Free Devil's Prize by Jane Jackson

the rest she had not. With so much on her mind she had completely forgotten. Now he would expect payment and she had no money. She kept her gaze lowered and felt pinpricks of perspiration at her temples and along her upper lip. ‘Thank you, Mr Varcoe. How much do I owe you?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    That brought her head up. ‘I don’t underst –’
    ‘They are a gift, Miss Trevanion.’
    Knowledge of what was proper fought relief and the desire to accept gratefully. Propriety won. As it must. ‘That is most kind, but I couldn’t possibly –’
    ‘For your sister,’ Devlin’s tone warned against argument.
    ‘Oh.’ He had made it impossible for her to refuse. Horribly self-conscious because she had assumed – hoped – the gift was for her, what foolishness, Jenefer’s grip on the twisted willow handle tightened and she forced a smile. ‘How very generous. I know Betsy will appreciate the thought, and your kindness. As I do.’ Nerves had dried her mouth. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, saw his gaze flick to her mouth, and cleared her throat as heat surged beneath her skin. ‘Mr Varcoe, about your brother …’
    A shadow darkened Devlin Varcoe’s gaze. ‘What about him?’
    ‘Is he in good health?’
    ‘As far as I know.’
    ‘It’s just … we expected him to call last week, after his return from Truro. But we haven’t seen him and Father is growing very agitated. As I said, he isn’t well and anxiety makes him … difficult. When next you see your brother would you ask him to visit as soon as may be convenient?’
    As Devlin’s features hardened Jenefer wondered if she should not have mentioned it.
    ‘I will indeed.’
    Had she offended him by asking him to carry a message? She knew, as everyone did, that the Varcoe brothers weren’t close. But she could not call on Thomas herself. And the matter was urgent. She swallowed. ‘I’m afraid there’s something else.’
    ‘Yes?’ Still polite he was no longer smiling.
    ‘Lieutenant Crocker has been spending a great deal of time in this area recently, far more so than usual. Betsy has observed him almost every day on the cliffs between here and the far side of the village.’ Jenefer’s grip on the handle whitened her knuckles. Aware of the basket’s contents she had no wish to offend him and chose her words with care. ‘Mr Varcoe, if there is any contraband hidden on our property I would appreciate it being removed as soon as possible.’
    Her heart thumped uncomfortably against her ribs. She could feel the fire in her cheeks despite the fact that she no reason to blush for what she was asking. It wasn’t the request. It was his nearness, and the ice in his eyes. ‘If the lieutenant or his dragoons were to find – my father would be held responsible.’
    ‘Whatever Crocker finds – should he find anything – was not put there by me or my men,’ Devlin was curt. ‘You have my word on that.’
    He was a smuggler. He lived outside the law. He had just given her French lace and silk for Betsy. Yet she believed him. Was she mad? Hysterical laughter bubbled in Jenefer’s throat but she forced it down. He was watching her, his brows forming a black bar across his forehead.
    ‘Are you all right?’
    No, she wasn’t, and wondered if she ever would be again. She could not answer for she would not lie. Making an effort she forced a smile. ‘Good day, Mr Varcoe.’ She lifted the basket. ‘Thank you again. You won’t forget to tell your brother?’
    ‘You can be sure of it, Miss Trevanion.’ His tone sent a shiver down her spine.
    Sprawled in his father’s armchair beside the blazing fire, Thomas drained his glass and levered himself upright to reach for the decanter. His hand trembled and fine cognac splashed onto the polished surface of the small table. Bloody Devlin, telling him what to do. It was none of his damn business. Who did he think he was? The scene played over and over in his head. He tried to