The Smuggler Wore Silk (18 page)

The shadow leapt.

She gasped as she saw Julian slam into the intruder, knocking him back against the balustrade. The intruder recovered quickly. He pushed back against Julian, raised an arm to strike. Julian dodged the blow before kicking out, driving his foot into the intruder’s stomach. The man wheezed but didn’t fall. Taking advantage of the intruder’s gasping breath, Julian lunged.

The two shadows grappled, arms locked around each other in a macabre dance. They seemed evenly matched, neither gaining ground as they circled and shifted.

Grace’s heart thumped in her chest. What should she do? She stepped to the balcony door and reached out, her damp palm slippery on the latch.

Pausing, she glanced around the room behind her. She needed a weapon. She mentally considered and discarded half a dozen objects before settling on a heavy candlestick. Flying across the room, she snatched the candlestick from the mantel. The unlit candle toppled to the floor. She left it there as she ran to the balcony door and flung it open.

Cool September air rushed over her as she darted across the narrow balcony. She could hear grunts, labored breathing, a gasp of pain. Running forward, Grace drew the candlestick above her head, waiting for an opening to strike.

“Shadow.” The intruder grunted as Julian’s fist connected with his stomach. “
Langford,
” he gasped.

They paused, their dance halted midstep.

“Angel?” Julian said. They broke apart and he stepped back. “Bloody hell, I was going to kill you.”

The second man rubbed at his belly, wincing. “I thought as much,” he answered.

Frowning, Grace dropped her arms to her sides. Who was this intruder? She could see no more than strong features and thick hair brushing broad shoulders.

“Julian?” she asked tentatively.

“Grace.” Julian turned, held out a hand to her. “Let’s get back inside. Angel, you’ll join us?”

“Of course.” Deep, smooth tones. Grace felt the man’s speculative gaze on her.

As Julian closed and locked the balcony door behind them, she replaced her makeshift weapon on the mantel. She returned the candle to its place and lit it, then its mate.

Turning back to the room, she glanced at the intruder and nearly gasped. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Golden and gorgeous, with hair the color of honey and eyes a tawny gold. What had Julian called him? Angel? Not his real name clearly, but he certainly had the face of an angel.

And he was a spy. She was certain of it.

She pulled her thin cotton wrap closer around her naked body and watched as Julian strode forward, his hand outstretched. Did he realize he wore no shirt?

“You’re getting sloppy, Angel. Not only did I hear you, but my wife did as well.” He grasped the other man’s hand in greeting.

“And you’re getting soft. Another minute and I’d have had you on your back.” Angel shook Julian’s hand, a grin spreading across his beautiful face. “Wife?” Brows raised, he turned his gaze on her.

“She knows who I am, and why I’m in Devon,” Julian said softly.

“I see. I didn’t realize you were married.”

“It’s a recent marriage,” Julian said drily. “Tonight is my wedding night.”

“Ah.” Tawny eyes twinkled. “Sorry about that. Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

“And yours.” Her heart was still bumping hard against her ribs. She wondered what else she should say. Welcome to my bedroom? Please make yourself comfortable?

Angel gave her an elegant bow, before raising his fingers to her lips. “I didn’t know such beauty could be found in the wilds of Devon.”

“I suggest you retreat, Angel,” Julian said mildly. “She’s mine.”

“Indubitably.” His eyes sparkled gold as he smiled silkily at Grace. “Still, a man can’t help but comment upon such exquisite loveliness.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I really don’t think you’re an angel.”

“A fallen one, perhaps, my lady.” He grinned again, and she was certain that smile had the ladies swooning at his feet. “But I wouldn’t want to be a true angel. What fun would that be?”

Her lips twitched. “Not much, I suppose.”

“And have you tamed the Shadow, my lady?”

“The Shadow?” She turned to Julian, who waved the question away.

Angel sent Julian a mock salute. “The Shadow was the best of His Majesty’s agents—barring myself, of course—until his retirement.”

She couldn’t look away from Julian. His face was set in stone, his eyes the color of frost. What was the expression flashing in those icy depths? Determination? Desperation?

“I’m not retired yet,” he bit out.

“Point taken.” Angel held up a hand, his expression turning serious. “Sir Charles sent me, of course,” he said, moving toward the banked fire in the hearth.

“Yes, I had asked for assistance.” Julian let out one slow, controlled breath.

She studied Julian’s back as he picked up his discarded silk shirt. His movements were swift and erratic. Not anything like her normally agile husband. The muscles of his back rippled and shifted as he shrugged into his shirt. She felt the overwhelming need to press her lips against that vulnerable place between his shoulder blades.

Julian tucked the wrinkled shirt into his breeches before turning away to light another candle. When he turned back, his face was still tight. “I would suggest we adjourn to a parlor or sitting room, but we may still encounter a servant and I would prefer no one be aware of your arrival, Angel.” He gestured toward one of the armchairs near the fire. “Please, sit. Brandy?”

Angel ranged himself in the chair and nodded his acceptance.

Julian stepped to the table holding the decanter, and Grace followed.

“Is this about Jack?” she whispered, leaning close as he poured two fingers of brandy into a glass.

“Yes. And the traitor.”

“I’m staying, then.”

He raised his head, met her gaze. His mouth was firmed into a harsh, straight line. But he didn’t disagree. “If you’d be more comfortable in a gown we can retire to the dressing room for a few minutes. I’ll act as lady’s maid.”

She’d forgotten she was naked beneath the dressing gown. Feeling vulnerable, she pulled the neckline up. “You stay with your associate. I’ll retire to the countess’s suite and find a simple gown I can dress myself in.”

“No.”

“I won’t need help.” She turned away, but his hand vised around her wrist and held her in place.

“
No.
” The word was low, short and full of command. His grip tightened painfully on her wrist.

She sucked in a breath and stared at his unyielding fingers. When she met his gaze, his eyes were full of fury. Recoiling from the anger, she tried to step back, but his grip held her in place.

“You will not enter that bedroom.
I forbid it.
”

Anger bubbled within her. She could feel it pushing its way out, ready to spill over him. Until she saw something else in his eyes. Panic. Baffled, she searched his gaze. Was the hand that gripped her wrist trembling? Impossible.

She glanced behind her. Angel was crouched before the fire. Sparks flew as he used the poker to adjust the wood. Even though he gave every appearance of being unable to hear them, she knew he couldn’t have missed the exchange.

“Very well. I’ll use your dressing room,” she whispered, tugging her arm free. She glanced again at Angel. “For now.”

She retreated to the small dressing room. Her trunks were there, unopened. Having overseen the packing herself, she knew exactly which one housed her simplest gowns. Within minutes she found a clean chemise and a simple cotton gown.

The fire of her temper banked as she dressed. Julian’s reaction had been irrational, instantaneous and therefore instinctual. But the reason was unclear.

She stared at the connecting door to the countess’s suite. It was made of unassuming wood and was as mysterious as the night.

She couldn’t worry about it now. Another spy was currently relaxing in Julian’s bedchamber, and she had no intention of missing their conversation. Treason must come first. More, Jack’s freedom came first.

As she’d chosen to dispense with stays, Grace wrapped a thin shawl around her shoulders and stepped into the earl’s rooms. Both men looked up from their brandy and rose. She gestured them back to their seats. “Please continue.” Gathering her skirts, Grace slid onto the sofa beside Julian. He flicked his eyes toward hers, then back at Angel.

“Do you have any contacts you could employ?” Julian asked, clearly continuing their conversation.

“I have a contact on a cutter that smuggles between Lyme Regis and Guernsey. He doesn’t usually come this far west, but as he is the captain and owes me more than a few favors, I can persuade him to find a position for me on his ship. A few nights with the crew and my disguise would be quickly established.”

Julian sipped his brandy. “Someone, somewhere, has connections in the Foreign Office. I just need to find the right connection.”

“These gentlemen you mentioned, the ones who are in the Hellfire Club and know about the smuggling caves, do they travel regularly to London?”

This question Grace could answer. “Most of them have gone to London recently, in fact,” she put in. “But they don’t travel there regularly.”

“Except you might not be aware of their travel plans,” Angel said.

“True, although if they were gone for any length of time I would probably know. It takes at least three days to travel from London to Beer.”

“If you’re traveling by coach,” Julian pointed out. “A single horse and rider are faster.”

“A man engaging in treason would keep his actions hidden.” Angel set his brandy glass aside and paced to the fire. “He would travel fast, and he would travel at night if he could. Anyone could travel between here and London quickly if needed. They wouldn’t be able to hide it from their household and family, but certainly from their neighbors.”

“He wouldn’t need to travel all the way to London,” Julian added. “A middleman could travel to Beer. Or they could meet at a halfway point. Perhaps even within a day’s ride.”

“Or a day’s sail,” mused Angel. “Are you absolutely certain the smugglers who found the folios aren’t involved?”

Julian deferred to Grace with a wave of his hand.

“Yes,” she said.

“Even Jack Blackbourn?”

“
Yes.
” She looked down as Julian’s hands came to rest over hers. Her fingers clutched the folds of her gown.

“I do agree with Grace,” Julian added quietly as he pried her fingers from the fabric. “It’s highly unlikely Blackbourn is involved. Still, I wish I knew where he was.” His fingers, strong and solid, entwined with hers.

Her belly twisted, sharp and nauseating. She didn’t dare meet Julian’s gaze. He might see the truth about Jack in her eyes. Her fingers felt icy between his warm ones.

Disentangling her fingers, she stood. Let Julian make of it what he would. She couldn’t hold his hand so intimately while such sickness washed through her. Keeping her back to the men, she made a show of adjusting the coverlet of the bed, letting the smooth silk slide through her cold hands.

“If you’re certain he’s innocent,” Angel said behind her, “then we won’t concentrate our energies pursuing Blackbourn. I’ll speak with my contact and see if he’ll pick up an extra deckhand for a few days. If there’s something afoot, his crew may know.”

“That may also establish credibility and gain you entry with other smuggling groups we can’t access.” Julian paused before continuing, and she could feel his gaze on her back. But she didn’t turn around. “I’ll pursue each of the members of the Hellfire Club and Michael Wargell,” he said quietly.

“How?” The clink of glass on wood punctuated Angel’s words, then the tinkle of crystal on crystal, followed by the splash and glug of liquid being poured.

“I think a search of their homes is in order—or at least the rooms most likely to hide incriminating documents.” Footsteps sounded behind her. Wood crackled and snapped in the fireplace.

“A search of the smuggling caves needs to occur as well,” Angel added.

Her head whipped around. “The caves?”

“Of course.” Angel broke off, studying her face. “My lady?”

She shook her head, pressing her lips together.

“It must be done.” Julian set his hand on her shoulder. “I should have performed an in-depth search of the caves earlier.”

“My friends—Jack—they’ve already searched it. Thoroughly.”

“They may have missed something.” Angel watched her over the rim of his brandy glass. “They’re not trained or experienced in these matters.”

“They trust you.” Julian ran his hand down her arm, just a quick brush of his fingers. His touch felt like both apology and question. “Introduce me to them. Let me into the caves.”

Fear warred with guilt, and both of those fought with the need for truth. “I want your promise. You won’t arrest them, nor will you give their information to your superiors.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “You know I can’t promise that.”

“Then I won’t do it.” She lifted her chin. “I won’t sacrifice my friends. Not for all the traitors in the world.”

“My lady,” Angel began.

“No. I want your assurances.” Gripping her hands together, she steeled herself. “If I do this—if I ask them to trust you—then I’m putting my relationship with them and their trust in me at risk. If you betray them, then I do as well. And I cannot live here and look them in the eye if we betray them.”

“I have a duty to my country,” Julian said.

“And I to my friends.”

With a resigned sigh, Julian paced to the window. He flicked the curtain aside, peered out, closed it again. “Very well. I promise—again—that I will maintain their privacy to the extent I can. If they are caught by someone else, I can’t help them.”

E
YES CLOSED, GRACE
turned her head on the pillow. The dark behind her eyelids became gold starbursts as sunlight warmed her face. It heated her skin, the bright beams soaking beneath the surface. She allowed herself to float in that dazzling moment, caught between awake and asleep, where her only concerns were the cool silk beneath her cheek and the languid heaviness of her limbs.

It couldn’t last. She sighed and let her lashes flutter open.

The bed was empty beside her, the bedclothes mussed. The soft fabric was cold against her fingers when she tested it. Julian had been gone for some time.

She sat up, yawned and studied her surroundings. Her dressing gown was draped across the end of the bed. Julian must have placed it there for her. Getting out of bed, she pulled it on to combat the fall chill. Still, the sunlight beamed into the room through the balcony doors. She padded over and looked out. Trees and shrubs, once green and verdant, now blazed with brilliant oranges and yellows, and even a burning red. The bright blue sky above them was a perfect foil for the autumn foliage and, Grace thought, so like Julian’s eyes.

Even when they were hard with anger.

She turned away from the unseasonably lovely morning and stared through the dressing rooms to the countess’s door. It seemed innocuous enough. The elaborately carved wood was lovely. Even elegant. Yet Julian had forbidden her to enter the room.

Forbidden.
It was a compelling word, a demanding word. It piqued her curiosity in a way a less forceful word would not have done.

She bit her lower lip and stared at the door. It was tempting. Very, very tempting. She could open it, peek into the countess’s bedchamber and close the door within seconds. Julian would never know.

Her feet matched the anxious beat of her pulse when she rushed through the dressing room. The door loomed ahead of her, both mysterious and daunting. The knob seemed huge, though she knew it was only her mind that made it so. Reaching out, she placed her hand on it. The metal was cool and smooth.

Sweat beaded beneath her palm, slicking the knob. If she pushed, the door would swing open, probably on squeaky hinges, to reveal the room beyond. But she couldn’t open it. She
wouldn’t
open it. He’d forbidden it—which barely signified.

But she remembered his eyes, clouded with that panicked plea the night before. Panic was not something she’d expected to see. The man she knew—the spy she knew—didn’t panic. He cajoled, commanded, and even became ruthless when necessary. But he didn’t panic.

Stepping into that room would ruin their fledgling relationship. She knew it instinctively. They’d begun to build something together despite the circumstances of their marriage. If she opened that door, all trust, all affection would disappear as though it had never been, because whatever lay behind that door was at the core of him.

She swallowed convulsively and let her hand slide from the knob. Striding to the earl’s room, she went to the wooden stand holding a matching basin and ewer. She splashed her face with cold water, then changed into the simple gown she’d worn the night before. As she slowly worked the buttons marching up the front of the gown, a young girl came around the door from the hall. She beamed cheerfully at Grace.

“Oh, you’re awake! His lordship said as how I should check on you before he went to breakfast.”

“I’m awake, Mae. And hungry.” Actually, she was starving. Apparently lovemaking—not to mention a bit of espionage—worked up an appetite.

“We’ll get you ready for breakfast with your new husband then.” Mae’s gaze fell to Grace’s gown. “Oh, you should have rung for me, Miss Gracie. I would have found a better dress for you than that.” She paused. “I suppose you’re not Miss Gracie any longer. It’s ‘my lady’ now, isn’t it?”

Grace started, realizing Mae was right. The words seemed foreign to her ears.

“This dress is fine, Mae.” Grace smoothed down the skirt.

“Oh, Miss—my lady! It’s your first morning as a bride. It’s nearly as important as your wedding day. You must look perfect for his lordship.” Mae bustled into the dressing room and pulled open one of Grace’s trunks. “I’ll press a gown quickly while you wash and you’ll be joining his lordship in no time.”

“Truly, this dress is fine.”

Mae’s pretty face fell. “Very well, my lady.” Then she perked up. “Well, his lordship gave instructions to unpack your things. By this afternoon you’ll have your pick of gowns for dinner.”

Grace smiled in thanks. Mae was so enthusiastic she didn’t have the heart to tell her she only had one gown suitable for dinner. She glanced once more at the countess’s suite and frowned. “Where are my gowns and personal items to be kept?”

Mae’s eyes flicked up, then away. “In his lordship’s dressing room, my lady,” she said, pawing through Grace’s trunks.

She didn’t press the issue. Where her personal items were kept and whether she had access to the countess’s suite was not a matter for discussion with the servants. Not because of status, Grace thought. After all, until yesterday she had been closer to the servants’ status than the earl’s. It was, however, a matter of marriage.

Grace left the bedchamber and made her way to the breakfast room. Julian sat at the table already, a newspaper spread before him. He looked up when she entered, then set the paper aside and stood.

“Good morning, fair lady.” His knowing smile sent her pulse skittering. “I had hoped my breakfast would be made all the brighter with your presence.”

“My lord.” Oh, he was handsome. Even in the early morning. “I wonder that anything could be brighter than the sunshine today.”

“Only you.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. She felt the gentle touch all the way to her toes. “Please, allow me to serve you.”

She glanced at his plate, which still held a poached egg and broiled kidneys.

“Finish your meal, Julian. I’ll serve myself.” She walked to the sideboard and began to fill her plate.

She could feel his gaze on her back. She felt awkward, and wondered if it was treason or his mother’s bedroom that lay between them. Perhaps it was the fact he’d been inside her the night before—three times. Just thinking of it brought a flush to her cheeks and a tingle to her belly.

She wanted those feelings back. The intimacy she’d felt when he’d been inside her, his gaze on hers, their hearts and bodies and minds entwined.

When she had filled her plate and seated herself at the table, Julian leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. “Did you sleep well, fair lady?”

“Aside from our visitor?”

Julian’s gaze scanned the room before answering. “Aside from our visitor.”

“Of course, there were the various other interruptions of, ah . . . our wedding night.” She bit into her toast and felt the sticky blackberry preserves on her upper lip. Very deliberately she licked the preserves.

“And those interruptions.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, focused there with that intense concentration she found so arousing. “Already my wife has turned wanton on me.”

“Perhaps she has.” She smiled. “Perhaps she’s only waiting for her smuggling captain to take her away.”

“Then he shall do so, at the first opportunity.” He pushed his empty plate away and raised his brows. “I would suggest directly after breakfast.”

She cocked her head, as though giving serious consideration to his proposal. “I have heard that strenuous activity after eating is bad for the digestion.”

“Ah. Perhaps just before luncheon, then.” His smile was seductive. “We can work up an appetite.”

She laughed, delighted she could flirt with her husband this way. “What will we do in the interim?”

“I have a few estate matters to see to—much to my dismay as I would rather be with my wife. But you are free to do as you wish. There’s always the gardens, of course, as I know you love them. Redecorating, perhaps? There’s any number of rooms that require updating. Many of them haven’t been cleaned in years.”

The mood was light and a laugh shone in his eyes. But she had to ask. “I wondered what—” She stopped, unsure of herself.

“Grace?”

Picking up her fork she fiddled with the poached egg. Nerves jumped in her belly. “What about the countess’s bedchamber?”

He went utterly still as a chill settled in his eyes. “That room is not to be disturbed.” His voice was cold, devoid of emotion.

“Julian—”

“No. That room must be left closed.”

He curled his fingers around her arm. His touch wasn’t rough, his grip wasn’t painful. Still, his fingers were tight with the force of his command. She shook her arm slightly, and it seemed to bring him back to himself. Shoving back from the table, he stood and began to pace.

Unsure of her next step, Grace stayed seated and smoothed out a wrinkle in the table linens. “Clearly, this subject is troubling to you.” She glanced up. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“It’s private.”

“You refuse to share it with me,” she said flatly.

He laughed. A short, harsh and humorless sound. “With a wife of twenty-four hours? Hardly.”

Pain sliced through her. “Don’t be cruel. And please, don’t exclude me. Tell me something.”

“All you need know is that you’re not to go in there.”

“Am I to be blocked from your personal concerns?” Temper bubbled, as did confusion. She controlled the first, standing slowly and carefully, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. The confusion, she knew, was as visible on her face as her furrowed brow.

“You can use whatever room in this house you like, but not that one.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’ll get.”

“I don’t understand—”

“You don’t need to.” Julian strode to the door, looked back. “You only need to obey.” Then he was gone.

Fury erupted. It seethed and sparked in her. She wanted to rage at him, to bully him into telling her why she couldn’t go in the countess’s bedchamber. But he wasn’t there. He’d left without a backward glance.

Picking up a piece of toast, she hurled it down the table. It struck his chair with a satisfying
thwack
and crumbled onto the seat.

She stared at it for a moment, shocked she’d done such a thing. Pressing her fingers against her eyes, she dropped into her own chair. She was becoming a raving lunatic, and all because her husband wouldn’t tell her his secret. He had dismissed her. Excluded her.

Made her nothing again.

The fury died. Cold to the marrow, she hunched her shoulders. Nothing. It was a dark pit where hopelessness and loneliness would suck her dry.
No.
She wouldn’t go there again. She wouldn’t fall into that deep hole. Grace breathed deep and pulled herself out of the dark. She wasn’t nothing. She had to be more than nothing.

When the door opened Grace whipped her head around, expecting to see Julian. But it was only Starkweather. Concern etched his homely face, turning deep wrinkles into chasms.

“What’s happened?” she asked, rising.

“Lord Paget’s upstairs maid has been taken ill. A fever, according to the groom that delivered the message.”

Grace rose quickly, setting aside all thoughts of the mysterious countess’s suite. “Have a mount readied, please. I’ll retrieve my supplies.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She hurried to the grand staircase leading to the second floor. Grasping her skirts in one hand, she pulled them up to midcalf. Skipping steps, she reached the earl’s suite within minutes. She threw off her gown and quickly changed into her breeches.

Locating her medicine satchel, she rummaged through its contents and cursed the fact that she’d had to leave so many essential ingredients in the stillroom at Cannon Manor. She knew her uncle didn’t need them, of course. But he’d forbidden her to take anything from the manor that she hadn’t arrived with aside from her clothes. Now she was missing so many critical herbs and tonics and poultices.

At least Lord Paget’s servants would have personal medications she could draw from. The apothecary in Beer would have more. She’d simply have to make do.

When she exited Thistledown she was shocked to discover her beloved Demon saddled and waiting for her.

“How did you get here?” she crooned to the stallion when he nudged her shoulder. “How did Julian persuade Uncle Thaddeus to give you away?” She rubbed his forelock, then his muscled shoulder. Demon nickered softly and huffed into her hair.

With regret, she ended the reunion. A groom was saddled and waiting as well.

“You don’t need to accompany me,” she said to the groom as she fastened her satchel to Demon’s saddle.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Miss Gracie.” He flushed. “I mean, my lady.”

“You can continue with Miss Gracie, if you’d like.”

“Yes, Miss Gracie,” he said. “His lordship said as how we should accompany you if you have need to go out.”

“I don’t need a keeper,” Grace muttered as she mounted and settled herself astride the stallion.

“No, my lady.”

It wasn’t worth an argument. Fighting the groom for following orders would be a useless endeavor. She wheeled Demon around and set out at a brisk trot.

Lord Paget’s upstairs maid did have a fever, as well as aches and a general malaise. Influenza was Grace’s diagnosis. The maid was appropriately quarantined, made as comfortable as Grace could manage and given instructions to rest.

Grace left the girl’s room knowing she had done her best. Time would tell whether the maid would recover or worsen. Grace sighed and pulled the door to the tiny bedchamber closed. She used the servants’ stairs to return to the main level of the house. Intending to leave through the servants’ door at the bottom of the staircase, Grace turned right toward the rear of the house. But a thought flitted through her mind, bringing her feet to a halt.

She was in Lord Paget’s house. If he were a traitor, this house would hold the evidence. Looking around, she tried to get her bearings. Paget’s study was not far away. It would be the logical place to start. She could search it, quickly and quietly, with none the wiser.

Turning on her heel, Grace hurried to Paget’s study and was relieved she saw no one during the short walk. Pausing outside the door, she took a deep breath to calm the drumming of her heart. She placed her ear against the door and listened for sounds that might indicate the room was occupied. Nothing. But then, if Paget were reading or scratching out correspondence she wouldn’t hear anything.