The Smuggler Wore Silk

by Alyssa Alexander

  Oh, how she wanted him. All of him.

  His breathing was ragged, the beat of it matching the hammering of her pulse. He tipped her onto the bed as the thunder rumbled. When his fingers caressed that most intimate place, the lightning flashed behind her eyes and the thunder roared inside her. She clutched at his shoulders, felt the liquid heat gather inside her.

  When he slipped inside her, when he breached the barrier that proved she was yet a virgin, she stiffened at the momentary pain. He stilled, then pushed himself up to his elbows and looked down at her.

  Her secret was revealed.

  Lightning flashed. In that instant of bright light she saw the expression in his eyes. Possessive. Satisfied.

  And something so deep, so intense, she nearly wept.

  “Grace.” He leaned down, kissing her gently. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would it have mattered?”

  “No.” He kissed her again, harder this time, deeper. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he whispered.

  He moved slowly, oh, so slowly. Tantalizing, teasing. Around and between them, the passion still pulsed, brilliant and powerful. Yet he was gentle, and so utterly tender she unraveled beneath him.

  She quivered, then writhed as something built within her even as the storm outside built to a crescendo. As the world within her blazed and flared and sizzled, the world outside flickered and boomed and burst into brilliant arrows of blue light.

  When her hands slid limply from his shoulders, he laughed.

  “That, fair lady, is only the beginning.”

  __________

  HE’D LEFT IN the early morning hours, before even the predawn light was a faint gray glow on the horizon. She’d lain there, completely sated and limp. His departure was marked by one searing, dazzling kiss that both soothed and stirred her.

  Even now, hours later, she could feel his mouth on hers. Her body still vibrated with pleasure at even the memory of their lovemaking and the sensations of flesh against flesh.

  She looked up from the tincture she was brewing. The storm had blown itself out, leaving the sky clear and the sun shining. Now, as the last of the sun’s rays became vibrant streaks of color on the horizon and her duties for the day were complete, she wondered if she had been changed after their night of lovemaking. She didn’t think so. No one had commented that she looked or sounded different.

  Except she felt different. She felt knowledgeable, initiated, powerful—and hungry for more. Her body was loose, her muscles limber. Even if no one else knew what had happened between them, she knew. She was well and truly compromised.

  “I’ll return with a special license, Grace,” Julian had murmured against her lips as he’d kissed her good-bye. “We’ll be married within the week.”

  They would marry, because Julian wasn’t Michael Wargell. She stared at the final rays of sunlight that reached into the darkening night sky and colored the clouds pink and orange.

  She was falling in love with Julian.

  Not all the way—yet. But she could feel herself tumbling down the cliff and wondered what lay at the bottom. Passion, certainly. Perhaps contentment, even happiness.

  But what of love?

  The knock on the door from the garden was light and furtive, and interrupted her thoughts.

  Grace frowned at the boiling tincture on the counter before her. She sniffed the fumes and judged she had ten minutes before it was finished. Moving toward the door to the kitchen garden, Grace glanced out the window and saw that dusk had turned to night.

  She shot back the bolt of the wooden door, turned the knob and looked out. With a glad cry, she launched herself at Jack. He winced, but returned her embrace, awkwardly patting her back as though trying to comfort her.

  “Hush, now,” he whispered. “Let me in.”

  “Yes, of course.” Without a moment’s hesitation, she stepped back and allowed him to slip across the threshold. Looking out, she saw nothing in the silent gardens but the muted colors and sounds of dusk. She locked the outer door behind him, then the inner doors leading to the kitchens and the hallway. She turned around and scanned his body for injuries.

  Dirt streaked his face and a purple bruise marred his cheekbone. His hair sprang untamed from his head and appeared to have the remnants of leaves in it. Scratches covered his hands, and the coat and breeches he wore were rent and filthy. But he was whole. And—

  “Jack. You stink.”

  He laughed. “Aye, my lovely.”

  “But you’re well?”

  “Well enough.” He lowered himself wearily onto a stool near her worktable. “Have you seen Anna? The children?”

  “Yes.” She wanted to embrace him again but settled for rubbing his arm. “They’re also well. Anna is furious.”

  “That’s my Anna.” His smile was both rueful and proud. Then he sobered. “I can’t go back to the pub to see her. They’ll be watching it, I’m sure. I need you take a message to Anna and let her know I’ve escaped, but I’m unharmed—mostly unharmed, at any rate.” He rubbed the bruise on his cheek.

  “I’ll tell her.” Anna would be relieved, yet Grace doubted the news would alleviate the woman’s fears. Jack’s escape only ensured he would be hunted with more fervor, unless they could prove him innocent. But practicalities would have to come first. “Have you eaten?”

  “I wouldn’t mind a bit of ale and food.”

  “I’ll be back in just a moment. Lock yourself in, Jack.” She strode to the door, stopped, turned back. Dropping a kiss on his dirty cheek, she murmured, “I’m happy to see you safe.”

  “Go on with you, my lovely lass.” He waved her away, but not before she saw his affectionate smile.

  She worked quickly, breaking off a chunk of bread, pouring a tankard of ale, slicing cheese and cold roast left over from dinner. In minutes, she’d arranged a plate and returned to the stillroom. He started shoveling in the food and she wondered when he’d last eaten.

  “Where are you hiding, Jack? At the smuggling caves again?”

  “Not this time.” A bit of roast was gobbled up, swallowed. “’Tisn’t safe.”

  “If not the caves, then where?”

  “Old Mick’s cabin.” He paused, a hunk of bread halfway to his mouth. “It’s not very bloody comfortable.”

  She snorted. “I expect not. Old Mick died nearly twenty years ago, so I’m told.”

  “Longer. But the cabin is well enough out of the way, and there’s two exits and a hidden cellar under the floor if escape is needed.”

  “Which reminds me, Jack. How did you escape?”

  “Oh, well now, my lovely, that’s a tale. The boy who locked me in was a twit if I ever saw one.” He slapped his thigh. “They locked me in the room, alone. So I went up the chimney. When they came back, it appeared I managed to escape through a locked door. I laughed myself silly listening to that boy and his men scramble around. I stayed wedged in the chimney for an hour while they searched the entire inn. Damned dirty place to be for an hour, Gracie.”

  She laughed until her sides ached, picturing him squeezed into the narrow confines of a chimney, covered in black soot and listening to his captors mounting the search for him.

  “I shouldn’t laugh,” she said, wheezing. “Poor etiquette, I’m sure.”

  “Bah. Smugglers don’t bother with etiquette, as you know well enough after your dealings with the Earl of Langford.” He winked. “When is the wedding to take place?”

  Her laughter died. “Jack—” She stopped, debating how much to tell him.

  Julian’s profession was a secret, one she had no right to share. The trust she’d built with Julian was as fragile and delicate as a spider’s web. If she revealed Julian’s secret to Jack, that trust would be broken. Yet Julian was as close to being on Jack’s side as he could be, and was Jack’s best prospect of being exonerated.

&n
bsp; “Julian—the earl—he’s not just an earl.” That wasn’t quite right. “I mean, he’s—he works for—” She swallowed, then burst out, “He’s a spy.”

  A mist of ale rained over her as Jack choked, spluttered and nearly dropped his tankard.

  “Lord love you, Gracie.” He made a fist and pounded it on his chest. “Don’t toy with a man like that.”

  “I’m not toying with you. I wish I were,” she added.

  No, that wasn’t quite true. If Julian wasn’t a spy, he may not have returned to Devon, and he may not have sought her out. She would never have come to know him, and would never have experienced the sensation of his skin sliding along hers, or the way his mouth tasted or the scent of his skin. She would never have known what it was to make love, or to be falling in love.

  Still, she told Jack what she knew of the investigation, stopping just short of her bedroom door the night before. But she could see that Jack knew.

  “Bastard.” Jack half rose from his stool, his blunt features tight with rage. “Seducing you. Using you.”

  “Stop, Jack. Wait.” She gripped his shoulders, trying to push him back onto the stool.

  “He will answer for this,” he ground out.

  “Not to you.” She kept her voice controlled and commanding, even cool.

  He searched her face before he subsided into the chair, eyes narrowed.

  “We’ve come to an understanding, Jack. He’s not like Michael Wargell,” she added quietly. “Nothing like Michael. Julian may be a spy, but beneath that is honor and compassion, the sort I never saw in Michael. I wanted to see it with Michael—pretended to see it—so that I could justify being swept away by him. But he was only concerned with conquests and appearances.” Bitterness rose in her throat.

  “Are you certain—absolutely certain—that you want to marry this man? This spy? Your uncle—”

  “Has given me no choice. I either marry the earl, or I leave Cannon Manor, disowned and disgraced.”

  “Now there’s a bastard,” he murmured. He gripped her hand tightly. “You can live with Anna and me. We’ll make a room for you above the pub. Well, Anna will. I’m not sure when I’ll be back myself,” he added ruefully.

  “It’s sweet of you to offer, Jack.” She couldn’t stay with Jack and Anna. If Julian was correct about the pub’s profits, they couldn’t support another mouth to feed. It wouldn’t stop them from taking her in, but she would never do that to them. “Thank you. But, no.”

  So she was back where she’d been when her uncle had leveled his ultimatum. Marriage to Julian, or leaving Devon and seeking her fortune elsewhere. With no reputation or letter of recommendation to gain a post as governess or companion.

  Yet marriage to the earl—to Julian—held such promise.

  “I want to marry Julian.” It was the first time she could say it without reservation. She hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

  “If you change your mind, go see Anna.” He patted her shoulder. “Now, what the bloody hell does the earl have to do with my arrest?” His voice rose and he tugged at his unruly hair.

  She stifled a laugh. Trust Jack to be concerned with her before his own safety.

  “Did the earl turn me in?” he demanded.

  “No,” she said quickly. “He didn’t even know of your arrest until after it happened.”

  “How much information did you give him? Did you give him names?” He tore off a piece of the roast, wagged it at her. “Did you take him to the smuggling caves?”

  “No. Nor did I give him names.” She rubbed a hand over her chest to ease the ache there. Jack had a right to ask. He even had a right to the anger he shot at her, despite the arrow of pain it sent through her. After all, she’d taken Michael to the caves. “I think you should meet with Julian.”

  “I told you, don’t toy with a man.” He pushed away the empty plate. “I’m not walking into the lion’s den.”

  “He believes you’re innocent.” She opened her mouth to say more, but couldn’t. She wouldn’t prick Jack’s pride by telling him she knew the pub was failing.

  “So he says, but I have no assurances, Gracie. I’m not hanging for this. You may trust the earl enough to marry him, but I won’t trust him with my life and my family’s well-being.” He pushed up from the chair, his forceful movements sending the stool tipping precariously on two legs.

  “Jack—”

  “You’ve made your bed, so to speak. I’m happy he’s doing the honorable thing and marrying you. That shows his character. But he’s not the only player in this. If I go to him, and he sends me to someone else, I may be arrested again.” He righted the stool, but didn’t sit. “I support you, Grace, in your decision,” he continued, his voice softer now. “But I won’t stake my life on it.”

  “I understand.” She couldn’t blame him.

  “Don’t tell the earl I’m back in Beer. I don’t want him searching me out, or worse, bothering Anna.”

  “He wouldn’t.” Her stomach sank as she realized she didn’t know if that was true. For all she wanted the man, for all the honor she supposedly saw in him, she didn’t know. Which came first, compassion or espionage?

  “Don’t tell him where I am, Gracie.” His shoulders hunched, and the dried remains of a crushed leaf floated to the floor. “Please.”

  She stared at the leaf, at the dull brown flecks it had become. That single, dried leaf made her want to weep, and she didn’t know why. She clasped her hands together, squeezed. Jack would have her lie to her husband about his whereabouts. For surely they would be married before the traitor was caught and Jack was exonerated.

  A lie by omission was still a lie.

  She saw the dark shadows under Jack’s eyes, the lines around his mouth that she’d never noticed before. He looked so weary. The Jack she knew, her laughing Jack, had dissolved into a much older man.

  She had no choice but to lie. Even if Julian fought for Jack’s innocence, there was no guarantee his commander would believe him.

  She closed her eyes, exhaled sharply. “I won’t tell him.”

  Chapter 17

  THE FRONT STEPS of the village chapel loomed before her, wide and imposing. The bright September sun and the sound of birds chirping cheerfully in the bell tower made no difference.

  Grace had a vision of herself walking into the chapel, looking down the long aisle between the pews and seeing only the altar. Of hearing nothing but her own footsteps echoing between the stone walls.

  What if she was jilted again?

  She swallowed hard and tried to take a deep breath. The air caught in her lungs, leaving her light-headed. Instinct had her clutching at the masculine arm beside her. The arm jerked away, leaving her off balance so that she tripped up the first step.

  “You’ll go through with it, girl,” Uncle Thaddeus hissed, bending down so his face was close to hers. “I won’t have a whore under my roof.”

  “I wasn’t—I wouldn’t—”

  But he was gone. He’d stalked up the steps and through the doors before she righted herself.

  Embarrassed color flooded her cheeks. She refused to turn around and see if anyone on the street had witnessed the exchange. She simply couldn’t look. Instead, she climbed the remaining steps to the huge oak doors that marked the entrance.

  Would Julian be there?

  It didn’t matter. She would be there. Tipping up her chin, she straightened her shoulders and pushed open the door.

  The interior was cool and quiet, a contrast to the bustle of the street outside. The light in the entryway was dim and it was a moment before her eyes adjusted to it. When they did, she sucked in a fortifying breath and looked down that long, long aisle.

  Her heart fluttered, the tiniest beat of delicate wings beneath her breast.

  He was there.

  Tall and lean, his face relaxed and his mouth smiling.
His gorgeous eyes focused on hers and everything else faded away. She knew her uncle was somewhere nearby, and she vaguely recognized the Starkweathers to one side. Yet in that moment, they were nothing.

  In that moment, Julian was everything.

  The sun, hidden behind clouds for most of the morning, now sent brilliant light bursting through the stained glass windows and into the chapel’s dark interior. Rainbows painted the pews and aisle with jeweled color. She stepped forward into one of those brilliant patches. It was like stepping into a swirl of color and heat. Flame red, bright turquoise, lush green, sunlight yellow.

  Then he was there, only a step away from her. He reached out and she set her hand in his. She hadn’t noticed she’d reached the end of the aisle, hadn’t realized she’d even been walking toward him. But there he was, close enough now that she could see the color of his eyes.

  “Let’s get it done,” Uncle Thaddeus barked.

  The spell broke. Uncertainty rushed through her and sent her stomach into somersaults. They would be married. Julian was going to keep his promise. Then what?

  Dearly beloved . . .

  Julian’s hand squeezed hers, his fingers warm and comforting.

  Forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as you both shall live . . .

  It was forever, or as close to forever as possible. She would be tied to this man for as long as she drew breath. The idea was both exciting and terrifying.

  She turned her head so their eyes met. The jeweled light played over his face, shifting when he smiled at her. And oh, his smile was wicked.

  Then it was over. The vows were complete, the prayers and blessings uttered. Uncle Thaddeus stalked back down the aisle while the Starkweathers hugged her. Julian led her through the church and out the church door. A few dozen villagers milled around in the street. Shouts rang in her ears, a cacophony of well wishes and laughter.

  Julian tugged her down the steps she’d tripped up only a short time before. He responded to the villagers’ greetings with a grin and a wave, and she did the same despite the mist clogging her mind. It seemed impossible she was truly married. It was as though she were being washed away by a force stronger than she. Yet it wasn’t Julian.