“It’s a recent marriage,” Julian said drily. “Tonight is my wedding night.”
“Ah.” Tawny eyes twinkled. “Sorry about that. Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
“And yours.” Her heart was still bumping hard against her ribs. She wondered what else she should say. Welcome to my bedroom? Please make yourself comfortable?
Angel gave her an elegant bow, before raising his fingers to her lips. “I didn’t know such beauty could be found in the wilds of Devon.”
“I suggest you retreat, Angel,” Julian said mildly. “She’s mine.”
“Indubitably.” His eyes sparkled gold as he smiled silkily at Grace. “Still, a man can’t help but comment upon such exquisite loveliness.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I really don’t think you’re an angel.”
“A fallen one, perhaps, my lady.” He grinned again, and she was certain that smile had the ladies swooning at his feet. “But I wouldn’t want to be a true angel. What fun would that be?”
Her lips twitched. “Not much, I suppose.”
“And have you tamed the Shadow, my lady?”
“The Shadow?” She turned to Julian, who waved the question away.
Angel sent Julian a mock salute. “The Shadow was the best of His Majesty’s agents—barring myself, of course—until his retirement.”
She couldn’t look away from Julian. His face was set in stone, his eyes the color of frost. What was the expression flashing in those icy depths? Determination? Desperation?
“I’m not retired yet,” he bit out.
“Point taken.” Angel held up a hand, his expression turning serious. “Sir Charles sent me, of course,” he said, moving toward the banked fire in the hearth.
“Yes, I had asked for assistance.” Julian let out one slow, controlled breath.
She studied Julian’s back as he picked up his discarded silk shirt. His movements were swift and erratic. Not anything like her normally agile husband. The muscles of his back rippled and shifted as he shrugged into his shirt. She felt the overwhelming need to press her lips against that vulnerable place between his shoulder blades.
Julian tucked the wrinkled shirt into his breeches before turning away to light another candle. When he turned back, his face was still tight. “I would suggest we adjourn to a parlor or sitting room, but we may still encounter a servant and I would prefer no one be aware of your arrival, Angel.” He gestured toward one of the armchairs near the fire. “Please, sit. Brandy?”
Angel ranged himself in the chair and nodded his acceptance.
Julian stepped to the table holding the decanter, and Grace followed.
“Is this about Jack?” she whispered, leaning close as he poured two fingers of brandy into a glass.
“Yes. And the traitor.”
“I’m staying, then.”
He raised his head, met her gaze. His mouth was firmed into a harsh, straight line. But he didn’t disagree. “If you’d be more comfortable in a gown we can retire to the dressing room for a few minutes. I’ll act as lady’s maid.”
She’d forgotten she was naked beneath the dressing gown. Feeling vulnerable, she pulled the neckline up. “You stay with your associate. I’ll retire to the countess’s suite and find a simple gown I can dress myself in.”
“No.”
“I won’t need help.” She turned away, but his hand vised around her wrist and held her in place.
“No.” The word was low, short and full of command. His grip tightened painfully on her wrist.
She sucked in a breath and stared at his unyielding fingers. When she met his gaze, his eyes were full of fury. Recoiling from the anger, she tried to step back, but his grip held her in place.
“You will not enter that bedroom. I forbid it.”
Anger bubbled within her. She could feel it pushing its way out, ready to spill over him. Until she saw something else in his eyes. Panic. Baffled, she searched his gaze. Was the hand that gripped her wrist trembling? Impossible.
She glanced behind her. Angel was crouched before the fire. Sparks flew as he used the poker to adjust the wood. Even though he gave every appearance of being unable to hear them, she knew he couldn’t have missed the exchange.
“Very well. I’ll use your dressing room,” she whispered, tugging her arm free. She glanced again at Angel. “For now.”
She retreated to the small dressing room. Her trunks were there, unopened. Having overseen the packing herself, she knew exactly which one housed her simplest gowns. Within minutes she found a clean chemise and a simple cotton gown.
The fire of her temper banked as she dressed. Julian’s reaction had been irrational, instantaneous and therefore instinctual. But the reason was unclear.
She stared at the connecting door to the countess’s suite. It was made of unassuming wood and was as mysterious as the night.
She couldn’t worry about it now. Another spy was currently relaxing in Julian’s bedchamber, and she had no intention of missing their conversation. Treason must come first. More, Jack’s freedom came first.
As she’d chosen to dispense with stays, Grace wrapped a thin shawl around her shoulders and stepped into the earl’s rooms. Both men looked up from their brandy and rose. She gestured them back to their seats. “Please continue.” Gathering her skirts, Grace slid onto the sofa beside Julian. He flicked his eyes toward hers, then back at Angel.
“Do you have any contacts you could employ?” Julian asked, clearly continuing their conversation.
“I have a contact on a cutter that smuggles between Lyme Regis and Guernsey. He doesn’t usually come this far west, but as he is the captain and owes me more than a few favors, I can persuade him to find a position for me on his ship. A few nights with the crew and my disguise would be quickly established.”
Julian sipped his brandy. “Someone, somewhere, has connections in the Foreign Office. I just need to find the right connection.”
“These gentlemen you mentioned, the ones who are in the Hellfire Club and know about the smuggling caves, do they travel regularly to London?”
This question Grace could answer. “Most of them have gone to London recently, in fact,” she put in. “But they don’t travel there regularly.”
“Except you might not be aware of their travel plans,” Angel said.
“True, although if they were gone for any length of time I would probably know. It takes at least three days to travel from London to Beer.”
“If you’re traveling by coach,” Julian pointed out. “A single horse and rider are faster.”
“A man engaging in treason would keep his actions hidden.” Angel set his brandy glass aside and paced to the fire. “He would travel fast, and he would travel at night if he could. Anyone could travel between here and London quickly if needed. They wouldn’t be able to hide it from their household and family, but certainly from their neighbors.”
“He wouldn’t need to travel all the way to London,” Julian added. “A middleman could travel to Beer. Or they could meet at a halfway point. Perhaps even within a day’s ride.”
“Or a day’s sail,” mused Angel. “Are you absolutely certain the smugglers who found the folios aren’t involved?”
Julian deferred to Grace with a wave of his hand.
“Yes,” she said.
“Even Jack Blackbourn?”
“Yes.” She looked down as Julian’s hands came to rest over hers. Her fingers clutched the folds of her gown.
“I do agree with Grace,” Julian added quietly as he pried her fingers from the fabric. “It’s highly unlikely Blackbourn is involved. Still, I wish I knew where he was.” His fingers, strong and solid, entwined with hers.
Her belly twisted, sharp and nauseating. She didn’t dare meet Julian’s gaze. He might see the truth about Jack in her eyes. Her fingers felt icy between h
is warm ones.
Disentangling her fingers, she stood. Let Julian make of it what he would. She couldn’t hold his hand so intimately while such sickness washed through her. Keeping her back to the men, she made a show of adjusting the coverlet of the bed, letting the smooth silk slide through her cold hands.
“If you’re certain he’s innocent,” Angel said behind her, “then we won’t concentrate our energies pursuing Blackbourn. I’ll speak with my contact and see if he’ll pick up an extra deckhand for a few days. If there’s something afoot, his crew may know.”
“That may also establish credibility and gain you entry with other smuggling groups we can’t access.” Julian paused before continuing, and she could feel his gaze on her back. But she didn’t turn around. “I’ll pursue each of the members of the Hellfire Club and Michael Wargell,” he said quietly.
“How?” The clink of glass on wood punctuated Angel’s words, then the tinkle of crystal on crystal, followed by the splash and glug of liquid being poured.
“I think a search of their homes is in order—or at least the rooms most likely to hide incriminating documents.” Footsteps sounded behind her. Wood crackled and snapped in the fireplace.
“A search of the smuggling caves needs to occur as well,” Angel added.
Her head whipped around. “The caves?”
“Of course.” Angel broke off, studying her face. “My lady?”
She shook her head, pressing her lips together.
“It must be done.” Julian set his hand on her shoulder. “I should have performed an in-depth search of the caves earlier.”
“My friends—Jack—they’ve already searched it. Thoroughly.”
“They may have missed something.” Angel watched her over the rim of his brandy glass. “They’re not trained or experienced in these matters.”
“They trust you.” Julian ran his hand down her arm, just a quick brush of his fingers. His touch felt like both apology and question. “Introduce me to them. Let me into the caves.”
Fear warred with guilt, and both of those fought with the need for truth. “I want your promise. You won’t arrest them, nor will you give their information to your superiors.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “You know I can’t promise that.”
“Then I won’t do it.” She lifted her chin. “I won’t sacrifice my friends. Not for all the traitors in the world.”
“My lady,” Angel began.
“No. I want your assurances.” Gripping her hands together, she steeled herself. “If I do this—if I ask them to trust you—then I’m putting my relationship with them and their trust in me at risk. If you betray them, then I do as well. And I cannot live here and look them in the eye if we betray them.”
“I have a duty to my country,” Julian said.
“And I to my friends.”
With a resigned sigh, Julian paced to the window. He flicked the curtain aside, peered out, closed it again. “Very well. I promise—again—that I will maintain their privacy to the extent I can. If they are caught by someone else, I can’t help them.”
Chapter 19
EYES CLOSED, GRACE turned her head on the pillow. The dark behind her eyelids became gold starbursts as sunlight warmed her face. It heated her skin, the bright beams soaking beneath the surface. She allowed herself to float in that dazzling moment, caught between awake and asleep, where her only concerns were the cool silk beneath her cheek and the languid heaviness of her limbs.
It couldn’t last. She sighed and let her lashes flutter open.
The bed was empty beside her, the bedclothes mussed. The soft fabric was cold against her fingers when she tested it. Julian had been gone for some time.
She sat up, yawned and studied her surroundings. Her dressing gown was draped across the end of the bed. Julian must have placed it there for her. Getting out of bed, she pulled it on to combat the fall chill. Still, the sunlight beamed into the room through the balcony doors. She padded over and looked out. Trees and shrubs, once green and verdant, now blazed with brilliant oranges and yellows, and even a burning red. The bright blue sky above them was a perfect foil for the autumn foliage and, Grace thought, so like Julian’s eyes.
Even when they were hard with anger.
She turned away from the unseasonably lovely morning and stared through the dressing rooms to the countess’s door. It seemed innocuous enough. The elaborately carved wood was lovely. Even elegant. Yet Julian had forbidden her to enter the room.
Forbidden. It was a compelling word, a demanding word. It piqued her curiosity in a way a less forceful word would not have done.
She bit her lower lip and stared at the door. It was tempting. Very, very tempting. She could open it, peek into the countess’s bedchamber and close the door within seconds. Julian would never know.
Her feet matched the anxious beat of her pulse when she rushed through the dressing room. The door loomed ahead of her, both mysterious and daunting. The knob seemed huge, though she knew it was only her mind that made it so. Reaching out, she placed her hand on it. The metal was cool and smooth.
Sweat beaded beneath her palm, slicking the knob. If she pushed, the door would swing open, probably on squeaky hinges, to reveal the room beyond. But she couldn’t open it. She wouldn’t open it. He’d forbidden it—which barely signified.
But she remembered his eyes, clouded with that panicked plea the night before. Panic was not something she’d expected to see. The man she knew—the spy she knew—didn’t panic. He cajoled, commanded, and even became ruthless when necessary. But he didn’t panic.
Stepping into that room would ruin their fledgling relationship. She knew it instinctively. They’d begun to build something together despite the circumstances of their marriage. If she opened that door, all trust, all affection would disappear as though it had never been, because whatever lay behind that door was at the core of him.
She swallowed convulsively and let her hand slide from the knob. Striding to the earl’s room, she went to the wooden stand holding a matching basin and ewer. She splashed her face with cold water, then changed into the simple gown she’d worn the night before. As she slowly worked the buttons marching up the front of the gown, a young girl came around the door from the hall. She beamed cheerfully at Grace.
“Oh, you’re awake! His lordship said as how I should check on you before he went to breakfast.”
“I’m awake, Mae. And hungry.” Actually, she was starving. Apparently lovemaking—not to mention a bit of espionage—worked up an appetite.
“We’ll get you ready for breakfast with your new husband then.” Mae’s gaze fell to Grace’s gown. “Oh, you should have rung for me, Miss Gracie. I would have found a better dress for you than that.” She paused. “I suppose you’re not Miss Gracie any longer. It’s ‘my lady’ now, isn’t it?”
Grace started, realizing Mae was right. The words seemed foreign to her ears.
“This dress is fine, Mae.” Grace smoothed down the skirt.
“Oh, Miss—my lady! It’s your first morning as a bride. It’s nearly as important as your wedding day. You must look perfect for his lordship.” Mae bustled into the dressing room and pulled open one of Grace’s trunks. “I’ll press a gown quickly while you wash and you’ll be joining his lordship in no time.”
“Truly, this dress is fine.”
Mae’s pretty face fell. “Very well, my lady.” Then she perked up. “Well, his lordship gave instructions to unpack your things. By this afternoon you’ll have your pick of gowns for dinner.”
Grace smiled in thanks. Mae was so enthusiastic she didn’t have the heart to tell her she only had one gown suitable for dinner. She glanced once more at the countess’s suite and frowned. “Where are my gowns and personal items to be kept?”
Mae’s eyes flicked up, then away. “In his lordship’s dressing room, my lady,” she sa
id, pawing through Grace’s trunks.
She didn’t press the issue. Where her personal items were kept and whether she had access to the countess’s suite was not a matter for discussion with the servants. Not because of status, Grace thought. After all, until yesterday she had been closer to the servants’ status than the earl’s. It was, however, a matter of marriage.
Grace left the bedchamber and made her way to the breakfast room. Julian sat at the table already, a newspaper spread before him. He looked up when she entered, then set the paper aside and stood.
“Good morning, fair lady.” His knowing smile sent her pulse skittering. “I had hoped my breakfast would be made all the brighter with your presence.”
“My lord.” Oh, he was handsome. Even in the early morning. “I wonder that anything could be brighter than the sunshine today.”
“Only you.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. She felt the gentle touch all the way to her toes. “Please, allow me to serve you.”
She glanced at his plate, which still held a poached egg and broiled kidneys.
“Finish your meal, Julian. I’ll serve myself.” She walked to the sideboard and began to fill her plate.
She could feel his gaze on her back. She felt awkward, and wondered if it was treason or his mother’s bedroom that lay between them. Perhaps it was the fact he’d been inside her the night before—three times. Just thinking of it brought a flush to her cheeks and a tingle to her belly.
She wanted those feelings back. The intimacy she’d felt when he’d been inside her, his gaze on hers, their hearts and bodies and minds entwined.
When she had filled her plate and seated herself at the table, Julian leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. “Did you sleep well, fair lady?”
“Aside from our visitor?”
Julian’s gaze scanned the room before answering. “Aside from our visitor.”
“Of course, there were the various other interruptions of, ah . . . our wedding night.” She bit into her toast and felt the sticky blackberry preserves on her upper lip. Very deliberately she licked the preserves.
The Smuggler Wore Silk Page 20
