The Smuggler Wore Silk (9 page)

“Secret places have infinite uses, as well.” One corner of her lips pulled up in a half smile. “Especially for smugglers and their consorts.”

“What do you know of secret places and smugglers, Miss Hannah?” The earl brought her forefinger to his lips and kissed the tip. He looked up and she saw in the bright blue what she’d been waiting for. Calculation, sharp and dangerous.

A thrill shot through her. “What better way to use your gardens than as a smuggler’s hideaway?” She angled her parasol, effectively separating them from the picnic. Still, she lowered her voice. “There are many things a smuggler could conceal in his gardens.”

“So there are.” He kissed her fingers in turn, his tongue making hot circles on each before moving to the next fingertip. “Perhaps he could hide his consort there, imprisoned among the blossoms.”

“Imprisoned?” She curled her fingers inward to hold his kisses in her palm.

“A prison of pleasure only.” Keeping her hand in his, he drew her down the garden path. “Come with me.”

“Where?” Her feet were already moving, seemingly of their own accord.

“To the maze.” His eyes stayed focused on hers. “Will you?”

She thought of the light that swirled within her, of the burgeoning liquid heat that filled her. And of him.

“
Yes
.”

They passed shrubs and beds rioting with color. Everywhere were shades of green strewn with brilliant blooms. The hedge maze rose before them. He found the opening and drew her just inside, between the rows of tall yews.

Even though they were only a step into the maze, the voices of the guests dimmed to become background to the drone of bees and the rustle of the hedge leaves. They were isolated. Alone.

She should turn back. She was flirting with disaster. Compromise could come at any moment. Who knew that better than she? Still, when he pulled the parasol from her limp fingers and gently pressed her back into the leaves, she didn’t protest. Her heart was thudding, her body hot. Her blood thrummed just below the surface, a needy beat holding her trapped.

“The smuggler and his consort would retreat to their secret place,” he murmured against her ear. His fingers ran the length of her ungloved arm, sensitizing her skin. “He would bring gifts to his consort, only for her pleasure. Smooth silk from the Orient to twine about her limbs, caressing her soft skin. Strings of pearls and jewels that could be looped around her neck.” His knowing fingers skimmed up to the hollow of her throat, then slid around her collarbone.

She should protest the liberties he was taking. But she wanted to be seduced, to be lost in his honeyed words. Her breathing quickened as she waited for the next flicker of his fingertips. Where would it be?

“The finest scent could be spread along the skin of her jaw, at the pulse beating at the base of her throat.” His hands followed his words, brushing gently against her jawline, pausing at the hollow of her throat. Fingers skimmed along the scooped edge of her bodice, and her breasts ached with need.

“Silver bangles would encircle her dainty wrists and tiny bells from India would tinkle at her pretty ankles.” His hand braceleted her exposed wrist. He tugged gently, pulling her against him. She let him, her senses heightened by the low murmur of his voice and the touch of his fingers. Seduction by the earl was a heady thing.

She reveled in it.

“A diamond tiara could be tucked into her silver locks.” He smoothed the delicate loose curls around her ear. “Ah, fair lady, I have wanted my fingers in that hair since I first saw you.”

She smiled, just the smallest movement. “A smuggler takes what he wants.”

A groan escaped his lips. His fingers performed the task his voice had laid out, reaching into her hair and pulling out the pins. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders and his fingers splayed through it, separating the long strands until the mass rained down her back.

“Liquid silver,” he murmured.

She swore she heard his control snap. Or was it her own? His lips swooped down to claim hers, hot and demanding, even as his hands fisted in her hair. She raised herself on tiptoe and met his mouth with her own. His tongue darted in, stroked.

Gripping his shoulders, she dug her fingers in.
More.
More heat. More light. More
him
. He burned away the black, melting it so there was nothing but the fire within her. The fire of him.

Until the short, distressed squeak echoed between the hedges.

“My lord! Miss Gracie! My lord . . .” The high-pitched voice trailed away, leaving only the twitter of birds.

She looked to the maze entrance and saw Lady Hammond, Lady Lintell, and Mrs. Parker.

They’d been caught. Everything had fallen apart. Her entire life upended in a single moment of passion.

Again.

Grace tried to wrench herself away from the earl, but he held her face steady between his cupped palms, his fingers still tangled in her hair. His eyes stayed on hers, intense, focused, the bright blue burning into her. Then he stepped back and let his hands fall away. But still he stared into her eyes. She was trapped in his gaze, drowning in it, until he looked toward the others.

The earl made a sweeping gesture with his arm toward Grace. “Ladies. May I present Miss Grace Hannah, who has kindly consented to be my wife.”

Grace gripped her fingers together. The situation was spinning out of control. It was happening just as it had with Michael. A kiss, the witnesses, the hasty proposal. A weight fell on her chest, smothering her so that she couldn’t catch her breath.

“Oh, oh! My lord,” Lady Lintell chirped, clapping her hands together like a schoolgirl rather than the matron she was. “We were just about to invite you to an assembly, but perhaps we’ll turn it into an engagement assembly. Really, this is simply
fantastic
! Our Miss Gracie! A countess!”

“Humph,” said Mrs. Parker.

Lady Hammond, her wise eyes flicking between Grace and the earl, made no comment at all.

“I simply cannot
wait
to tell Lord Lintell this news.” Lady Lintell’s hands fluttered in the air as she beamed at the couple. “Why, I haven’t heard anything about it! Not a
whiff
!
I daresay we’re the first to know!”

“No,” Grace said. The word was barely a whisper. She couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. A low, droning buzz filled her head. “No,” Grace repeated, louder this time.

“No?” Lady Hammond raised a brow.

“No.” She tried to find her composure. Drawing a deep breath, she attempted to regulate her breathing. “I won’t marry the Earl of Langford.”

Beside her, the earl tensed and jerked his head around to stare at her. She refused to look at him, keeping her gaze on Lady Hammond.

“What?” Lady Lintell’s hands fell to her sides, confusion evident in the furrowed brow that marred her thin features. “You’re
not
marrying the earl? But . . .”

“Humph.” Mrs. Parker added a snort and crossed her arms.

“You have no choice,” Lady Hammond said.

“There is always a choice.” Her voice must have separated from her body. It seemed to come from such a long way off. Grace rubbed her throat with numb fingers. “I won’t let that choice be taken from me.”

“There is no choice in this.” It was the earl who spoke, his voice low and carrying none of the charm she usually heard there. His tone was serious, even a little dangerous, and his lean face was set, eyes resolute.

“I don’t understand!” Lady Lintell squawked.

“Be quiet, Minnie,” Mrs. Parker interjected.

“
But
—”

“It will get out,” Lady Hammond said. Her gaze flicked toward Lady Lintell, as if to say the other woman would not be able to keep quiet. “Even if it doesn’t, the facts remain as they are. The earl must do what is proper. So must you, Gracie. You cannot withstand this a second time.”

“Marriage will fix it? Will that restore my reputation?” But it wouldn’t come to marriage. The earl would rescind his offer once his mind had cleared.

“Marriage always does,” Lady Hammond replied.

“Reputation?” queried Lady Lintell. “But—
Oh
.” Understanding dawned and her eyes opened wide. “Oh dear. Well, really, my lord. You
must
do the proper thing.”

“I’m trying,” the earl ground out. “Miss Hannah, Grace—”

“No.” Blood surged through her so that she wanted to run, to pump her legs to match the frantic beat of her heart. “If you’ll excuse me.”

She fled. Cowardly, but with the roaring in her head she could think of nothing else to do.

The earl called out to her, but she pulled her skirts up and half ran out of the garden toward Lord Elliott’s stable. Thank goodness she knew the young groom well.

“Quickly,” she gasped, skidding into the stables. “Saddle one of Sir Richard’s horses.”

“Miss Gracie?” He scrambled up from the floor and dropped the bridle he’d been oiling.

“It’s important. I need one of Sir Richard’s horses.” Was that hysteria in her voice? She glanced into the courtyard behind her. No sign of the Earl of Langford. Yet. “Hurry,” she urged.

“You want to take one of Sir Richard’s horses? He’ll murder me, Miss Gracie.”

“I’ll return it immediately. One of Cannon Manor’s grooms will bring him back within the hour.” When he hesitated, she lowered her voice. “
Please
.”

“Aye.” His shoulders squared and he strode away to saddle the horse. When he returned, he was leading a spirited mare. “Be quick about returning her.”

“Thank you.” Pathetically grateful, she gripped his shoulder in thanks before leading the mare to the mounting block. Settling into the saddle, she clutched the mare’s reins and turned her toward the lane leading away from the house.

The Earl of Langford stood there. Tall, lean and formidable.

“Stop,” he commanded. “We must talk.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.” The mare sensed her tension and pranced sideways. She tugged at the reins to keep her under control and struggled to work up an indifferent smile for the earl. “I’ll survive the scandal and you can return to London. No harm done.”

“No harm? Lady Lintell will spread the news to the borders of Devon and beyond within the week.”

“That may be. But I’m just a poor relation, my lord. Within two weeks, no one will care.”

She spurred the horse into a gallop and rode past him. Refusing to look behind her, Grace kept her eyes on the dirt lane. Even when sobs wracked her frame and tears tracked down her cheeks to plop onto hands fisted in the reins, she refused to look behind her.

J
ULIAN VERY CAREFULLY
and very deliberately shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the back of his chair. The knife he’d hidden beneath was removed next. He set it on the desk beside a delicate kid glove.
Her
glove. He’d removed that bit of leather, kissed the tips of her long pretty fingers. Seduced her.

Ruined her.

Was Grace Hannah a traitor? That was the dilemma. If she was, then the scene that afternoon meant nothing. Her reputation meant nothing. His offer of marriage would be rescinded. Not even rescinded, it would be so unimportant it would be forgotten altogether.

And if she was not a traitor? He felt the noose tighten around his neck and heard the click of the lock as fate trapped him into marriage. No, not fate. His own stupidity. Worse, his own lack of control. He’d forgotten where they were when he’d kissed her. The guests, the garden, the investigation had all faded away until there had only been her taste, her scent and his driving need for more of her.

He fingered the glove, rubbing a thumb over the worn seams. The offer of marriage had been unavoidable. Now he sat in the semidarkness of a curtained room and contemplated matrimony.

Spies made horrible husbands. They had a habit of dying. Travers men made even worse husbands. They had a habit of philandering and murder.

The marriage would be a failure.

But he could see Grace. Her laughter, her wit. The slow smile that spread across her face. The quiet composure. Her breeches. He grinned as he pictured her riding astride Demon, her hair whipping around her. Whatever else happened in their relationship, that image would stay with him always.

He picked up the knife, tested the balance. Absently, he checked the blade for nicks. He would have to confront her. Soon. As soon as he could orchestrate time alone with her. There was no other way forward. Yet in the interim, he couldn’t leave her unattached and unaffianced. If there was some other explanation for her conduct, he would be doing her a grave disservice.

In short, he would be no different than his father.

He forced down bile and wondered if the sour burn was the taste of deception.

Picking up a quill, he dipped it in the inkwell and began to scrawl across a sheet of paper. The first draft found its final resting place crumpled beneath his desk. The second draft was thrown into the fireplace.

He read the third draft as the ink dried.

My dear Miss Hannah—

I do not regret our relationship, as I hold you in the highest esteem. Nevertheless, I do regret that this afternoon’s discovery has placed you in an untenable position. I understand you may have reservations about marrying a gentleman you have known only a few weeks. However, my offer of marriage remains open indefinitely. Please seriously consider your reputation and the consequences of refusing to become my wife.

I would be honored if you would accept my offer of marriage.

Sincerely yours,
Julian, Earl of Langford

__________

"G
RACE!”
T
HE BELLOW
was accompanied by the crash and tinkle of breaking glass. “Grace, attend me at once!”

She laid the Earl of Langford’s letter on the escritoire and pressed her fingertips to her eyes. Apparently her uncle was aware of the debacle in Lady Elliott’s garden the day before.

History, it seemed, was repeating itself.

Or perhaps not. This time she’d refused the offer of marriage instead of acquiescing in a rush of shame and embarrassment. Instead, she’d panicked and run, which was embarrassing in itself. Still, the outcome was the same as before. She was compromised, ruined and unmarried. Only this time it would be by choice rather than rejection and betrayal.

Lord Cannon shouted again, accenting the shout with rhythmic pounding. Sighing, she quit her private sitting room. She had no trouble determining her uncle’s location. She could hear him thumping around his study.

She paused outside the room, squared her shoulders and straightened the apron she wore over her simple gown. She took one deep, steadying breath and pushed open the door.

Uncle Thaddeus stood before his desk pouring two fingers of smuggled French brandy into a crystal glass. He whirled to face her, the brandy decanter still in his hand.

“What the bloody hell were you thinking?” he roared.

“Uncle?” Folding her hands together, she struggled to stay calm.

“I’ve just returned from Beer.” He slammed the decanter on his desktop. Amber liquid sloshed over the rim and splashed on the expanse of polished oak. “Not only were you caught in a compromising position with the Earl of Langford, but
you refused his offer of marriage
!” He snatched up the glass and began to pace, leaving the spilled brandy on the desktop.

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Grace responded automatically. She stepped forward and used her apron to wipe the surface clean. What else could she say? She couldn’t deny his accusations.

“I won’t have it.” His tone was low and vicious. “
I won’t have it.
I informed you when you came to live here that I expected you to abide by certain rules and maintain your place.”

“Yes, but—” Strangely fascinated, she watched his nostrils flare.

“You’ve tried to elevate yourself above your station in an attempt to be something you are not. You’re nothing.” He snorted and tossed back the brandy. “Rather, you
were
nothing. Now you’re a whore.”

Grace sucked in her breath as his words sliced through her. He’d called her that once before. She should have expected it again.

“I let you stay after you whored yourself for Michael Wargell,” he said in a vicious undertone.

“I
loved
Michael.” The words burst from her, sharp blades that scored her throat.

“Love?” he scoffed.

“I would have married him.” Bitterness rose like bile. Oh, she’d loved Michael. With every fiber of her being.

“Out of mercy I let you stay, but not this time. You either accept the earl’s offer of marriage, or you leave my household.” He returned to the desk and refilled his glass, pouring well over two fingers this time. “Either way, I won’t have a whore under my roof.”

“You don’t mean that.” Shocked, she gripped her fingers tight, tighter, until the bones seemed to grind together.

“I do.” He turned cold brown eyes on her. “If you accept the earl’s offer, you may stay here until the banns are read and the wedding ceremony performed. If you do not accept the earl, you will pack your belongings and leave today.
Now.
”

“I—” With numb fingers she gripped the edge of the desk, willing her shaky knees to support her. “I don’t know. I—”

“You have ten minutes to decide.” Still holding the full glass, Uncle Thaddeus strode from the room, riding boots beating an angry rhythm on the polished parquet floor of the hall.

On weak legs, Grace staggered to a chair and slowly lowered herself into it, staring blindly into the empty room. The earl’s note echoed in her mind.
I hold you in the highest esteem . . . my offer of marriage remains open indefinitely . . . I would be honored if you would accept my offer . . .

If she refused the earl’s offer, she would have to leave Cannon Manor. She had no other relatives, no prospects and nowhere to go. Perhaps she could stay in Beer and weather the storm of disapproval. But no, Uncle Thaddeus had thrown her out. If she stayed, she would be without any respectability.

She saw herself walking along High Street. Eyes averted as she drew near. Noses sniffed and whispers hissed. Skirts twitched away as she passed. Even the image made her cheeks burn. She couldn’t weather that storm a second time. With Michael, everyone believed she’d been young and naïve and easily led. Perhaps she had been. But she was older now and knew better.

She could not refuse the earl and stay in Beer.

She could go to London and find a position as a paid companion or governess. She could find a new home and start a new life.

A chill crept up her body, icy cold and sharp. She couldn’t leave Devon and her friends unprotected. She promised the smugglers she would find the traitor and turn him over to the authorities. If she didn’t, one of the men would become a scapegoat for the real traitor.

Her stomach clutched as the door opened. Uncle Thaddeus stood in the doorway, pitiless eyes as empty as the glass in his hand.

“Have you made your decision?”

Grace looked down at her clasped hands. Deliberately she flattened them against her thighs. She’d acted rashly and let herself be swept away. Now she would accept her fate.

She straightened her shoulders. “I will accept the Earl of Langford’s offer of marriage.”

“I’ll begin the marriage negotiations. Obviously, your father did not provide a dowry for you. However, I will, so the earl doesn’t realize he’s being cheated.” With that, Uncle Thaddeus spun on his heel and disappeared through the door.

Grace continued to stare at her numb fingers.

What had she done?