The Smuggler Wore Silk (23 page)

“How?”

“An opportunity will usually present itself, if one is watching for it. But it can be created as well. I might be able to manufacture a pretense for leaving the group to search Wargell’s study.” He leaned forward and sniffed at the thick brown liquid she’d been mixing when he’d arrived. “What
is
that?” he asked, frowning.

“Cough syrup.”

“It smells like rotten eggs and fermented fruit. Together.” He gave a mock shudder. “Disgusting.”

When their gazes met and held, something passed between them. She couldn’t quite name it, but it felt as though the door had opened just the tiniest crack.

Her hand stilled and the rhythmic grinding faded into silence.

“I owe you an explanation,” she said quietly. His smile died and his eyes turned cold again, but she doggedly continued. “About Jack.”

“You made your choice.” He turned away from her, leaving her facing only the broad expanse of his back.

“Please. Just listen.”

“It doesn’t matter, Grace.” He looked over his shoulder, his eyes unreadable. “You’ll be happy to know he’s been declared innocent of all charges of treason. I received a missive this morning and have already been to the cottage to inform Blackbourn.”

“
Oh
,” she breathed. She looked down at her fingers, still limply holding the unmoving pestle. Her knees threatened to buckle as relief flooded through her. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything to assist. I simply gave my superiors my opinion and the evidence I had.”

“Still, I must explain. I—”

“Grace.” He swung around to face her. “It doesn’t matter to me. It’s in the past and doesn’t affect this moment. Or the choices you make today.”

“Doesn’t it? Doesn’t your past dictate parts of your present? You are who you are today because of your past.” She swallowed to ease her dry throat. He was watching her so carefully, his beautiful eyes guarded. “I owe Jack so much. When I came here after my parents died, I was lost. I’d never been so lonely. Uncle Thaddeus was . . . well, not exactly welcoming. It was years before I met Jack. When I did, it was like finding my place here. Finally. Somewhere I could just be
me
.”

She lifted her gaze to meet his, afraid of what she might see there.

Blue. Bright and brilliant and filled with wary curiosity.

“How did you meet Jack?”

“He had to sink his goods to retrieve later because the revenue officers were watching him. They chased him after he put ashore. He escaped—as usual—but he was shot. He hid in the smuggling caves and sent for me, since he couldn’t go to the surgeon without being caught by the revenue officers.”

“You cared for him. Healed him.”

“I went back every day for weeks with poultices and ointments and provisions.” She smiled slightly at the memory. “For all his charm, Jack is a horrible patient. At any rate, when the others pulled up the goods and brought them to the caves they needed someone to tally them and divide the payment. Jack usually did it, you see.”

“And so you were asked to take his place.” His voice was still hard, but he tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheek, the rough calluses rubbing gently over her skin.

She wanted to weep. She wanted to turn her face into his cupped palm and let the tears flow. Breathing deep, she blinked them back.

“I just happened to be in the caves when the shipment came in. It was that simple—and it was that significant. Jack and his wife, Anna, brought me into their family. Jack reminded me who I was and where I came from. They saved me from drowning myself in the misery of loneliness.” Now the tears did well. She couldn’t hold them back.

A handkerchief appeared in his long fingers. Smooth silk brushed away her tears. Then his lips touched her forehead, soft and warm, and his arms came around her. In that deepest place of her heart, something clutched and released.

“When Jack asked me to keep his hiding place a secret, I had to make a choice between old loyalties or new.”

“You chose Jack.”

“I chose old loyalties,” she corrected. “What would you have done, Julian?”

“You should have trusted me.”

“Trust?” She pushed at the arms that encircled her until he stepped away from her. “You had another nightmare last night, Julian. Why don’t you trust me with that?”

“Because you don’t need to know.” A muscle in his temple twitched.

“I
do
need to know.” She spun away from him. Picking up the pestle, she began to grind the herb in the mortar with sharp, jerking movements. “If I’m going to sleep beside you for the rest of my lifetime and wake up hearing you screaming or sobbing, I need to know what’s happened.”

“Don’t ask, Grace. It’s not for you—”

“It
is
for me.” She slammed the pestle down, surprised when the stone didn’t shatter. “You expect me to trust you. With my friends, my life, my body. Yet you won’t trust me with anything.”

“That’s not true. I’ve trusted you with my body and my life, just as you have. I’ve trusted you with my position with the government.” His eyes became bright blue flames.

“You had no choice but to tell me about your position. But when it comes to us—to you and me and our marriage—you withhold your trust. There’s a wall between us.” She let out a furious breath. “No, it’s not a wall. It’s a door. I lie beside you every night in the chamber we share, staring at your mother’s door and listening to you sobbing in your sleep.”

He stiffened, and the faint color in his cheeks darkened. “I’ll find another room if you can’t sleep.”

“No, that’s not what I want. I want—” Despair choked her.

“What do you want, Grace?”

Your heart. Your love.
The words caught in her throat. She couldn’t possibly expect his heart when she didn’t give him hers.

“I don’t know,” she finished miserably.

“Whatever it is, I don’t seem to be it.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly.

“I’m not expecting you to be anything but yourself.” She couldn’t give him her love, she thought again. Not without exposing herself. But she could give him the tenderness and affection that had grown within her. Swallowing hard, she took the leap. “I care deeply for you, Julian. I can share this burden with you. Tell me what haunts you.”

She reached for his hand, but he jerked away so that her fingers found nothing but empty air. He strode to the door, his footfalls deafening in the silent room.

Anger and hurt tore through her, twin claws that stole her breath and scored her throat.

He stopped at the door, his hand resting on the knob. “I’ll move my things out of our bedchamber this afternoon.” He didn’t look her, but opened the door and strode through it, leaving her alone in the stillroom.

“I
’LL FIND SOME
way to get Wargell into his estate room.” Julian jerked at his cravat, trying to loosen the uncomfortable silk. His valet must have tied it too tight.

“Very well.” Grace’s words were polite, her face pinched.

“Don’t say anything that might hint that my reason may be pretense.”

“Of course not.” She looked offended for a moment before her face blanked. She turned away from him to look out the window.

Silence engulfed the carriage and Julian gritted his teeth against the urge to fill it. In the past two days, she hadn’t spoken a word that wasn’t an answer to a direct question. Even those were single syllables.

Julian shifted uncomfortably on the carriage seat. He’d slept two nights on the library settee and his back had suffered—as had his mind. The dreams were worse. Now it wasn’t just his mother, it was Grace as well. He woke up drenched in sweat and aching to touch her. He wanted to see her lying beside him.

I care deeply for you, Julian
, she’d said. He’d ignored her.

It was better this way. It would only make his choice easier.

At dinner, he watched her across the Wargells’ table. He couldn’t look away from her pale cheeks and the full lips she had pressed together so tightly. Her fingers fluttered nervously around her dinner plate. She barely spoke a word to any of the guests.

Beside Julian, Lady Lintell was anything but monosyllabic.

“I’m certain our Gracie is the finest of wives,” Lady Lintell burbled. “She’ll take proper care of you and Thistledown, my lord.”

Lord Lintell leaned across the table, his fork waving dangerously in the air. “Such a bother, all the decorating a new bride does. Especially a young bride!” He cocked his head. “Not that you’re all that young, of course, Gracie.”

Julian choked on his creamed spinach. Beside him, Mrs. Wargell hid a titter behind her hand. Down the table, Lady Hammond murmured, “Really, Archie. Most inappropriate.”

Grace, however, only gave Lord Lintell a small, polite smile. “No. I’m not so young.”

“And how is Thistledown holding up?” Sir Richard stabbed a small, round potato as though it were a thief attempting to abscond with his beef. “That old house has been empty for, what, twenty years? Twenty-five years?”

“Yes, Gracie,” Mrs. Wargell chimed in. “Being a countess must be vastly different than living at Cannon Manor.”

“Not particularly.” Grace’s eyes remained on her plate.

“Given the little cottage you were born in, I’m sure you’ve no training to be the mistress of such a house, have you? And, of course, you’re unused to a title and all the obligations that go with it.” Mrs. Wargell’s voice was low and snide. “Gracie.”

Enough.

“Her ladyship,” Julian corrected smoothly, “is taking up the reins as Thistledown’s mistress with ease.”

“And so she should.” Lady Lintell seemed oblivious to the undercurrents. “There’s no doubt about our Gracie. I’m sure she’ll do fine after you leave, eh?”

He stilled. “Leave?”

Grace’s fork jerked in its ascent to her lips.

“Of course!” Lady Lintell sipped her wine. “You’ll be going to London soon, I’m sure, and then off to the Continent. The Wandering Earl and all that.”

Grace’s expressionless face tore at him. She deliberately laid her fork and knife across the plate. It was like watching her surrender her weapons.

She didn’t seem to care whether he stayed or left. But without her, there was no reason to stay. He wanted to snatch her away from the table—away from Devon—and go somewhere the rest of the world wouldn’t intrude. He could be alone with Grace, with nothing between them.

He struggled to think beyond that vision. This wasn’t an innocuous dinner party.

“And leave my wife and her charms so quickly?” Julian met Michael Wargell’s eyes. “I think not. Perhaps we’ll go to London for the Season, but I believe we’ll stay here for now. I’ve an idea to try my hand at farming.”

“Isn’t that interesting,” Mrs. Wargell murmured.

He watched Grace, hoping for a reaction he could read, but she only continued to stare at her plate.

“Joining us landowners, eh, Langford? Have you had a chance to look at your south fields? If they’re like mine were, they’re under-producing.” Sir Richard leaned back in his chair and noisily wiped his mouth with his napkin. Beside him, Lady Marie winced and turned away as Sir Richard barreled on. “Talk to Mr. Wargell, here. His advice assisted me in increasing production.”

At the head of the table, Wargell watched him warily.

“Fascinating,” Julian said.

“I have some theories that have proved successful thus far.” Wargell relaxed slightly and signaled to the footmen that the meal was over. “I’ve been corresponding with the Agrarian Society about my theories. They’ve been warmly received. I’ve garnered a number of enthusiastic letters from members of the Society.”

“I’d like to hear your theories and read the responses.” Julian kept his tone neutral. “If you would be so kind.”

“Then let’s leave the ladies to their tea and take our port in my estate room.” Wargell pushed back from the table. “I’ll show you those letters. Gentlemen, would you care to join us?”

It was the opportunity he had hoped for. Julian sent a quick look at Grace as he rose from his seat. Their gazes met and he recognized her understanding of the mission—but there was nothing in her eyes for him.

__________

"A
LOVELY DINNER,
Mrs. Wargell, as always,” Lady Hammond said, sipping tea from a delicate pink cup.

“Indeed, indeed.” Lady Lintell bounced slightly in her chair. “Lord Lintell and I do so enjoy your dinners, especially the music after dinner. You have such a pretty voice, Mrs. Wargell.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Mrs. Wargell gave an arch smile. “Though perhaps this evening we shall change the performances, as we have a new guest joining our little dinner. Do you sing, Gracie?”

“Passably well.” She truly hoped she wouldn’t be required to demonstrate.

“Oh good!” Lady Lintell clapped her hands. “I shall accompany you, Gracie. I am an excellent pianist, though I would never say such a thing about myself.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t.” Lady Hammond’s smile was both indulgent and amused.

“I could accompany you, as well, Grace,” Lady Elliott said tentatively. “Though I’m only passably accomplished at the piano. Perhaps you would care to join me to pick out an appropriate song?”

Grace’s teacup clinked against the matching saucer as she set it down to follow Lady Elliott to the piano. The lady rifled through music and held up a pretty country ballad. “How about this song, Grace?”

She barely glanced at it. “That’s fine.” They were away from the others, and unlikely to be overheard, but still Grace leaned forward and said quietly, “Lady Elliott, are you well? Your cheeks are pale.”

“I’m just tired, Gracie.” Paper rattled as she pushed through the music. “This babe is tiring me more than the boys did.”

“Are you sleeping well?” Grace laid her hands over Lady Elliott’s nervous fingers. “You must take care of yourself before you can take care of the babe.”

“I’m trying to.” Her eyes were deep and tired, with huge dark circles beneath. “I’m just worried about so many things, including the babe.” Tears welled up and she sniffled.

“Oh, Lady Elliott. Marie.” Grace rubbed little circles on her back. The poor, poor woman. “The babe will be fine, and so will you. You didn’t have any trouble with the boys and there’s no reason to think anything will go wrong this time. You need to rest. Have you been to Bath? I know how restorative you find the waters.”

“No.” She sniffled again. “I haven’t been able to go. And Richard—well, he doesn’t know about the babe yet.” Wet eyes lifted to Grace’s. “Please don’t say anything.”

“I won’t, though you should tell him. He may be able to ease your burden.”

“He won’t. He’ll only make it worse,” she said vehemently, her voice low and fierce. “I hate him, Grace.”

Shocked, Grace studied Lady Elliott’s face. It was no wonder she was in tears. To be with child and married to a man one hated would be difficult for any woman. To be in a loveless marriage was miserable enough, Grace thought wearily.

She squeezed Lady Elliott’s hand and slid her gaze to the other guests. Lady Lintell was chattering loudly about church flowers and Lady Hammond was sipping her tea and listening. But Clotilde Wargell was staring fixedly at Grace, eyes bright with malice.

“Lady Elliott,” Grace said, not taking her eyes from Mrs. Wargell’s. “I don’t know what to say to you, except that I want to help you. In any way I can.”

“Oh, I wish that you could be with me during the birth, Gracie.” Lady Elliott’s whisper was perilously close to escalating into a wail.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Surprised, Grace turned away from Mrs. Wargell to look at Lady Elliott.

“Because I probably won’t be here.” Her fingers started plucking at the lace rimming the bodice of her gown. “I don’t know where I’ll be. London, perhaps. Or Bath. But I don’t think I’ll be here.”

“Have you ladies chosen your music? Are you ready to entertain us with your lovely talents?” Clotilde Wargell’s voice drawled as she joined them. Her eyes fastened on Lady Elliott. “Why, Lady Elliott, whatever is the matter?”

“I’m not feeling well.” Lady Elliott dabbed at her eyes.

“No?” Mrs. Wargell’s gaze moved to Grace. “It seems both of you are having difficult evenings. I see the roses have already faded from your wedding day, Grace.” She smiled, clever and feline, as she leaned languidly against the piano.

Grace stiffened, sucking in her breath. “I beg your pardon?”

“It happens in these circumstances when the groom is a worldly gentleman, such as the earl.” She waved a hand in the air, the fringe of her shawl dancing against her arm.

“In these circumstances?” Grace narrowed her eyes.

“You were compromised, Gracie. The whole of Devon knows it.” She stroked her finger across the piano keys. “There are any number of ways to orchestrate such a proposal.”

Anger stirred and Grace’s blood began to heat as her pulse hammered. Lady Elliott’s small hand brushed her arm, a subtle warning. She ignored it. She was weary of heeding warnings, of pretending she didn’t care and tolerating snide comments.

“Is that how you secured a proposal from Michael?” Grace bit out.

Mrs. Wargell’s fingers paused in their smooth exploration of the piano keys. A moment later they resumed their path. “I never needed to do such a thing. I had many offers of marriage. So many, in fact, I had my pick of suitors.”

“And yet you married a mere mister?”

“For reasons that don’t concern you,” Mrs. Wargell snapped, her eyes like two dark daggers. “Unlike
you
, at least Michael and I are of the same class. He’s the second son of a peer.”

“Well, I did one better, didn’t I?” Grace raised a haughty brow. “I married the peer.”

__________

T
HE ESTATE ROOM
was dark and masculine. Instead of the plush pillows and delicate spindly legs of the rest of the house, this room was utilitarian and relaxing.

Michael Wargell poured glasses of port for his guests, all of whom were ensconced in the inviting cushions of welcoming armchairs. Fragrant smoke rose to the ceiling as cheroots were passed around and lit. A fire roared in the hearth, sending out the soothing crackle and hiss of flames.

If there was one thing Julian could say about his host, the man did know how to make a guest feel comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that Lord Hammond was already dozing in his chair, his hands propped on his protruding belly.

“Relief to get away from the ladies, eh?” Sir Richard said as he accepted a glass of port. “All that bother with women’s sensitivity. Much easier to just speak your mind.”

Julian nodded noncommittally and sipped from his own glass.

“There are benefits to having a wife, however.” Wargell settled into the chair behind the desk.

“Indeed,” Lord Lintell agreed. “Else why would a bachelor set himself up for all the inconvenience of marriage?”

“A good question,” Julian said. He leisurely crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. His eyes scanned the desktop, searching for a scrap of paper with Wargell’s handwriting. Damn. He was too far away to see properly.

Lord Hammond snorted in his sleep. All eyes turned toward him, then looked away again when he only slid farther down into the chair.

“For myself, a willing wife is good to come home to after a day in the fields or hunting or talking to tenants,” Lord Lintell said. “You’ll find the same if you stay in Devon, Lord Langford.”

“I’m certain I will.” Julian sipped again before steering the conversation back to his mission. “Mr. Wargell, I look forward to your advice on the south fields. The Agrarian Society is receptive to your ideas, you said?”

“Yes.” Wargell sifted through a stack of documents and pulled out one.

“It’s drainage,” barked Sir Richard. “Those fields have a drainage problem, and Mr. Wargell here has devised a solution.”

Julian took the document Wargell proffered and skimmed it. The script was thin and spindly, and didn’t match the thick, heavy handwriting sample from the folio. Nor was it Wargell’s, as the letter was signed by someone from the Agrarian Society. His gaze shifted to the remaining documents in front of Wargell. If he could get close enough to observe the handwriting on even one of the documents, he could make a preliminary comparison.

“Interesting.” He set the letter onto the edge of the tabletop, gauging the weight and pivot point. Then he let go. The document fluttered to the floor between himself and the desk. “I apologize, Mr. Wargell.”

“No need, my lord.” Wargell dismissed the apology with a wave of his glass.

Julian stood and leaned over to retrieve the letter. As he returned it to the desktop he scanned the remaining documents littering the surface. Stepping back, he sat once more in the chair. “Did you apply your theories to your own fields?” he asked.

The question sent the gentlemen into a bout of enthusiastic explanations, as Julian had hoped it would. He let the descriptions of ditches and labor and planting practices wash over him.