He read the third draft as the ink dried.
My dear Miss Hannah—
I do not regret our relationship, as I hold you in the highest esteem. Nevertheless, I do regret that this afternoon’s discovery has placed you in an untenable position. I understand you may have reservations about marrying a gentleman you have known only a few weeks. However, my offer of marriage remains open indefinitely. Please seriously consider your reputation and the consequences of refusing to become my wife.
I would be honored if you would accept my offer of marriage.
Sincerely yours,
Julian, Earl of Langford
__________
"GRACE!” THE BELLOW was accompanied by the crash and tinkle of breaking glass. “Grace, attend me at once!”
She laid the Earl of Langford’s letter on the escritoire and pressed her fingertips to her eyes. Apparently her uncle was aware of the debacle in Lady Elliott’s garden the day before.
History, it seemed, was repeating itself.
Or perhaps not. This time she’d refused the offer of marriage instead of acquiescing in a rush of shame and embarrassment. Instead, she’d panicked and run, which was embarrassing in itself. Still, the outcome was the same as before. She was compromised, ruined and unmarried. Only this time it would be by choice rather than rejection and betrayal.
Lord Cannon shouted again, accenting the shout with rhythmic pounding. Sighing, she quit her private sitting room. She had no trouble determining her uncle’s location. She could hear him thumping around his study.
She paused outside the room, squared her shoulders and straightened the apron she wore over her simple gown. She took one deep, steadying breath and pushed open the door.
Uncle Thaddeus stood before his desk pouring two fingers of smuggled French brandy into a crystal glass. He whirled to face her, the brandy decanter still in his hand.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking?” he roared.
“Uncle?” Folding her hands together, she struggled to stay calm.
“I’ve just returned from Beer.” He slammed the decanter on his desktop. Amber liquid sloshed over the rim and splashed on the expanse of polished oak. “Not only were you caught in a compromising position with the Earl of Langford, but you refused his offer of marriage!” He snatched up the glass and began to pace, leaving the spilled brandy on the desktop.
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Grace responded automatically. She stepped forward and used her apron to wipe the surface clean. What else could she say? She couldn’t deny his accusations.
“I won’t have it.” His tone was low and vicious. “I won’t have it. I informed you when you came to live here that I expected you to abide by certain rules and maintain your place.”
“Yes, but—” Strangely fascinated, she watched his nostrils flare.
“You’ve tried to elevate yourself above your station in an attempt to be something you are not. You’re nothing.” He snorted and tossed back the brandy. “Rather, you were nothing. Now you’re a whore.”
Grace sucked in her breath as his words sliced through her. He’d called her that once before. She should have expected it again.
“I let you stay after you whored yourself for Michael Wargell,” he said in a vicious undertone.
“I loved Michael.” The words burst from her, sharp blades that scored her throat.
“Love?” he scoffed.
“I would have married him.” Bitterness rose like bile. Oh, she’d loved Michael. With every fiber of her being.
“Out of mercy I let you stay, but not this time. You either accept the earl’s offer of marriage, or you leave my household.” He returned to the desk and refilled his glass, pouring well over two fingers this time. “Either way, I won’t have a whore under my roof.”
“You don’t mean that.” Shocked, she gripped her fingers tight, tighter, until the bones seemed to grind together.
“I do.” He turned cold brown eyes on her. “If you accept the earl’s offer, you may stay here until the banns are read and the wedding ceremony performed. If you do not accept the earl, you will pack your belongings and leave today. Now.”
“I—” With numb fingers she gripped the edge of the desk, willing her shaky knees to support her. “I don’t know. I—”
“You have ten minutes to decide.” Still holding the full glass, Uncle Thaddeus strode from the room, riding boots beating an angry rhythm on the polished parquet floor of the hall.
On weak legs, Grace staggered to a chair and slowly lowered herself into it, staring blindly into the empty room. The earl’s note echoed in her mind. I hold you in the highest esteem . . . my offer of marriage remains open indefinitely . . . I would be honored if you would accept my offer . . .
If she refused the earl’s offer, she would have to leave Cannon Manor. She had no other relatives, no prospects and nowhere to go. Perhaps she could stay in Beer and weather the storm of disapproval. But no, Uncle Thaddeus had thrown her out. If she stayed, she would be without any respectability.
She saw herself walking along High Street. Eyes averted as she drew near. Noses sniffed and whispers hissed. Skirts twitched away as she passed. Even the image made her cheeks burn. She couldn’t weather that storm a second time. With Michael, everyone believed she’d been young and naïve and easily led. Perhaps she had been. But she was older now and knew better.
She could not refuse the earl and stay in Beer.
She could go to London and find a position as a paid companion or governess. She could find a new home and start a new life.
A chill crept up her body, icy cold and sharp. She couldn’t leave Devon and her friends unprotected. She promised the smugglers she would find the traitor and turn him over to the authorities. If she didn’t, one of the men would become a scapegoat for the real traitor.
Her stomach clutched as the door opened. Uncle Thaddeus stood in the doorway, pitiless eyes as empty as the glass in his hand.
“Have you made your decision?”
Grace looked down at her clasped hands. Deliberately she flattened them against her thighs. She’d acted rashly and let herself be swept away. Now she would accept her fate.
She straightened her shoulders. “I will accept the Earl of Langford’s offer of marriage.”
“I’ll begin the marriage negotiations. Obviously, your father did not provide a dowry for you. However, I will, so the earl doesn’t realize he’s being cheated.” With that, Uncle Thaddeus spun on his heel and disappeared through the door.
Grace continued to stare at her numb fingers.
What had she done?
Chapter 10
THROUGH THE LATE-NIGHT gloom, Julian studied the façade of the Jolly Smuggler. Ivy climbed the stone front to the second floor, which he knew consisted of two small and two large guest rooms. Tacked on to the rear was a tiny cottage. Overall, it was a modest building, simple and unadorned, with a sign that made him chuckle. Two men sat in a small jolly boat, each raising a tankard, as the waves rose around them.
As though men drank tankards of ale while sitting in a jolly boat on the open sea. Then again, such a boat was used to convey goods between a larger ship and the shore. It was the perfect size for a smuggler or two to secretly transport their wares and enjoy a pint while they were at it, if they were of a mind.
Whatever else Jack Blackbourn was, he had a sense of humor. The rest remained to be seen. Intelligence from London indicated Blackbourn had retired from smuggling, but he’d done so at least twice before and returned to the game.
The important question was whether he was a traitor.
Julian hoped he was. It would explain why Grace was involved. Perhaps she was pressured into it by Blackbourn, making her an innocent victim taken advantage of by a criminal. Even as Julian had the thought, he hated himself for it. He didn’t wish death on a stranger, any more than he wanted
Grace to be guilty of treason.
Clenching his jaw, he put those thoughts behind him. He had only one mission for the moment: Find the traitor. Why he wanted Grace to be innocent when her innocence meant he was trapped in marriage was something he simply could not think about now.
He straightened the coarse homespun coat that constituted his disguise. His pistol bumped against his hip. He could not feel the knife in his boot, but he would have noted the absence. His boot didn’t fit right without it.
He pushed open the door of the pub. He stepped into the smoky, yeast-scented taproom and took in the scene. A dozen men in workingman’s garb sat at tables around the room. Laughter and voices filled the air, as did the scent of good food. In fact, he thought, sniffing again, the food smelled more than just appetizing. It smelled delicious.
Behind the bar stood a short man with untamed hair and square features. He was laughing with a pair of men while he accepted coins for their drafts. That, Julian thought, must be the infamous Jack Blackbourn.
Julian strode to the counter and leaned against it, patiently waiting for his quarry to finish with his customers. When Blackbourn finally came his way, there was still a smile on his lips.
“What can I do for you?” Blackbourn wiped away the spills on the counter in front of Julian with a large gray rag.
“A pint of ale, my good man.” He nodded toward the affable patrons. “A lively crew tonight.”
“Aye.” Blackbourn set a tankard in front of Julian. “But they’re regular patrons, sir, and know each other well. I don’t think I’ve seen you in before.”
“Do you keep track of your patrons?”
“Well, now, a good publican remembers his regulars and their preferences.” Blackbourn leaned casually on the counter. “I’m certain I haven’t seen you in before.”
“No, you haven’t.” He sipped his ale. Curiosity shone bright in Blackbourn’s eyes, but Julian refused to elaborate.
A young barmaid with long yellow curls and a sassy smile pranced by and leaned onto the counter beside Julian.
“Jack,” she said to the publican. “Ned would like another pint and Young Mike would like a bowl o’ stew.”
“Aye, Mary.” Blackbourn turned, pushed open a door a crack and shouted into what must be the kitchens, “A bowl o’ stew!”
“How am I doing on my first night, Jack?” the girl asked when Blackbourn returned to the counter.
“Well enough.” He passed her a full tankard. “Anyone give you any trouble, lass? No stray hands?”
“They know yer pub don’t run to that, Jack, which is why me ma let me work ’ere. I think they all know me anyway.” She tossed her curls and beamed at Julian. “Though I don’t think as how I’ve seen you before, sir.”
Her innocence was blinding. It made him wonder about Jack Blackbourn. What was he doing employing a young, innocent barmaid and then ensuring the patrons weren’t hassling her? A publican hired barmaids to entice their patrons.
“If I’d known such beauty would be here, I would’ve frequented the Jolly Smuggler before.” Julian took her hand and kissed it as he would any lady of the ton.
“Go on with you, sir!” She laughed, a delighted sound full of youth and merriment. Tossing her hair again, she sauntered away, the tankard hoisted on a tray.
“Well, now, you’ve made our Mary’s day.” Blackbourn’s eyes narrowed in speculation.
“If a man can’t make a girl blush with a pretty compliment,” Julian said, lifting his pint, “he ought to retire the field.”
“The truth if I’ve ever heard it!” The barman guffawed and slapped the counter. “Your drink’s on me, sir, for putting a smile on young Mary’s pretty mouth and making me laugh.”
“Thank you, Blackbourn, though I have a mind to pay you anyway. For information.”
“Information?” He sobered quickly. Took one half step back from the counter. “I don’t give out information, paid or not.”
“Everyone has a price, Blackbourn,” Julian said softly.
The barkeep narrowed his eyes. “Not me.”
“No? Let’s try this, then.” Julian slid a large pound note across the counter. “I’m looking for someone who can ship something across the Channel, no questions asked, for a high fee. I’ll be back in a week. Let me know if someone comes to mind.” He downed the remainder of the ale, set the tankard on the counter and walked toward the door.
“Leaving so soon, sir?” Mary called out as she flounced by.
“I am, though I think I may be leaving the sunshine behind, for no beauty can shine as brightly as yours.” He bowed with a flourish and quit the pub on Mary’s happy laughter.
The grin on his face died only a few moments later as he rounded the side of the pub and approached the small cottage at the rear.
Built of wood and covered by a thatched roof, it was attached to the pub at an awkward angle. The windows were dark. He imagined the entire family, however many there were, worked the pub and the kitchens when called for. Blackbourn himself behind the counter, his wife in the kitchen and the children, if any, where needed. Which left the cottage empty.
The cottage door had a useless lock. Blackbourn might as well remove it. It was no barrier to anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of lock picks. Julian's knowledge was not rudimentary. He slid his knife from his boot before pushing open the door. It was a quieter weapon than the pistol, though he didn’t expect to need either.
Standing on the threshold, he listened to the night. He could hear the dull rush of the ocean, voices from the pub. But the cottage was silent.
He stepped inside and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The furnishings were simple, the style spartan. Yet it was welcoming. Curtains hung at the window and wildflowers sat in an earthenware bowl on the single table. Cheerful quilts lay over straw mattresses in the bedrooms.
He didn’t light a candle. Searches could be conducted in the dark easily enough if a man knew what he was about. Within a half hour he’d thoroughly searched the simple cottage, including all of Blackbourn’s personal documents. He looked for hollow walls, secret drawers and false-bottomed trunks. He found a number of interesting items, including expensive French brandy and other liquors under some loose floorboards.
Then he found the ledgers. Within minutes he knew with certainty just how deep into treason Jack Blackbourn was.
Chapter 11
“THANK YOU FOR calling, Lady Elliott.” Grace watched the other woman sink onto the settee in the front salon of Cannon Manor. Her sad eyes were shadowed, her cheeks thin. She looked as tired as Grace had ever seen her. “The tea should be here in a moment.”
“Thank you.” Lady Elliott smoothed her skirts. “I heard the news of your marriage.”
“You and most of Devon,” she said. “Cannon Manor has received more callers during the past two days since the banns were read than in the last five years.”
“I’m not surprised. I’ve heard of nothing else but that Miss Gracie is marrying the Wandering Earl.” She laid a gentle hand on Grace’s arm. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.” Never mind that she wanted to cry. She swallowed the tears clogging her throat. Her course was set and there was no turning back. “It’s just going to take some getting used to.”
“I imagine so, particularly when you go to London after the ceremony,” Lady Elliott said. “Then again, the earl is such a worldly traveler, perhaps he’ll be leaving for the Continent soon. Will you be traveling with him?” Curiosity replaced the usual lingering sadness in Lady Elliott’s eyes.
“Ah—” Terrifyingly, she didn’t know. “We haven’t fully discussed our future travel plans,” Grace answered. It was the only statement she could think of that wouldn’t be an outright lie.
“I see.” Lady Elliott sent Grace a commiserating look. “These things do take time to work out.”
“Yes
,” Grace agreed vaguely, her mind already focused on the future. Would she have to leave Devon? Would she be required to live in London? On the Continent?
In the end, she would be at the mercy of a man she knew nothing about.
“My husband met the earl while out for a ride and invited him to tea. He met my boys.” Lady Elliott paused, drawn brows and down-turned lips evidencing her bafflement, before adding, “He seemed quite interested in them. I wouldn’t think such a worldly gentleman would want to speak with two such . . . active boys, but the earl did. In fact, he went back out to the stables—just after he’d come in from them—to inspect the boys’ new ponies.”
The tea trolley rolled in with the maid following in its wake. She set out the cups and pot, then added a plate of seedcakes. Grace offered her thanks with a smile as the girl left. She picked up the pot and began to pour.
“How are Sir Richard and the boys?” Grace asked, passing a teacup.
“Well enough, I suppose.” Lady Elliott shrugged her thin shoulders. “Sir Richard seems to be forever closeted with someone or another about business or his horses. The boys—well, I don’t need to go into detail.” She stared into her tea.
“I noted Bryan’s arm was healing well when I last saw him.”
“I’ve told the boys time and again that a well-bred young man doesn’t ride bareback or perform tricks.” Lady Elliott’s gaze was fixed on the plate of seedcakes. “His father is to blame for that broken arm. He encourages them both to be reckless.”
“They seem to have fun, though.” Grace reached for a cake.
“That’s true.” Lady Elliott’s transfixed gaze followed Grace’s hand as the seedcake made its way to her lips. “I’d hoped by now they would have found a cause. Something to excite them. Something with meaning. Or at least become interested in their studies.”
Grace bit into the cake. Lady Elliott paled and her breathing shallowed. She swallowed cautiously.
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