The Smuggler Wore Silk (13 page)

A shadowed figure emerged from the trees. A man, tall and lean, stood on the narrow dirt track in front of her, blocking her path. In the dark, under the dense canopy of branches, his face was nothing but shadows and indistinct features.

Fear tightened her muscles and sent a line of sweat rolling down her back. Still, she kept her voice cool and steady. “Who goes there?” She narrowed her eyes, hoping to recognize the stranger’s features.

“Why, it’s Miss Hannah.” Pitched nearly to a whisper, the voice was unidentifiable, yet it carried clearly on the still night air. “Whatever are you doing in the woods, alone, at nearly three in the morning?”

“It’s none of your concern,” she answered sharply, shifting so that her coat fell open. She wanted access to her pistol.

“Hmmm.” The man stepped forward. It wasn’t a menacing movement, but certainly commanding. “What kind of mischief would a gently bred lady get into in the dead of night? A lover, perhaps?” The whisper became a sensual caress in the darkness.

Her heart thumped once, hard. She knew that voice, felt its timbre resonate through her.

“What are you about, my lord?” she asked coolly.

Langford prowled to the side so that he was on her right, standing just at the transition of trees to path. He seemed to merge with the tree trunks until he was only a shadow among shadows. Still, she knew what he would look like. Lean and angular and handsome, with eyes the color of the sky in midsummer.

She could not banish the apprehension writhing in her belly. He’d discovered his betrothed wandering the woods in breeches, alone, in the early hours of the morning.

She’d be jilted. Again.

“Is the lady engaging in something illicit?” The words slid over her, a stroke of heat and danger in the darkness. “Smuggling, perhaps?”

Her mouth went dry.
He knew.

Without warning, he darted forward and snatched her from the horse’s back, his strong hands gripping her waist. She shrieked and bucked against him, pushing against his shoulders and chest. How had he moved so quickly?

He slung her over one muscular shoulder, holding her in place with an arm just under the curve of her buttocks. His free hand looped Demon’s reins around a thick branch hanging over the path.

Struggling to draw breath past the unyielding shoulder pressed just beneath her lungs, she thumped a fist on his broad back. He didn’t react.

“My lord, put me—”

He bumped her body up for a better grip, wedging his shoulder more firmly into her ribs and cutting off her words.

Gritting her teeth, she sucked in air. It was simply too much. Jack, the arrest, the folios, treason and now the earl. Fury erupted in her, sharp and searing.

“Put me
down
.” She thumped his back again, harder this time, and was rewarded with a grunt. Good, she thought darkly. She hoped she left a mark.

“You’re not in a position to issue commands.” His tone was unforgiving. It seemed to belong to another man. A harder man.

Still, he complied with her demand, his movements swift and efficient. Her knees buckled when he released her so that she staggered. He caught her hands to pull her up and manacled both of her small wrists with his own large, powerful hands.

Alarm raced through her. She didn’t know this man. This brute. She twisted her wrists, trying to jerk free. But the earl pressed forward until she was pinned against a tree trunk, their bodies inches from each other. He raised her wrists above her head and flattened them against the tree. Even through the coat and shirt she wore, the rough bark scraped against her back.

“Is this how you treat ladies, my lord?” she snapped. “Roughly?” Though in truth, he was not rough. His hands were firm but gentle around her wrists, his body not quite touching hers.

“It’s how I treat smugglers and traitors.” His voice was low and dangerous, his mouth grim.

“What?” She gaped at him. She tried to push him away, but he pinned her to the tree with his body. His chest pressed against her breasts, his heat all but scorching her. “I’m not a traitor,” she ground out.

“No? Well, you are not an innocent. A woman in the woods at night, alone, is not out for a stroll. A woman who meets men at the local pub and smugglers in an abandoned quarry is not calling on friends for tea. And a woman wearing men’s breeches is not a lady.”

“I’ve done nothing I’m ashamed of,” she returned furiously.

“Which doesn’t recommend you, given the evidence.” He dropped her hands and stepped back. His eyes remained intensely focused on her face as he reached into his coat pocket and slid something out. Covered in smooth, dark leather, it was frighteningly familiar.

“Where did you find that?” She couldn’t quite catch her breath, as though he’d physically sent a blow to her midsection. Her gaze flew to his face, but the tight mouth and blank eyes revealed nothing.

“In a barrel of rose petals in your stillroom.” He bared his teeth in a merciless smile. “Now are you going to tell me you’re not a traitor?”

“I
’M NOT A
traitor,” she said furiously.

“You lie,” he snarled, fisting his fingers in her shirt and yanking her to him.

She shrieked—not in fear, but in fury. Slapping her hands against his chest, she pushed with all her might. But he was as grounded and immovable as a mountain.

His face bent close to hers. “Do you know the penalty for treason?” His menacing whisper chilled her to the marrow.

“I do not lie.” She struggled anew, clawing at his fist.

He dropped the folio onto the ground and once more used both of his hands to hold her in place, pressing her against the tree. She strained to pull her arms from his grasp, her breath coming in panicked gasps.

“I know you lie because I followed you,” he spat. “I watched you go into the Jolly Smuggler and I saw you hide the first folio under the rose petals. I watched you at the smuggling quarries and saw you hide a second folio in your trunk.”

“It was
you
I saw on the edge of the cliffs that night at the quarries?” She stiffened. “You were watching me? Spying on me?” Something dark and ugly swirled within her. Her privacy had been violated and it left her feeling as though a layer of grime filmed her skin.

“Since I
am
a spy, yes. It is what I do best.” His lips twisted in a derisive smile as his hands tightened on hers.

“A spy,” she repeated faintly. She should have been surprised, but it fit. For all his charming and gilded words, she’d seen the predator that lurked within.

You can’t change the eyes.

She twisted away and this time he released her, sliding his hands down her arms to circle her waist. Now it was the nearness of him that held her in place. The scent of him, man, leather and outdoors, surrounded her. Her pulse started hammering, her skin went hot. How could she feel desire for this man? He was a spy, and nothing she’d thought he was.

“If you’re not a traitor, tell me how you obtained those documents.” He leaned close so their faces were only a breath apart, his lips just a kiss away from hers.

“Do you think to seduce the information from me?” Fighting against her need for him, she raised her brows.

“You
will
tell me.”

“What do you expect from me?” She glared at him. “That I’m going to tell you everything I know? Divulge all my secrets? It seems I barely know you, my lord. Are you the Wandering Earl, or someone else?” She pushed past him, stalking through the thick tree trunks. She could see Demon only a few feet away, apparently unconcerned by their confrontation.

“I’m a spy, as I said. The Wandering Earl is simply a useful disguise.” He leaned casually against the tree he’d pinned her to, but his eyes were sharp. “My mission is to locate a traitor passing military information to the French. We believe the traitor is using the smuggling channels in this area to send the information to France. Which brings me to you. I came to Devon in search of you.”

“In search of me.” Her stomach pitched. It had all been a lie. The ball, the picnic, the seduction, the betrothal. “It’s all been part of your mission.”

He studied her, his face unreadable. “Yes.”

That one word sliced through her. Unable to stand still, she paced a few steps away then turned to face him. “Was it difficult to feign desire?” Bitterness filled her mouth.

“What?” His eyes widened, the whites showing clearly in the dark. He straightened and took one quick step toward her.

“Would you have gone through with the marriage?” She reached out for the thick trunk of a tree for support. Her fingernails curled into the coarse bark when he strode forward, reaching for her.

“Grace.” His hands clutched her shoulders and pulled her up to her toes. His eyes focused on her lips.

“Don’t pretend,” she snapped, jerking back.

“I wish I were pretending. It would be easier if I were.” Fury edged his tone. “
Hell.
”

His lips crushed against hers. The heat behind it stunned her, then filled her.
That can’t be feigned
. Her mind blanked as his mouth possessed hers, his tongue exploring, his teeth nipping. Sensation burst through her, bright flashes that burned right down to her toes.

He tugged at her cap and tossed it to the ground. Her hair, loosely tucked inside it, tumbled down her back. She could feel its silken weight as his impatient fingers tangled it. Wrapping her arms around him, she leaned her body into his and felt his arousal press against her belly. Knowing she could do this to him, that he wanted her, set something warm swirling within her.

When he tore his mouth from hers, she was gasping for air and clutching his shoulders.

“I’m not pretending,” he muttered against her lips. He lifted his head and glowered at her. “I can’t change what happened between us, and I can’t change who we are.”

“You’re not just the Earl of Langford. You’re a spy.” She stepped out of his embrace. She needed to think.

“And you’re not just a poor relation.” He flicked open her coat and lightly ran his fingers across the outline of her pistol. “You’re a smuggler.”

She stepped out of his reach. “What do you want?”

“You.” A grim smile flashed. “Your connection to the smugglers and Jack Blackbourn are the only lead I have to a traitor.”

“
Jack.
” A tight ball of ice formed in her stomach. Through the moonlight, their eyes met. “Jack was arrested tonight.”

__________

A
WARNING RANG
in Julian’s head, sharp and insistent.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Four men came into the pub.” Her words tumbled out, nearly on top of each other. “They took him by force.”

“Who?” He grabbed her arm, held her in place. They couldn’t be from Sir Charles. Anyone sent by Sir Charles would have stopped at Thistledown and informed him of the arrest in advance.

Unless Sir Charles considered him already retired. His fingers convulsed. She drew in a sharp breath and he dropped her arm.

“I don’t know,” she said, stepping away from him. “Presumably they had some authority, as they
arrested
Jack in front of his wife and son. Thank God his youngest children weren’t there to witness it.” She closed her eyes briefly. “They don’t even have the right man. Jack isn’t a traitor.”

“You can’t be certain of that.” No, Julian thought.
He
couldn’t be certain. Just as he couldn’t be certain Grace wasn’t a traitor. Even though his gut told him she was innocent.

“I
am
certain.” She whirled on him as she said it, her hair whipping around like silver ropes to bind him to her. Perhaps it was desire that told him she was innocent, and not his instincts.

“It’s just not in him,” she continued. “Jack smuggled for profit and a little excitement, but he’d never engage in treason. I swear he’s innocent.” Her gaze fixated on the folio, still lying where he’d dropped it. “
I’m
innocent.”

He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again. Instinct warred with training. He should keep what he knew about Jack to himself. He had no proof Grace was innocent. Yet her eyes were sad, and a faint line had formed between her delicate brows. She tugged at something inside him so that he wanted to soothe her fears away.

He bent and picked up the folio, turning it in his hands as though the smooth leather would hold the answers to his inner struggle. “Tell me how you obtained the folios.” It still sounded like a command, even if he delivered it quietly.

“No.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“Why should I?” She grabbed her cap from the ground before stalking between the trees, long, slim legs moving fast. “I can’t even verify you work for our government and not another.”

“I can’t prove it. I can only say that you need to trust me.” The words sounded ridiculous even to his own ears. He followed her, his longer legs easily catching up to her.

“How silly of me,” she scoffed, turning to face him on the path. “
Of course
I should trust the man who lied to me, violated my privacy by spying on me, attacked me in the woods and held me captive. A man who claims to be a spy—not exactly the most trustworthy of careers.” She waited a beat, raised a brow. “Does this mean you no longer need to borrow my horse to take up your second career, my lord smuggler?”

Damn if she wasn’t amusing. “You have a sharp tongue. I don’t know why I like it,” he growled.

He claimed her mouth, filled with equal parts lust and irritation. She returned the kiss, her lips firm and hard and equally irritated. Stepping back, he crossed his arms.

“This is treason, Grace. Not a lark.”

“And the people involved are not pawns. They don’t deserve to be arrested for treason.”

“No, they don’t. Not if they’re innocent. But I can’t prove they’re innocent unless I catch the real traitor.”

Her mouth opened, closed. Apparently he’d taken the wind from her sails.

“I need information,” he said.

She tipped her head back and took a deep breath. He waited, knowing she would break.

“Very well,” she said finally. “I’ll give you information about the folios and the caves, but I won’t reveal any names. I promised my friends I would protect them and I won’t go back on my word.”

“They’re smugglers.”

She raised her chin. “And so am I.”

“A fact that could eventually lead to your arrest.”

“Are you going to hold that over my head? What if we marry? Will you arrest your wife?”

“We
will
marry, Grace. I compromised you and I offered for you. I stand by my offer.” He could do nothing less. She was his now—his responsibility, and soon his wife.

“You offered me marriage without knowing if I was a traitor?” She planted her feet and faced him squarely.

“Of course.”

“I’m going to be a dreadful countess,” she said. “You’ll be marrying a smuggler.”

“And you’ll be marrying a spy. I’d say we’re a perfect match.”

“You may be right,” she said with a half laugh. “But I won’t give you the identities of the smugglers.”

“An agreement, then, and I hope to heaven our marriage is easier than this.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Loyalty is an admirable, if rare, quality. While I believe your loyalty is misplaced”—he held up a hand to stop her when she would have spoken—“I promise I won’t betray the smugglers. Any information I learn during this investigation, I’ll keep to myself. If they come to the attention of the authorities in some other manner—a risk they’ve already accepted simply by smuggling—I won’t intervene on their behalf to see them freed. But I’ll keep what I know to myself. Provided, of course, none of them are traitors.”

“You’ll give me your word?” she asked quietly. Moonlight flitted over her face.

“I won’t give you my word as a Travers. It wouldn’t mean anything.” He swallowed. “But I will swear it on my mother’s life.”

“I can’t ask for more than that.”

“I can’t
give
you more than that.” He stepped back onto the path. “Let’s return. I need to walk.”

He could hear her footsteps shuffling through the forest floor behind him as they started toward Demon. When he reached the horse, he loosened the reins and began to lead the animal down the path. Grace fell into step beside him.

“The folios were found in the smuggling quarries,” she began. “They were hidden within the trunks scheduled to be shipped to France.”

“Who found them? Jack Blackbourn?” He frowned.

“Jack didn’t find them, though he was aware of them.” She reached for Demon’s reins.

“No, I have him.”

“He’s my horse.” She sent him a sideways look. He didn’t bother to return the reins and she sighed. “Three smugglers came to me with the folios because they didn’t know what else to do with them, and because—”

“What?”

“They didn’t want to be arrested.”

“So they gave the folios to you, so
you
could be arrested? How gallant.”

“They gave them to me because I have more social status and will be taken seriously,” she corrected. “Perhaps not much more social status, but more than they.”

They emerged from the shelter of the trees. The moon shone bright now that there was no canopy of trees to block it.

“What’s Jack’s role in this?”

“Nothing. He used to lead our smuggling band. When the men found the folios, he naturally became aware of it.” She stuffed her cap in her pocket and shook out her hair. “Jack is innocent. I don’t know what information the men that arrested him found, but I know he’s innocent.”

“I don’t know what they found either, but it wasn’t there a few days ago.”

“What?” She whipped her head around to stare at him.

“I did a bit of espionage. I went into the Jolly Smuggler, asked a few questions about carrying items to France and then searched Blackbourn’s home.”

“That was you asking questions?” She smiled grimly. “Poor Jack. He’d be embarrassed to discover he was taken in by you.”

“I’m a talented spy.” He returned her smile, just as grimly. “Nevertheless, I found something confirming Jack is innocent.”

“Thank goodness.” She blew out a breath. “What?”

He hesitated. It didn’t sit well to give information to a civilian. “His financial records for the pub. He’s in dun territory. His creditors are already circling. At the rate he’s going he’ll be closing the pub within the year, if not earlier.”

“Oh, poor Jack. He and Anna hoped the pub would provide a life for them. They used everything they had to buy it.” She sighed, pressing her fingers to her eyes. “But how does that prove he’s innocent?”

“Blackbourn is well-known. He smuggles purely for profit and not for any particular political or religious ideals. In fact, as far as we know, he has no such beliefs. Which means if he were couriering information to France, he would be doing so for money, not for an ideal.”

“Then he’d have enough money to keep the pub open,” she finished. “But if Jack is innocent, then what evidence did the others find and who put it there?”

“A good question. Who else knows about the folios?”

She stared into the dark countryside. “Aside from the three that approached me, the remaining smugglers don’t have any idea about them—to our knowledge, at any rate, and we would know. We don’t believe any of them are traitors.”