn’t a case of mistaken identity, it didn’t prove Charlotte had been involved in, or even knew about, her father’s illegal dealings. He needed positive proof before condemning her.

“Sit down,” he ordered. “I’ve some questions for you.”

Folding her dignity about her like a cloak, she sat opposite his desk. Feeling very much the inquisitor, he took his place behind it.

“What do you know of the smugglers hereabouts?”

She looked genuinely surprised. “Nothing, save that you want to round them up. And that they’ve been using a cave off the beach. Have you explored it more thoroughly yet?”

He raised a hand. “I’m asking the questions, remember?”

“Of course.” She looked so like a schoolgirl attending to her lessons, he almost smiled. How could anyone think she had a shameful past? She appeared innocence itself.

But looks could be deceiving.

“Nothing else?” he persisted. “No names, no suspicions?”

“No. You know I’d help you if I could.”

“Have you told anyone about my assignment?”

Again, that look of wide-eyed innocence. “Of course not! You were most emphatic we should stay silent.”

He pressed his fingers together and stared down at a scratch on his desk. This was probably the truth. If she’d been in league with the local free traders, a knife between the ribs would have sent him to an early grave by now.

Tilting his gaze up again, he met hers squarely and asked, “Before you came to this part of the world, did you live in Essex?”

She went deathly still. “Yes, I was born in Essex. It’s where my family comes from. There’s a jest there that every other baby born in Walden has Hartington blood.” Her eyes grew moist and she looked away. “I miss my home dearly.”

If she was acting, this was a creditable performance. His doubts faded. “Could you not go back? If only for a visit?”

“We can’t afford to travel. As you must know if you’ve been prying into our affairs.”

The look she gave him made him feel a swine. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I suppose I must forgive you,” she said, “since spying is your trade.” Again, she met his gaze squarely. “Now it’s my turn to question you. What exactly did happen on the heath last night?”

How could he not believe in her?

“A soldier was shot and killed,” he said. “A small detachment from the fort was on patrol. They’d received intelligence that a frigate was due in bearing contraband from France and were working with the revenue men to intercept the cargo. It went badly. A small patrol of young, ill-trained militia is no match for hardened free traders.”

“That’s awful,” she said sincerely.

He pushed out a frustrated breath. “I wish I’d known of their plans. I’m positive not just cargo, but secret papers are being brought to Dorset, direct from Napoleon. The ringleader of the smugglers is also a spy for the French, a traitor.”