The Smuggler Wore Silk (12 page)

The Earl of Langford has intercepted our last two communications. The foreign secretary and the prime minister have been informed of our general location. Extreme caution must be exercised. Evacuation procedures will be implemented. Send the enclosed information using the usual methods, then destroy this note. No further meetings shall occur and no further dispatches will be conveyed until said evacuation procedures are complete. At such time as the evacuation plans are established, you will be contacted for final instructions.

Our plans must be abandoned, but hope remains.

Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité, ou la Mort!

“A
H, MY LOVELY!
Come to have a little fun with Jack?” The publican sent Grace a playful wink as she stepped up to the counter at the Jolly Smuggler and took a seat on a tall stool.

“Why, Jack Blackbourn, what would your wife say?” She leaned her elbows on the counter.

He looked the same as ever. Tufts of hair sprang from his temples while the back was neatly queued. An apron covered his belly and he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves. “She’d say I have good taste in women, as I managed to snare her.”

Grace laughed. “A glass of wine, please. Then I have a few questions for you.”

“I have your favorite French wine, as promised on your last visit.” He disappeared through a doorway behind the bar and reappeared a few moments later holding a glass of deep ruby liquid. “You know I only stock it for you, my lovely. Else why would Miss Gracie come to the Jolly Smuggler?”

“I’d come by to see my favorite publican, wouldn’t I? I wouldn’t be able to stay away.” Grace placed a few coins on the counter.

“That’s what Jack likes to hear.” Jack scooped up the coins and replaced them with the glass. “Now, I can tell by the shadows in your pretty eyes that your questions are serious.”

“They are.” Grace sipped at the wine and let the strong, sweet flavor roll around her tongue before she swallowed. She lowered her voice. “Nothing else has been discovered in the quarries, has it?”

“The men haven’t come to me with any new documents.” He propped an arm on the polished wood top and leaned forward conversationally. “But I did have an interesting visitor. A man ordered a drink at my bar a few days ago, and while he was enjoying his pint he inquired about any fishermen willing to carry a few dubious items across the Channel, no questions asked.”

“Who was it?” She scooted forward on her stool.

“Now that I don’t have an answer to. He was tall and young. His hair was covered by a cap, so I don’t know the color, but his eyes were blue. He was dressed as a laborer, but that doesn’t mean he was.”

“It could be anyone,” Grace mused, toying with stem of her glass.

“It could.”

“But it wouldn’t be one of the locals, or you’d have instantly recognized him.” She relaxed. Not one of her men, then. Nor one of the neighboring gentry.

“Well, now, I know a few things about disguises, my lovely, given my former line of work.” He grinned. “It doesn’t take as much work as you’d think to create a disguise. The problem is the eyes. You can’t change the eyes.”

“True,” she agreed, thinking of the sharp light in the Earl of Langford’s summer sky eyes. “You can’t change the eyes.”

“Our visitor will be back in a week for answer. But an answer bears thinking about, doesn’t it?”

She tapped a finger on her glass while she mulled it over. “Could you tell him you’re willing to courier whatever the items are? We would be able to catch him in the act, so to speak.”

“I could, indeed, my lovely.”

“Good. Let me know when the man comes back.”

A voice rose above the general din. Grace turned and saw that its owner stood in the middle of the room, his hand on his heart and his tankard raised in the air as though making a toast. Drink slurred the off-key tenor.

Married beauties may yield to a stranger,

My rib need not fear such disgrace;

Her virtue is never in danger,

The moment you look at her face!

The other patrons roared with laughter as the song ended. The singer took a swig of his ale and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Grace snorted. “For heaven’s sake, that’s John the blacksmith. He’s not been married even six months.” She cocked her head. “His poor wife. He sounds completely foxed.”

John raised his hand and waved at her. “Lookit! It’s Miss Gracie. Hullo!” He staggered to the bar and used the counter to prop himself up.

“Hullo, John!” She put a steadying hand on his shoulder. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were ruddy, but he seemed cheerful enough. “How’s your new young wife?”

John’s face split into a wide grin. “Perfect, Miss Gracie. Pretty as a summer day and fair worships me. Don’t know why I waited so long to pick me a girl.”

“There now, I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

“I was holding out for you, Miss Gracie,” he answered with a wink.

“And I told you I’d marry you in June. But June came and went, and you didn’t come courting and broke my poor spinster’s heart.”

“Oh, now, Miss Gracie—” he protested.

“And a spinster I’m happy to be.” She laughed.

John raised his tankard and frowned into it, then looked down the bar. “Jack, a drink, please. Mine’s empty and so is Miss Gracie’s.”

Jack took the tankard and set it aside. Easily, he said, “Why don’t you head home for the night. You’ve got yourself a pretty young bride waiting for you.”

John perked up. “That I do.”

“Though she’ll likely skin you alive when you turn up foxed.” Grace grinned as John spun haphazardly around.

“True. But I’ll make it up to her,” he said. “Hey, ain’t you to be married? To the tall gent with them eyes? Never saw eyes like that. They’ll look right through you.”

Behind the bar, Jack’s brows rose. Grace ignored him. “You better get home, John, before that wife of yours comes looking for you.”

“I s’pose I better. G’night, Miss Gracie. Jack.” Listing slightly to the left, John made his way to the door and into the night.

“Well, now, my lovely,” Jack said as he refilled her glass. His eyes were bright with interest and laughter. “What’s this about a wedding?”

“I’ve gotten myself into a spot of trouble, Jack.”

“It’s about time you got into some trouble again, in my opinion. And if you’re not going to play with Jack”—he winked at her—“then you might as well play with the earl. I know his reputation and I imagine he knows what he’s doing when it comes to women.”

Grace choked on her wine. Even if Jack was a dear friend, she was certain she didn’t want to have
that
conversation with him. “Regardless of his way with women, it’s the consequences that are the trouble now.”

“Well, you could do worse than an earl.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Or you could run away with Jack, my lovely, and live in sin.”

She laughed, but the sound was hollow. If her marriage to the earl didn’t work, if they hated each other, she would lose all chance at love. A lifetime was a long time to live without love.

She swirled the last drops of ruby liquid in her glass before gulping it down. “I’m heading back to the manor for tonight, Jack.” She leaned over the counter and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, now, don’t be so free with your kisses, my lovely. Jack’s already a married man.” He’d said the line a dozen times before, so she knew the proper response.

“Then I must remain a spinster, pining for you to the end of my days.” She added one more kiss for good measure.

And so he waved her toward the door with a laugh on his lips and a twinkle in his eye.

She didn’t recognize the first man that walked through the pub door, nor the second, third or fourth. But a group of strangers wasn’t unusual. These were steely eyed and burly, except one, who was young and handsome with tousled curls. She nearly walked past the group entirely, but she heard one of them ask for Jack.

“Aye, that’s me,” came Jack’s laughing answer. “A drink, lads?”

“Jack Blackbourn, you’re under arrest for treason against the Crown.”

It was as if the entire world stood frozen. Sound filtered away, the light sharpened and she stared at Jack, horror-struck. It wasn’t possible. Jack wasn’t a traitor. A smuggler, but not a traitor.

He bolted. In a heartbeat, he’d disappeared through the door behind the counter. Numb, her mind frozen in shock, she didn’t understand where Jack had gone or why the newcomers were clambering over and around the counter after him.

Then her whole body jerked and the world rushed back. She jumped onto a stool, then the bar counter, and leapt down behind it. She was through the door to the kitchen a second later.

Chaos reigned. Shouts rang in the air. Jack grappled with one of the strangers. His wife, patient and affable Anna, had ranged herself between Jack and another man, a long wooden spoon and an iron skillet raised high above her head.

Two serving girls cowered in the corner, Jack’s son William standing over them, fists raised and ready to defend them.

“Jack!” Grace shouted, leaping into the fray.

A man plowed into her. Her bones rattled with the impact and her breath wheezed out. She hit the floor hard. Crockery rained down, shattering on the stone floor with a crash. She felt a quick sting on her cheek, another on her forehead, as shards bounced off the floor.

The man scrambled to his feet before she could recover. Gasping for air, the breath completely gone from her lungs, she lurched to her knees.

“Get your pistols!” a man shouted.

Jack sprawled on the floor now. Two men wrestled and rolled with him. The third man held Anna around the waist even as she clawed at him to escape. Grace had pushed to her feet, coiled to spring, when the shot rang out.

The tableau froze. All eyes turned to the curly-haired young man. He stood with his back against the wall, a smoking pistol in one hand, an unfired pistol in the other. The acrid scent of black powder saturated the air. She wished she’d thought to use her own weapon. Instead, she was staring into the black hole of a pistol that was not her own.

“Step back,” the man said to Grace, his voice unsteady. He cleared his throat, firmed his jaw. “Step over by the other woman.” He motioned to where Anna was held captive. The pistol shook in his hand.

Grace did as he commanded. Anna’s captor released her so that they stood side by side. The man that had overpowered Anna pulled out his own pistol and aimed it at William and the two serving girls. One girl let out a high-pitched squeak and covered her face with her apron.

“We only want Blackbourn.” The curly-haired man motioned to Jack. His eyes darted around the room. “We’ll leave the rest of you here.”

“No!” Anna cried out, her round and pretty face defiant. She gripped Grace’s hand, crushing her fingers.

“Anna,” Jack shouted. Two men gripped his arms, holding him captive. Blood dripped from his nose, though he appeared otherwise unharmed. “I’ll be safe. I’ve done nothing wrong this time.”

“He’s innocent of treason,” Grace said. Anger rose in her, hot and dark. “I’m sure of it.”

“We’ve found evidence in his lodgings that he’s couriering military information to France.” The curly-haired man kept the pistol aimed at Grace and Anna while his companions manhandled Jack out the rear door.

“It’s not possible.” Not for one moment did she believe them. “You must be mistaken.”

“There’s no mistake.” Still, he looked nervous and uncertain. “I found the evidence myself.” He started toward the door, walking backward, with the pistols still trained on Grace and Anna. They were steadier now.

“Wait.” She would give them the folios in her stillroom and they would release Jack. They
must
release Jack. She could hear curious shouts from the taproom. Would other patrons start rushing in? Would someone be injured or killed?

She needed to end this. Now. She stepped forward.

“I have evidence—”

But the young man cocked his pistol and pointed it straight at Anna. “You move closer,” he said to Grace, “and the other woman dies.”

Grace froze, though the blood roared in her ears and her fingers twitched with the effort not to reach for her own weapon. “Jack’s not the traitor. I have—”

But he was gone, leaving them alone among broken crockery, the scent of burned meat and the sound of Anna’s quiet sobbing.

__________

S
HE WANTED TO
gallop. She wanted the blood pounding through her to match the rhythm of Demon’s hooves. Yet she couldn’t. Black, low-hanging clouds obscured the moon and made the road to Cannon Manor dark and dangerous. She couldn’t risk an injury to Demon or herself, so she restrained the stallion’s pace with the same control she used to fight her own black mood.

Jack was gone. He and his pursuers had disappeared into the night. She’d started to follow, but she couldn’t be sure which direction they’d gone or even if they had left Beer. Would they go to London? If so, there was no way to know if they would follow the coastline or stay inland.

Instead, she’d stayed with Anna for nearly an hour before returning home, doing her best to comfort the woman. Full of her own disbelief and fury, she’d done a miserable job of it.

She fisted her hands around the reins. She needed a concrete plan. Jack would no doubt be imprisoned to await trial. She’d take the folios to London. Surely someone would listen to reason.

She shivered. If he was found guilty, he would be sentenced to death.

Demon’s pace quickened. His head came up, nostrils flaring. Grace caught her breath as the hair at the nape of her neck rose.

She wasn’t alone.

Pines speared high into the air on either side of her. With her fingers clutching the reins, she slowly scanned the dense shadows between the trees in search of something out of place, concentrating on the sounds of the night animals and the scents of wet wood and grass. She could hear, see and smell nothing unusual. There were no hoofbeats or shadows that didn’t belong. Still, she sensed another person in the darkness, just beyond her range of vision.

Uneasy, she guided Demon along the dirt track that lay between the towering pines, wondering if the invisible follower was friend or foe. This dense copse served as a well-used shortcut between two country lanes. At night, however, the copse was empty and isolated—and miles from anywhere.

A faint horse whinny met her ears. She pulled on Demon’s reins and he grudgingly obeyed, coming to a standstill on the track. She listened, her own breathing suspended. One minute passed. Two minutes. Perhaps she had imagined it.

Beneath her, Demon shifted impatiently and pawed the ground. She could feel his muscles coiled and ready to run. She struggled to keep her own restless urge to run in check.