Whenever he looked at her now, he saw warmth, love, comfort.
"We'll have to stop every few hours to rest Valor," he said, clearing his throat and trying not to sound like a man who was falling in love. To be precise, trying not to sound like a man who'd already fallen deeply in love. "Let me know if you need to stop sooner."
"Thank you, John. But it won't be necessary. I'll manage." She turned slightly to glance at him as they rode. "I think we ought to read through Somersby's secret book whenever we rest Valor. The more you or I can retain in our memory, the better."
He nodded. "I had planned to do just that. Let me sort through it first. I've had more experience in these matters than you. I'm more likely to decipher it faster and know what's important."
She pursed her lips, obviously not liking his suggestion. "I found it. And I'm not a ninny. I'm good with puzzles and know how to keep accounts."
"I'm speaking of experience with smugglers. I have no doubt of your cleverness. But since you've never been a smuggler, I don't think you'll understand all the references or their significance."
She glanced at him again. "Are you saying that simply to mollify me?"
He cracked a grin. "No, I'm saying it because it's true. You're one of the cleverest women I know. Far more intelligent than most men, too."
"Nicely said, John." She cast him an impish smile. "But you've never been a smuggler either."
"I have, but only in service to the Crown."
Her annoyance with him seemed to melt away, just as the mist had melted off the lake waters earlier in the day. "Truly? What did you smuggle? Can you tell me about those missions?"
He saw no harm in passing the time this way. He'd confide some of his earlier adventures since they were several years in the past and not likely to put anyone in danger if a name or two slipped out. "Which would you rather hear first? The mad monk of Ballymena? Or the harlot of Honfleur?"
She shook her head and laughed. "They both sound intriguing. What were each of them smuggling?"
"Irish whiskey was the mad monk's contraband. The harlot was actually a French countess who traded any French products she could put her hands on. Lace, perfumes, wines."
Nicola frowned. "But those seem harmless enough. Why assign you to bring down their operations?"
"They each took their profit and put it toward bringing down the English monarchy. Had they kept their ill-gotten gains for themselves and lived purposeless lives of luxury, they would have attracted no one's notice. But their wealth was used to purchase weapons, train mercenary soldiers, and generally stir hostilities. The mad monk was building an army of Irishmen to invade England. The countess was working for Napoleon, supporting his spy operations."
Nicola turned slightly in the saddle once more to look at him. Her eyes were wide and she was obviously eager to hear more. "John, how did you disrupt their plans?"
"The mad monk was easy. We set him up so that it would seem I was a sympathizer to his cause. English soldiers gave chase one night and cornered him in one of the smuggler's caves. I ‘happened' along and rescued him from capture. Instant trust. I was able to penetrate his circle of rebels to the highest levels and bring them down."
"I still don't understand." She nibbled her lip in contemplation. "Did they have no issue with your English accent?"
"They might have, had they not believed I was Irish."
Her eyes rounded in surprise and she gasped. "You pretended to be Irish? Your accent must have been very good to fool everyone."
He nodded. "It was."
She smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. "I knew it would be. You are remarkable. And how did you fool the French countess? By pretending to be French?"
He laughed lightly. "No, my French is good, but my accent is not. Irish mercenary was my role."
"Irish again," Nicola murmured. "What don't I know about you? Did you grow up in Ireland? It seems obvious that you did, for it is no easy thing to fool a native speaker and you managed to have the mad monk and his cohorts completely taken in."
He shrugged. "I spent time there."
She turned in the saddle again to gaze up at him. "But something terrible happened there. Didn't it?"
He cursed silently, wishing he hadn't spoken to her at all about his missions. That was a mistake on his part. But Nicola had a way of putting him at ease and making him let down his guard. She understood him almost better than he understood himself.
In truth, he wasn't complicated.
He wanted revenge on the man who'd killed his parents and left him for dead. He wouldn't rest until he'd found the villain and exacted his vengeance. It should have been easy enough to pick up that old trail even now, for it had been a brutal crime against an English emissary and that emissary's wife, and not something the Irish locals or those on his father's staff would ever forget.
John had spent his life training for this confrontation. He was now a grown man in the service of the Crown. He was an earl, no less, and had the highest connections. But he'd been surprised by the difficulty he'd encountered in gathering information. Everyone he spoke to, English and Irish, used the same excuse. They couldn't recall, for the deaths had occurred over twenty years ago. He understood that, but to have nothing at all? Not so much as a kernel of a clue. That was troubling. It spoke of conspiracy. It spoke of a purposeful cover-up.
Nicola put her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. "You'll tell me when you're ready. I'm sorry if I distressed you."
"No, brat. You didn't."
The worst part about seeking revenge was the possibility that he'd never achieve it. The villain could be dead by now. The thought that a cold-hearted murderer might have died a natural, peaceful death tore John up inside. He'd carried this dark rage inside of him for all these years and meant to unleash it on the culprit when he found him.
Nicola lifted her head off his chest and looked up at him again. "Your heart is beating so fast, it's pounding a hole through your chest."
He frowned at her. "You're mistaken."
"Very well, dismiss my concern. But I'd like to point out that I found Somersby's secret book in the matter of a day. So why won't you trust me to help with whatever else is obviously troubling you?"
"I don't need your help," he said, his jaw clenched with tension. He did not want Nicola anywhere near that investigation. He wasn't going to do the decent thing and turn his parents' killer over to the authorities. He was going to rip the man's heart out and toss it to the carrion birds to eat.
She squirmed on his lap, shifting her position to better look him straight in the eye. "You don't want my help. That is very different from not needing it. I think you do need me badly." She emitted a breathy sigh. "I wish you'd let me in. I know I can help you."
"How? By meddling and getting yourself killed?"
"Would it be any worse than the predicament we're in now?"
He supposed not, but this was his quest for vengeance. His alone and he was not going to risk Nicola's life to achieve it. "I'm torn apart with worry over you, brat. I need to keep you safe. Just let me do that."
She shifted once more, now turning her back to him, unaware of the turmoil she was causing him with her every little movement. "Very well," she said, the hurt evident in her voice. "But I am not a lump of clay. I have feelings and protective urges too."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know yet. I've never had to face death before. But I'm not a coward. If I have to risk my life to protect you, I'm going to do it."
He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Over my dead body."
She frowned at him. "If that's what it takes to protect you, then … yes."
CHAPTER 7
"THE HELL YOU will," John said with a growl. "Let's set some ground rules, shall we? Rule number one, I protect you. Rule number two, I keep you safe. Rule number three, you keep hidden if there's any danger. Rule number four, you don't protect me. Rule number five-"
"What if you're outnumbered and I can help? Am I supposed to sit by quietly and watch you die?" Men could be such dolts sometimes.
"Yes, and you can close your eyes. Then you won't have to watch me die."
Nicola chafed at his words. "That isn't funny. Don't ask me to do nothing at all. It isn't in my nature and I'll never agree to it."
He hugged her a little tighter to him. She wasn't certain whether he'd drawn her closer out of annoyance because she was riling him or out of his obviously protective instincts. His need to keep her safe seemed to run so deep within him, it was as though his soul would die if any harm came to her.