LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER FOUR

      THE BLACK BRIAR Inn was very busy; every table was full. It was Friday afternoon, so apparently a great many of the nearby village men had stopped by for a mug of ale. The conversation was loud and raucous. Tobacco wafted in the air.

      Evelyn shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She did not care for this crowd, or the man she had come to meet. He was a very big, dark man in a striped jersey, a vest over that. The vest revealed the pistol he wore, as well as the dagger. His black trousers were tucked into a seaman’s boots. He was unshaven, wore a cuff earring in one ear, and one of his front teeth was black.

      He also smelled, and not of the sea. She did not think he had bathed in a month.

      Several days had passed since her heated encounter with Jack Greystone. She was still in some disbelief—both over her having kissed him, and his having refused her. What had she been thinking? How had she acted as she had, when she was in mourning? How could he have been so uncaring? So indifferent to her cause? And he had accused her of being dangerous! She would never understand what he had meant by that.

      And to think that, for all these years, she had secretly thought of Greystone as a hero!

      But she was hurt by his rejection, just as she was hurt by how he had judged her. It did not seem fair, yet she knew, firsthand, that life was so rarely fair.

      Determined to move on, as she must do for her daughter’s sake, she had since toured the tin mine. And she had been shocked to see how run-down the mine and warehouse were. The new manager wanted to discuss repairing the facilities. He believed they were not shipping enough ore because they were not extracting enough tin. She did not even have to ask to know that repairing anything would be costly, too costly, as far as she was concerned. And when she had asked the previous manager’s opinion, he did not agree that there had been any kind of theft in the mining operations.

      How could she be in this position now? She should be with her daughter, teaching her to read and write, to dance, play the piano and sew. But they did not even own a piano now, and instead, she was at the Black Briar Inn, about to discuss a very dangerous proposition with yet another smuggler—this one frightening in appearance.

      She had gone to Henri’s grave every day, bringing fresh flowers. Instead of missing him, she was angry.

      But she was even angrier with Greystone.

      Her pondering was interrupted. “So ye wish for me to run to France and bring back yer husband’s chest,” Ed Whyte said, grinning. He seemed to like the idea.

      Evelyn inhaled and focused on the man she was seated with. It hadn’t taken her very long to decide to find another smuggler to hire—the fact that she could not count on the mine for revenues had made the choice for her—and John Trim had given her several names. But Trim hadn’t been thrilled to suggest either Whyte or his associates. “They’re a rough bunch, my lady,” he had said. “And no great lady should consort with the likes of Whyte and his cronies.”

      Evelyn hadn’t explained why she needed to interview smugglers other than Greystone, nor had she explained that she had no choice. But now, she was almost regretting her decision. Whyte was so scurrilous in appearance, with his blackened teeth, foul odor and lewd gaze, that he made Greystone seem like a knight in shining armor in comparison.

      Whyte had a very untrustworthy appearance, she thought grimly. He reminded her of a horse trader, or a weasel. And to make matters even worse, he kept staring through her veil, which was transparent, and he kept looking at her bust, even though the neckline of her dress was so high, she could not wear her pearls. He made her terribly uncomfortable. When Greystone had given her a male appraisal, it hadn’t been frightening like this.

      “I realize it is a dangerous mission,” Evelyn said, adjusting the veil she wore attached to her hat. “But I am prepared to offer you a very fair share of my husband’s valuable heirlooms. And I am desperate.” But she kept her tone level. She could not plead with Whyte as she had pleaded her case with Greystone.

      Whyte grinned at her. “An’ what is that fair share, lady?”

      “Fifteen percent,” she said.

      Evelyn looked down at her gloved hands, which she clasped tightly in her lap. She might still be hurt by Greystone’s rejection, never mind that she should not care, but she still had a problem—she was haunted by the kisses they had shared.

      She had to forget her kiss—and his. Hers was humiliating. His was disturbing her at night. It was disturbing her during the day. It was disturbing her even now. It made her body hum with a fervor that was shameful.

      She hadn’t even imagined that a man could kiss a woman with such intensity, such passion, or so thoroughly.

      It was time to forget him. He was not a hero. She had been mistaken.

      “An’ how much is fifteen percent?”

      She looked up at Whyte. “I’m not certain.”

      He laughed. “Is this a jest, my lady?” He stood, preparing to leave. “If you want me to go to France for ye, you’ll have to pay me very well—and not with some fair share.”

      She leaped to her feet. “Please don’t go.” Her heart pounded. This had been the point in the negotiation when she

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