The Smuggler Wore Silk (15 page)

She saw his control snap even as lightning scorched the sky and thunder roared. His eyes widened, his lips parted on a sharp inhalation. Arms snaked out, fingers grasping her shoulders as he drew her to him.

His mouth was wild on hers, plundering, demanding. She moaned as the taste of him met her tongue. Man, outdoors, rain. And the essence that was Julian.

Opening her mouth beneath his, she wrapped her arms around him and curled her fingers into the thick hair at the base of his neck. His coat was wet and it seeped through her thin nightgown to dampen her skin. Her nipples tightened, hardening under the cool, wet fabric.

His hands skimmed along her torso, her waist.
Heat
, was all she could think. His hands were strong and hot through the nightgown, and when they cupped her bottom they seemed to sear her flesh. Lightning flared, thunder roared and beneath it, she heard his groan of pleasure.

“Grace.” His whisper was ragged as his hands roamed her body. “Grace.”

There was nothing but the thinnest fabric between her body and his hands, and she wanted that barrier gone. Wanted his hands on her flesh as she had never wanted before. She was already compromised, wasn’t she? So damn the consequences.

“Take me, Julian.
Please.
”

A heartbeat passed, when time hung suspended. Then, a whispered caress, “As you wish, fair lady.”

He pressed her back and climbed the bed himself so that they both kneeled in the center of it. Body to body, mouth to mouth. Even as he kissed her, he reached down to the hem of her nightgown. He drew it up, inch by inch. The cool air touched her hips, her belly, and his fingers skimmed along just behind the fabric. She gasped when he finally brushed his fingers against her breasts. Then the gown was gone and she kneeled naked before him.

She should be self-conscious, even embarrassed by her nakedness. Yet she wasn’t. She felt free, unfettered and full of light. Something pulsed deep within her, bright and rhythmic.

Blue lightning filled the room and for an instant, they could see each other.

“So beautiful,” he breathed.

Then it was dark again, and they were only shadows.

He trailed a finger across her collarbone, her shoulder, then down along the outside curve of her breast. The rasp of his finger along her skin sent desire shooting through her. When his fingertip drifted across her peaked nipple she gasped and arched back so that her breasts thrust forward against his hand.

His low chuckle floated through the darkness and warmed her.

He cupped her breasts, one, then the other, rubbing his thumbs across her nipples. Her breasts felt marvelously full and heated under his touch. He bent his head and his tongue caressed them, his breath hot against her skin. She moaned and gripped her hands in his hair, needing something to ground her to the earth.

He raised his head and took her mouth with his. She met him hungrily, wildly, ready for something she couldn’t quite name. The wet fabric of his coat was pleasantly rough against her breasts and belly, but she wanted to feel his skin against hers, wanted to touch him even as he touched her. Greedy hands fumbled with buttons and pushed at his wet coat. Then they worked on his shirt until that, too, fell away.

Splaying her hands against his chest, she reveled in the sensation of sleek muscle and hot, smooth skin. Dimly, she heard his intake of breath as her hands stroked down until they played over the muscles of his belly. Under her fingers, those muscles jumped, tightened.

Pure female power coursed through her once more.

With a delighted laugh, she flicked her gaze up to his face. His features were vague in the dark, and yet she knew them well enough now to understand his expression. His grin was as delighted as hers.

Amid a roar of thunder, she could hear his boots thump against the floor, one, two. Then he fumbled with the waistband of his breeches and drew them off.

Finally, he was as exposed as she. Fascinated by the lean muscles and sharp angles she saw in the fleeting bursts of light, she ran her hands over his body. Crisp hair, smooth skin, hot flesh. She took his arousal in her hand, tightened her fingers around it and listened to his groan. Smiling into the darkness, she tipped her face up to his and took his mouth.

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.”

__________

H
E’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.

“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.