Free Sweet Treason (Entangled Ignite) by Gail Ranstrom

timbers at the crossbeams. The tunnel seemed endless, and the absolute darkness swallowed the lantern light, illuminating no more than ten feet ahead of her.
    When she reached the end of the tunnel, she placed the lantern on the dirt floor and turned the wick down, leaving it burning for her return. The salt air carried the sound of voices arguing. She pushed the trailing foliage and tree roots aside to step into the open air.
    She blinked. Her maid had disregarded her instructions and come to the cove. “Bridey? What are you doing here?”
    “Won’t have you facing that French devil alone, miss. Planned deliveries is one thing, surprise arrivals is another.”
    “I am not alone, Bridey. Simon is always with me.”
    “Pah! Simon’ll be busy with the unloading. If there’s only the two of you, what’s to stop that wily Frenchman from throwing a sack over your head and—?”
    “Greed, Bridey. He wouldn’t kill or abduct one of his best customers. Honor among thieves, remember?”
    “Couldn’t stop her from coming, Miss Emily,” Simon told her as he joined them. “Short of tyin’ her up, there weren’t nothin’ I could do.”
    There was no time for argument. Every minute the smugglers lay at anchor was another minute a Navy sloop of war could discover them. “Come, then, but this is the last time.”
    Reynard was waiting at the ocean’s edge. A skiff bearing hogsheads of wine was being unloaded on the shore, and another skiff had been beached to await Reynard’s return. He hurried toward her when he saw her, one hand out in a gesture of relief.
    “At last you come, eh, Anglaise ?”
    “I cannot pay you, captain. Simon has not found buyers for all the lace yet. You did not warn me you would be back so soon.”
    “ Excusez-moi . It is me. I wait. I am not good at the waiting.”
    Reynard must have some reason to be anxious other than being pleased to see her. “You said you have brandy? I cannot take a full shipment.”
    “Yes, yes, the brandy.” Reynard waved toward his first mate and the sailors unloading barrels. He took several steps toward the skiff. “You come look, no?”
    She took an instinctive step backward, and Bridey clung to her cloak.
    “I require of you the favor, eh? After we leave you last week, your navy fires upon me. The Sea Fox is faster than their frigate, and we escape. But we cannot return ’ome. We lay in at a cove to make the repairs to the mast and ’ull.”
    “I am sorry for your misfortunes, Captain, but I know nothing of how to repair ships.”
    “ Mon Dieu! Misfortune comes not alone, eh? Come look, then all becomes clear. I give to you my sacred honor no trickery is at ’and.”
    She touched the heavy bulge of her pistol in her pocket and was somewhat reassured. She believed what she had told Bridey—that Reynard would not harm her because it was not in his best interests to do so. Still, he was French and unpredictable. She took a few cautious steps toward the skiff.
    Bridey gave a sharp tug on her sleeve, but Emily shot her a quelling glance. Leaving Simon to supervise the unloading, she followed Captain Reynard to the ocean’s edge next to the waiting skiff.
    A feverish young man lay upon a litter, thrashing and murmuring intermittently. She frowned. “I do not understand, Captain.”
    His brow lowered. “’Ow can I make it plain?”
    “I must be missing some French subtlety,” she snapped. She was not entirely comfortable so far from Simon, and only the thump of casks being loaded on the dray kept her there—enough brandy to pay the last installment of taxes and mortgage if she could convince Reynard she was good for the second half. Oh, but how could she take favors from the man?
    Reynard began pacing. “’E is wounded. The musket ball. In the skirmish with your navy.”
    “I gathered as much.” She fought a niggling of guilt. The young smuggler had been wounded bringing her brandy. Did Reynard hold her responsible? Ah, but he’d admitted he had not