The Dragon's Bride by Jo Beverley Page B

reality through him.
    He’d grabbed her up off the table and pushed out of the room saying something about doing this properly. Some had tried to stop him, but he’d fought free into the hot Spanish air and a touch of sanity, the woman still writhing and sobbing in his grasp.
    He’d kept her in his tent all night and sent her off at dawn with some coins. Pausing before leaving, she’d asked, “Do you wish me to say that you can do it, Capitan?”
    She’d thought the rescue was to cover up impotence. He’d managed to hold back wild laughter, and simply said, “Say whatever is easiest for you, seńora.”
    He heard days later that she’d spread tales of heroic virility. He supposed she’d meant well, but it had made life damned difficult at times. He’d never spent a whole night with a woman since in case she expected a heroic performance.
    So he could understand that sometimes people did things in a kind of temporary madness, or thought of them. And that consequences, even of well-intentioned acts, were unpredictable.
    And that people were often not what they seemed.
    As they approached the office door he turned to her. “What do you think of Mr. de Vere as secretary?”
    Her brows rose. “It is not for me to make such judgments, my lord.”
    “Drop the servant act, Susan. Do you think he’ll be snoozing, or sitting with his feet up enjoying a book of questionable pictures?”
    “I did, but now I assume not.”
    He opened the door to reveal Race, as expected, at the desk surrounded by stacks of paper and an aura of intense activity. He looked up impatiently and Con could almost see the words
Go away
coming out of his mouth, as in a satirical cartoon.
    After a moment, however, he put his pen in the standish and stood.
    “The records are in fairly good shape, my lord,” he said, even giving Con the tribute of his title in front of Susan. “But you know, there’s a great deal of money unaccounted for.”
    Ah-ha! Con turned to Susan. “Any idea where it might have gone, Mrs. Kerslake?”
    “No,” said Race. “I mean there’s a lot of money that’s appeared on the books out of nowhere.”
    Con turned back to him with a look. “Smuggling.”
    Race pushed hair off his forehead. “Oh, I suppose so. As I’m from Derbyshire, it doesn’t come first to mind.” He picked up a piece of paper to review it. “It must be a very profitable business.”
    “It is.” Con glanced back at Susan. She had a rather fixed look on her face, as if she’d rather deny that such a thing as smuggling existed. “As the earl’s secretary in the past,” he prompted, “I’m sure you know something about his involvement.”
    The look she flashed at him was almost a glare. “The earl invested in cargoes, yes, my lord. Most people hereabouts do.”
    “And how much profit does a run make?”
    With another irritated glance, she said, “About five times the investment, if all goes smoothly. There are always some runs that fail, of course, creating a total loss.”
    Con saw Race’s eyes widen and said, “Remember this is illegal.”
    “So are a great many interesting things,” Race replied. “Mrs. Kerslake, do you know the amount invested and raised on a good run? I ask only out of fascinated interest, of course.”
    Susan suddenly relaxed and smiled—at Race. A relaxed, friendly smile that made Con grit his teeth.
    She moved toward the desk. “It’s said that a cargo came in down the coast last year with a thousand gallons each of brandy, rum, and gin, and a quarter ton of tobacco. I hear that tobacco can be bought abroad for sixpence a pound and sold here for five times that. Spirits might be a shilling a gallon and six shillings here.”
    Race bent to make quick calculations on paper. “Almost a thousand pounds from an investment of about a hundred and sixty. Lord above.‘”
    She moved closer to look at his figures. “There are expenses, of course. The ship and captain, payment to the landers, tubmen, batmen, and for use of horses and carts. Everyone will expect a little of the goods