“Good afternoon, my lord.” Breathless from the ride, her words came out between light gasps. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat and loose tendrils of hair trailed around her face. He found her mussed appearance even more tempting than the mask that begged to be stripped away.
“Good afternoon, Miss Hannah. I must be favored by the gods to be given the gift of your beauty twice in one day. Out for a ride in the warm summer air before it fades to autumn?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the sky.
“Indeed. Demon needed a good run.” She patted the stallion’s neck.
The horse, too, panted from the gallop, but his sounds weren’t nearly as interesting as the little pants coming from Miss Hannah. Her breasts rose and fell in the most delightful manner with each inhalation. The action combined with her mussed appearance brought all sorts of erotic images to mind, most particularly of the serene Miss Hannah rising above him, her white-blond hair spilling over her shoulders and breasts.
He couldn’t stop the wicked smile.
__________
GRACE DREW IN a deep breath to slow her ragged gasps. She tried to smooth her skirts over the saddle once more before abandoning the effort. He would know she wasn’t on a sidesaddle. By attempting to hide it she’d probably drawn more attention to the fact.
Worse, she was certain she looked disheveled, windblown and, given her fair skin, flushed from the heat. Her fingers ached to dive into her hair and tuck the loose ends back in place, but the action would emphasize the disordered mass.
The earl, of course, looked both handsome and relaxed, leaning against the old stone fence as though he were in no more an unusual place than his own drawing room. Jacketed arms were crossed over his chest and booted feet were crossed at the ankles. The wind ruffled the hair around his lean face, highlighting the seductive smile.
She cast around her mind for polite conversation. “Are you enjoying your afternoon, my lord?”
“Very much. I have been reacquainting myself with Thistledown’s lands, as I did with the inhabitants of Beer this morning,” the earl said. He looked into the distance as he spoke, as though seeing something in his memory. “I’d forgotten how close Thistledown is to the sea. Do you ever get to the seaside, Miss Hannah?”
“Often,” she replied. Unease rippled up her spine as his eyes met hers, intense and focused. His tongue might be gilded, but his watchful eyes gave him away. He was seeking information. But what, and why? “The sea is only a few miles from here.”
“Not everyone enjoys the water. Do you?”
“I do.”
“I imagine the smugglers do as well.”
“Smugglers, my lord?” Grace struggled to keep her face expressionless as her heart thumped. “I imagine they must enjoy the water, given their profession, but I wouldn’t know for certain.” Except that she knew nearly every smuggler from Seaton to Sidmouth.
“I’ve heard the coast is rife with smugglers,” the earl continued easily. “I’d be most disappointed if it isn’t true. I had hoped for some excitement down here in the country.”
“Looking to join the smugglers, my lord?”
“Would that thrill you? Would you find me dashing and dangerous and attractive?” The melodramatic tone of his question made her smile.
“I’d certainly keep the information in mind,” she answered tartly. “If the customs officers appear at my door I can turn you in for the reward money.” Even as the words left her lips, she wished she could take them back.
The earl didn’t seem to mind her wayward tongue. “You wound me, fair lady.” With overdramatic flair, he placed his free hand over his heart.
She nearly snorted, but managed to keep her features bland. “Hopefully it’s not too deep a wound, as I’ve nothing to stanch it.”
He laughed, long and loud, letting his head fall back. The sound filled her, sending warmth all the way down to her toes.
Demon pranced to the side, reminding Grace of her precarious position on his back. She easily brought him under control again. When she looked up, the earl was watching her intently, his gaze full of admiration.
“Demon truly is a magnificent animal,” the earl said. “In fact, I expect he could outrun the customs officers.”
“Are you thinking of taking him out on loan when you join the smugglers?”
“I would, but I’d lose my dashing reputation among the ladies if I’m riding one of their horses. I’m certain the famous smuggler Jack Blackbourn would never borrow a horse from a lady.”
“Jack would borrow anything if it meant escape, including his wife’s petticoats,” she said wryly. “Escape is escape, after all.”
“A smuggler must be prepared for every eventuality and use what comes to hand.” He propped one booted foot on the stone fence and rested his arms on his knee.
“It sounds as though you have given this a great deal of thought.”
“I have been looking to take on a career.” He tapped a finger against pursed lips, appearing deep in thought.
“The Wandering Earl isn’t a career?”
“A gentleman must have some excitement in his life. Smuggling would be just the thing, don’t you think?” He plucked a pink clematis from the blooms trailing across the stone wall. Stepping forward, he offered it to her. “As I asked before, would that thrill you?”
This time there was no melodramatic hand over his heart or laugh in his voice. Instead, he purred the words, his tone silky and low. The sound slid along her senses, soft and seductive, even as the petals of the clematis slid along her skin as she accepted his offering.
“I doubt it would thrill me, my lord. Smugglers are plentiful along the coastline and I’m certain I’ve met a few already.” The flower fluttered in the breeze as she tucked it into the bodice of her simple gown.
“Ah, but I would be a different sort of smuggler,” he answered, raising a hand and settling it on Demon’s neck. The horse’s hide rippled beneath the earl’s hand as though the animal luxuriated in the man’s touch. “I would no longer be the Wandering Earl. I’d be the Smuggling Earl. The wild rake that took on the high seas, outrunning the customs officers and Boney’s ships.”
Grace watched the long, strong fingers caressing Demon’s dark hide. Fascinated, she continued to stare as his fingers moved down the horse’s neck and came to rest inches from the saddle. Inches from her.
She cleared her throat. “I doubt anyone could compete with Jack Blackbourn.”
“A challenge?” He raised his brows and sent her a slow, considering smile. “Perhaps I should join and see if I can’t be more exciting than the famous Blackbourn. Perhaps I will be able to turn your head. Perhaps I’ll sweep you away to sea and prove just how exciting I could be.”
His tone continued in that silky purr that shivered up her spine. She knew now the tales of the Wandering Earl were true. A man who looked like that, spoke like that, had certainly captivated dozens of women. He apparently wanted to add her to his list of accomplishments.
Despite knowing of his skill with women and his reputation, she still found herself drawn to him. She angled her head, pursed her lips. “Are you certain I haven’t been swept away to sea already, my lord? Perhaps I’ve had my fill of excitement.”
“Not the type of excitement I could show you.” His honeyed words swirled about her, seducing her.
“I’m certain I don’t need your particular sort of excitement.” The words sounded more confident than she felt. Inside, deep inside, she felt warm and taut and urgent.
“No? After witnessing your reckless ride, I’m not so certain.” His hand slid once more across Demon’s broad shoulder. Only a breath away from her thigh. “Let me escort you back to Cannon Manor.”
The sensuous caress of his voice sent a shudder through her. Yes. Her body all but screamed it. Every inch of her seemed enlivened so that even the air gliding over her sk
in inflamed.
She needed to ride once more, to relieve the energy pent up within her. Frantic for some release from the spell woven around her, she glanced around for the earl’s horse.
“Your mount, my lord?”
“I don’t have one, Miss Hannah. I’m on foot. But you wouldn’t leave me stranded here, would you?”
Her hands tightened on the reins. “I might.”
“Forcing me to walk all the way back to Thistledown in this stifling heat? What if I were to overheat? Go into convulsions or the vapors?” A melodramatic hand wiped imaginary sweat from his brow and Grace couldn’t stop the little smile that pulled at her lips.
“For an aspiring smuggler you’re not very hardy, my lord.”
“Again you wound me, fair lady! Striking at the heart of my manhood!”
This time she laughed, unable to keep the sound at bay when he clutched at his heart.
“You must rescue me, Miss Hannah. Carry me to the safety of Thistledown where my wounds may be ministered to.” His dramatic expression turned wily. “Unless, of course, you’re afraid of my sort of excitement?”
She sucked in a breath. It was a challenge. Did she dare? He’d know that she was riding astride—if he didn’t already, given the lack of a slipper stirrup. It would be the most improper position, together on a horse. What if someone saw them?
The earl remained beside the stallion, his gazed fixated on her. The calculating look had returned to his eyes and she knew he was after something. Still, she couldn’t ride away without answering his challenge.
“Very well, my lord.” She tossed her head. “Mount.”
She moved forward on the saddle as far as possible, grateful for the high pommel of her uncle’s out-of-date saddle as she hooked her knee around it. The earl placed a foot in the stirrup. A moment later he was seated behind her in the saddle.
Demon danced sideways at the additional weight and she focused on controlling the uneasy stallion. Even as she fought to calm the animal, a part of her was focused on the earl. There was barely enough room for them both and Grace could feel the heat from his chest against her back. His hands circled her waist, resting there as she calmed Demon.
The earl leaned forward and murmured in her ear, “There would be more room if you rode astride. I won’t tell and I promise not to look at your ankles—even though I’ll be tempted.” His husky voice echoed through her, the dare heating her blood.
Oh, dear God, please let no one see me, she prayed.
She hitched up the skirts of her simple gown and swung her leg over the horse’s broad back. She knew her ankles and calves were exposed. She didn’t care.
She slid forward until her front pressed against the pommel of the saddle. Even with the additional space, they were fitted together in the same position. She could feel him pressed intimately against her backside, his hard, muscular thighs aligned with hers. The earl’s strong hands curled around her waist as a steadying hold, fingers splayed across her belly. Over it all was the knowledge that her legs were opened wide, with his body straddling hers.
The earl leaned forward once more, hot breath tickling her ear. “Ride,” he commanded.
She didn’t hesitate. The thrill of the adventure drove her forward as she spurred the horse.
They flew across the fallow field, both Grace and the earl bent low across the saddle, bodies nearly united as they moved in tandem with the rhythm of the horse. Limb brushed limb and the heat from their bodies mingled. The earl’s fingers gripped her waist, digging into the pliant skin beneath the light cotton. Wind whipped around and between them, pulling at Grace’s hair and whistling in her ears.
A low hedgerow appeared before them. Without even a moment’s deliberation, she sent the horse soaring over it. Time seemed to stop as they hung suspended in the air. She felt the earl’s body brace for the landing even as her own body tensed. Demon thudded to the ground on the other side of the hedgerow before continuing across the next field.
Exhilarated, Grace laughed loud and long, all sense of decorum abandoned. Her braided hair finally loosed from its pins and she could feel the wind whipping through the long strands. Lost in the moment and uncaring that her unbound hair would be streaming into the earl’s face, she leaned forward over the pommel. The earl did the same until his face was over her shoulder. His breath was ragged in her ear, but she could feel the pleasure in her body echoing in his. He seemed to vibrate with energy behind her.
She urged Demon faster, then faster still, and even the animal seemed to relish the sheer abandon of the moment.
Grace wished she could go on forever. The freedom and joy of the ride bubbled in her blood until she was full of heat and light and energy. But the aged brick of Thistledown came into view on the horizon and she knew she must stop. She couldn’t be this woman, this free spirit.
She reined in and the horse slowed to a canter, then a walk. When the horse stopped, they sat still for a moment. She swore she could feel the earl’s heart pounding against her back.
He swung to the ground, then eased her from the saddle before she had a chance to protest. She braced herself on his shoulders.
“The horse needs to rest.” He was breathing hard. She saw the same exhilaration in him that coursed through her veins. His hands were on her waist, hers resting on his biceps. He leaned in, breathed deep. “My God—”
He broke off, drew in another breath. Lost in the thrill of the ride she could only stare at his eyes, as blue as the August sky behind him. He leaned in farther, lips close to hers. He hesitated, giving her the chance to run. She knew what would happen, knew the inevitability of it. And she wanted it—wanted him—in a way that was both foreign and familiar, and filled her with the same fire as the ride.
She didn’t run. Instead, she gripped his arms and lifted to her toes to meet his lips. When his mouth touched hers, it was neither gentle nor demanding. Instead, it was simply there for her to take from, to use as she wanted.
Emboldened, filled with her own recklessness, she pushed her hands to his shoulders and pressed her lips more fully to his. His mouth opened beneath hers and she darted her tongue between his lips. He tasted hot and salty and male.
He groaned and pushed his hands into her loose hair, taking control of the kiss. The demand was there now, the need clear in his foraging tongue and agile lips. His hands worked through her hair, then cupped her cheeks as he drew her against him. She obeyed, hungry for the forbidden. As their bodies met and breath mingled, Grace knew what she had been missing for so long. The something she could never define but that left a hole within her. It was this heat, the fire in the blood and the lust that pooled in her belly.
But even as she craved more he pulled away. His fingers still lay against her flushed cheeks, his breath coming in sharp puffs.
“Miss Hannah, I—”
“Don’t apologize, my lord.” She wouldn’t be able to bear it. Grace managed to keep her tone light despite the fire that raged within her. “Smugglers never apologize.”
She stepped back and his fingers dropped away. Gathering her skirts, she whirled around. Without waiting for assistance—what did propriety matter now?—she mounted Demon astride. She wheeled the horse around and set off at a canter, leaving the earl standing in the empty field behind her.
She knew he watched her go, could feel his gaze on her back. But she refused to turn around and glance behind. Somehow that would cost her the challenge, and she knew she’d won this round between them.
Chapter 5
THE BEST TIME for espionage was the deepest part of the night.
A sliver of the waxing crescent moon shone through light clouds and onto Cannon Manor. Its windows should have been dark and silent, its inhabitants asleep. But they were not.
At the edge of the graveled drive, Julian rolled his shoulders and studied the pathetic, swaybacked nag standing in front of the
manor house. Its rider had dismounted and was even now standing at the side kitchen door. The door itself was open, revealing a single candle and the silhouette of a second man.
The visitor gestured impatiently, the resident responded in kind, and the door swung closed again. The rider returned to his mount and cantered away from the manor, his body bent low over the saddle and rigid with urgency.
Now why, wondered Julian, was a clandestine visitor at Cannon Manor an hour past midnight?
Candlelight sparked to life in a second-floor room. He could see a shadowed figure flitting across the window, then back again. He grinned delightedly when the figure drew off a piece of clothing, revealing the outline of a womanly shape beneath. Regrettably, he was too far away to see clearly, but he glimpsed enough of the curves of breast and hip to know the lady’s shape was pleasing.
He sighed when the figure disappeared from view. That tantalizing peek at Miss Hannah was not going to help his sleep. He’d kissed her just that afternoon, and had lost himself in her honeyed taste and the exhilaration that hummed beneath it. Was it any wonder? There was so much vibrant passion and life behind that cool exterior. He’d been powerless to resist her. Now he was left feeling edgy.
The light in her room went dark. He waited, certain there would be more, and was rewarded when a groom led Demon from the stable toward the kitchen door.
Finally, the lady herself stood silhouetted in the doorway, the glow from the kitchen outlining her shape. He almost failed to recognize her, dressed as she was in men’s clothing. The breeches emphasized long, shapely legs and a trim waist while the coat concealed her torso. The crown of white-blond hair gave her away before she tucked it beneath a laborer’s cap.
She strode to the stallion, placed her foot in the stirrup and threw her other leg over his broad back. Her movements were fluid, graceful—and practiced. Clearly, Miss Hannah needed no mounting block.
The Smuggler Wore Silk Page 5