The Smuggler Wore Silk (16 page)

“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.”

T
HE 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.

It felt like fate.

She turned and saw Anna Blackbourn standing to one side of the chapel, her children flanking their mother like young, protective sentinels. Anna waved a greeting and Grace responded with a quick nod and a smile. What was it like, she wondered, to know your husband was living within miles of you and yet unable to come home? She stole a quick glance at Julian, standing straight and tall and strong as he helped her into his waiting carriage—their carriage now, she supposed.

They were husband and wife. No longer was she simply Grace Hannah. She was Grace, Countess of Langford.

How odd.

As the carriage rumbled out of the village, she settled her plain light yellow skirts, smoothing them over her lap. Looking out the window, she watched the stone cottages and buildings pass by. Nerves leapt within her. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look at Julian.

His presence filled the carriage. She could smell leather and man, could hear his light breathing. Could all but taste him.

It was the first time she’d seen him since they’d made love. And all she could think about was the feel of his skin against hers.

“Grace.”

She swallowed hard, met his eyes.

“You can relax now.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your shoulders are nearly covering your ears and your hands are gripped together like a vise. You’re nervous and uncomfortable.” He smiled sensuously. “I don’t mind making you a little nervous, but uncomfortable doesn’t exactly assuage my male pride.”

“Um.” Where was that witty conversation he claimed to enjoy? Deliberately, she relaxed her shoulders and loosed her hands. Her fingers were cramped. She stretched them out, studied them. “The ceremony was nice.”

“The ceremony was boring.”

She smothered a laugh, and felt her muscles relax. “The vicar sounded quite monotonous, didn’t he?”

“I nearly fell asleep at my own wedding. Though I did perk up at that bit about the wife obeying the husband.” He leaned back against the seat and watched her from beneath his lashes. “Any chance of that happening, my smuggling wife?”

“Hm. I think I would prefer to remain silent.”

“I thought as much.” His eyes laughed into hers.

He shifted against the seat and she saw something press against his coat pocket. She recognized the shape.

“You brought a pistol to our wedding.”

“Is that an accusation?”

“No. A statement.”

“I’m a spy, Grace.” His face was unreadable. “I always have a weapon. More than one, typically.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised. She probably shouldn’t be comforted by it, either. Glancing out the window, she saw they would soon be at Thistledown. “Will there be many people attending the wedding breakfast?”

“A fair number. Your uncle invited an interesting cast of characters.” His tone changed, smoothed out and lowered so that it sounded just a touch menacing.

She stilled. “They’re all invited, aren’t they? All of your suspects. Lord Paget, Sir Richard and Lady Elliott. The Wargells.”

“Yes.” The eyes that had focused so intently on her as she’d walked down the aisle were now serious and sober. A predator lurked in their depths.

“I should have guessed,” she murmured, shivering slightly at his abrupt change. “They are his closest friends.”

“You have a friendship with Lady Elliott, correct?”

“Of a sort.”

“Use your friendship with her.”

“I can’t.” Something hard and acidic settled in her belly. “I couldn’t possibly. It would be deceitful.”

“That is, unfortunately, the essence of espionage. We need to find a connection from London to the caves, and that connection might involve Sir Richard.” He paused. “I went to the caves, Grace.”

“What?” She jerked as shock arrowed through her.

“I was attempting to find Jack, but the caves showed no sign of occupation—beyond some smuggled goods, of course.”

Thank goodness for Old Mick’s cabin. Her stomach tightened as her promise to Jack rang in her ears.

“He could be hiding anywhere,” she said, hoping she sounded normal. The words were like knives in her throat. But she’d made a promise.
“He may not even be in Devon.”

“Perhaps not.” Julian’s lids lowered. He studied her through thin slits of blue. “It seemed the most likely place for him to hide.”

A lie by omission was still a lie.
That fact hadn’t changed in the days since she’d seen Jack.

Pushing away the sickness in her belly, she looked out the window. “What do you want me to do with Lady Elliott?”

He remained silent. She wanted to turn her head and search his face to discern what he was thinking. But she was afraid her mask wouldn’t hold and he would see the lie in her eyes. Instead, she watched the blur of green and gold and orange leaves fly past the carriage window.

“I want you to find a connection,” he finally answered. “Ask her questions about London, what they do there, even Sir Richard’s family and close friends. Anything that might tie him to the Foreign Office.”

She nodded, but didn’t turn. The carriage seemed hot, despite the chilled fall air outside.

“I’m sorry, Grace.”

“About what?” Surprised, she faced him.

“I brought treason into our wedding day. And now your hands are linked together again.”

She looked down, saw he was correct. But it wasn’t treason on her wedding day that caused the strain. It was secrets and lies.

Suddenly he was there, beside her on the seat instead of across from her. His scent enveloped her as he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. The gesture warmed her. His lips pressed against her fingers and sent her pulse skittering.

“Ah, fair lady, forgive me.”

“It’s nothing, Julian.”

“But it is. A lady deserves a wedding day free of unhappiness. I’ve failed in my husbandly duties and it’s only the first day. The first hour. Alas, I must throw myself upon your mercy and beg forgiveness.”

She laughed, glad to let treason melt away in his absurd words. She wouldn’t be able to bear their wedding celebration otherwise.

__________

"I
FEEL QUITE
on display,” Grace murmured in his ear as they moved through the crowds in the salons of Thistledown.

“So we are.” Julian glanced down at his bride. “We’re the latest
on-dit
in a quiet village.”

“I suppose it was a shock.” She leaned close so the scent of lavender and woman rose to entice him. “The poor relation marrying the earl.”

“And with a special license because we couldn’t wait for the banns to be complete.”

As they paraded through the salons, Julian scrutinized the room, memorizing faces, cataloging groups, couples. Every one of the guests was the potential traitor. Still, some were more likely than others.

One of the men that topped his list stood near the main entrance, stiffly accepting congratulations as guests entered the drawing rooms. Lord Thaddeus Cannon’s formal attire strained across his generous stomach, putting great pressure on the large brass buttons of his coat. Julian realized he had rarely seen his bride’s uncle wearing anything but hunting clothes, which explained why the formal coat sat awkwardly on Cannon’s sloping shoulders. A scowl threatened to form between his brows, and the thick brown mustache that dominated his face twitched. Julian supposed it was the barely concealed irritation and impatience that made Cannon’s movements quick and jerky as he shook hands and chatted with the guests.

Julian’s attention shifted as a shout of “Congratulations!” boomed into his ear. He swung around to face the well-wisher and was met with another of his suspects, Sir Richard Elliott. His wife, Marie, Lady Elliott, stood beside him, her eyes downcast.

Sir Richard shook back his shaggy mane of hair and offered his wide palm to shake. “Finally caught in the parson’s mousetrap, eh?” Sir Richard pumped Julian’s hand enthusiastically. “Well, our Miss Gracie is better than most. You’ve a fine woman there.”

Julian glanced down at Grace. She had leaned in, placed her hand on Lady Elliott’s arm and was earnestly talking to the petite woman. Lady Elliott’s eyes flicked up at Grace, then toward Sir Richard, then back down to her feet. Whatever Grace was saying must have had some effect, as a smile tugged at Lady Elliot’s mouth.

“I do have a fine woman,” Julian answered, his gaze still on Grace.

“A fine woman is a good thing. Goes right along with a fine glass of brandy and a fine horse.” Sir Richard slapped him on the back and grinned. “In fact, I just purchased a new hunter last week. Bought him at Tattersall’s for a song.”

Instinct tightened his gut. “Ah, you’ve been to London recently,” Julian commented. Beside him, Grace stiffened and turned her head, cocking an ear in their direction. He continued, “What’s the news from the capital, then? Any recent social or political scandal—not that I pay much attention to politics, but I do enjoy a good scandal,” Julian confided, keeping his manner easy. Too much interest would cause suspicion.

“I don’t pay attention to either one—society or politics,” Sir Richard said with a dismissive wave. “I leave all that to my cousin. He’s an undersecretary of something. For myself, I just went to Tattersall’s, spent a few hours at my club, visited my boot maker and returned home.” The big man rocked back on his heels, puffed out his chest. “Let me just tell you about the new hunter. This one’s a beauty!”

While Julian asked the appropriate questions and traded the appropriate congratulations on Sir Richard’s newest acquisition, he struggled to listen to Grace’s conversation with Lady Elliott.

“Did you accompany Sir Richard to London?” he heard Grace ask.

“Oh no,” the lady answered. “The city air isn’t good for my constitution. Especially now. I went to Bath to take the waters instead.”

“It seems to have done you some good,” Grace commented. “You’ve got roses in your cheeks.”

He glanced over. Grace was right. Lady Elliott’s eyes still held the residual sadness she carried everywhere with her, but she looked healthier. Happier, even, than previous times he had met her. The waters must have agreed with her.