Caught in a Cornish Scandal by Eleanor Webster (best books for 20 year olds TXT) 📕

countryside and a stone building, half hidden behind a cluster of trees. The harshness of the moors had lessened. The sparse grass and bent trees had given way to more habitable greenery and the patchwork of fields. Even the air smelled better, less peaty, laced with fresh grass and salt air.

‘I have never been more famished,’ he said.

She turned to him, her forehead puckered into a worried frown. ‘But we have no money. Indeed, given the state of us, we’ll likely be sent away as beggars.’

‘Except I do,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Have money.’ He pulled out a gold guinea, laying it flat on his palm.

‘Where did you get that?’ she asked sharply. ‘The cottage?’

‘Yes.’

She stood quite still, staring at the coin, before looking up with her dark brows pulled into an angry frown. ‘People gave their lives for that. I’d prefer to go hungry than use that money. And you judge me and Jem? How much did you take?’

‘A few guineas. I did not want you wandering about this moor with criminals tracking us.’

‘So I am the reason? You would be quite happy to be tracked by any number of homicidal felons if you were alone? You blame your moral lapse on me?’

‘You are being overly dramatic,’ he said.

‘And you are being a hypocrite. Besides, I am not your responsibility. Men always make poor choices and then blame women, as though we had somehow engineered them into it.’

They stood, glaring at each other. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I made a choice. I am uncertain if it was honourable, but I wanted to make sure we are both safe. And stop the wreckers before they do more harm. If you are so vehemently opposed, we will not use the coins and continue walking without food or transportation.’

Her frown became more formidable, but after a moment she shook her head. ‘No, that would be foolish. I just hope that you will recognise that the moral high ground is a luxury more easily afforded by the rich.’

‘You can be appallingly smug,’ he muttered.

It took longer to near the building than she had hoped, but eventually the foot path reached the road and, after some more trudging, they came to the cross road and a small hostelry.

‘So what is the plan exactly?’ she asked as they neared the courtyard. ‘Are you going to give the landlord money and hope he will think us good gentle folk merely down on our luck?’

‘We have had an accident. I generally find that a combination of gold and arrogance works to get one out of many situations.’

He spoke with that easy confidence that Tom had always wanted, but never quite attained. She glanced down at her own rags.

‘And what of me? I am quite certain they will think my character questionable...as an unaccompanied female.’

‘I would not advertise that.’ He looked over her slim figure. ‘Tie up your hair. Fortunately, you’ll pass easily enough for a street urchin.’

‘You are fulsome with your compliments.’

Millie kept her smile in place. She refused to even acknowledge that momentary hurt that she could be so easily dismissed. Indeed, any flicker of emotion was due to the fact that she was famished, fatigued and therefore less rational than usual.

Naturally, that kiss had meant nothing to him...or her. It was an aberration, having much more to do with circumstance than any emotion. The kiss had been a celebration of survival, nothing more. Or perhaps the result of proximity.

Whatever the reason, he doubtless greatly regretted the embrace. As did she, of course.

The gate whined as they stepped into a small courtyard. It smelled none too clean, a pig and several chickens apparently having free range. She also noted a rather disgruntled-looking donkey, a horse and a cockerel. The latter seemed to have lost several tail feathers, but made up for this with the volume of crowing and by taking several aggressive runs at the donkey.

The tavern was a stone building with a cobbled path leading towards the front door, as though it had once aspired to greater grandeur than currently demonstrated.

She halted, biting her lip nervously. ‘Is it possible that the inn or landlord is involved?’ she asked. ‘I have heard that inns play a role in smuggling.’

‘I do not know. We will keep our wits about us. And try not to arouse suspicion.’

‘That’s your plan?’

‘Here!’ He pulled a strip from the lining of his jacket. ‘Tie up your hair.’

She took the rag. ‘Thank you.’

They crossed the courtyard and approached the building via the cobbled path. Millie had not thought her feet had the capacity for more pain, but the stones cut into them so painfully that she found it hard not to wince.

Sam did not take the back exit as she’d anticipated but instead strode to the front, with a brazen swagger. Millie followed. There had been a shift, she realised. In desperation, there had been equality. Sea, hunger and the desolate bogs cared little for wealth or position. But even without clean clothes or money, he had that air of superiority.

He pushed open the thick oak door and they found themselves in a narrow entrance, which seemed dark after the daylight outside. She had not often been in a tavern and found the onslaught of smells—ale and sweat and food—almost overwhelming.

A round man with red cheeks fringed with white whiskers looked up from the behind the bar. His expression soured as he scanned both visitors.

‘What are you doing in here?’ he asked, his tone sharp.

‘Good day. I am Mr Garrett and am pleased to make your acquaintance. I suffered an accident and require sustenance,’ Sam said, with that strong imperious voice.

The landlord paused, eyes narrowed. Millie watched his gaze scan Sam’s person, lingering for a moment on the tattered suit jacket.

‘And how will I be paid then?’

Sam pushed forward the guinea. ‘I will send my boy around with additional money when we get home.’

Millie glared, squashing the strong desire to pull a face as an urchin might. The landlord looked at the guinea so dubiously that