Read Online The Smuggler Wore Silk by Alyssa Alexander - Free Book Online
Authors: Alyssa Alexander
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the lower classes, even if she was wearing breeches. Did Miss Hannah care nothing for her reputation?
A thin, gangly lad just shy of manhood darted forward to claim Demon’s reins.
“Be careful. He’s frisky tonight.” Her voice floated through the darkness.
“I’ll be careful, Miss Gracie,” the lad answered as he led the animal away.
Julian’s eyes narrowed as he watched his quarry stride to the door of the public house. Miss Hannah’s gait was sure, her chin held confidently high, her shoulders at ease. She looked more comfortable wearing breeches into a smuggler’s pub than wearing a lady’s gown in a salon.
Interesting.
Warm light and raucous laughter spilled out of the open door. Julian saw a man behind the bar raise his hand in greeting and beam out a delighted smile. Then the door slammed closed behind Miss Hannah and Julian was shut out.
__________
T HE COMMON ROOM smelled of ale and tobacco. Beneath that was the ever-present scent of fish and ocean, as most of the patrons made their living on the water—by means both legal and clandestine. It was a pungent mix, but comforting in its familiarity. The tension at the base of Grace’s neck eased slightly as she scanned the room.
The man behind the bar was stout, with a square face and a prominent nose. Wild hair sprung from his scalp in tufts that Grace knew he tried desperately to control with the queue at the base of his neck. He was a man with many roles: fisherman, pilot, sailor, publican—and smuggler.
“Hello, Jack,” she said.
“Now there’s a lovely lass come into my pub. A drink on the house? I have your favorite French wine.” Jack Blackbourn wiped the counter with a well-used rag, clearing a space for her.
“Thank you, Jack, but no. I’ve business tonight.” She held herself away from the counter even as Jack leaned companionably on it. She recognized his posture and knew he was preparing to settle in for a long talk.
“All work and no play again, my lovely?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Spend a few hours in my pub, and Jack will show you how to play,” he said with a wink.
“Your wife might object and skin you alive. Then where would I buy my wine?” she replied blandly.
“She might, Miss Gracie, she might indeed.” Jack guffawed and slapped his thigh before gesturing across the room. “Your business is in the corner, my lovely. But come back soon and share a bottle with Jack.”
“I will.” Giving in to affection, she rose to her toes and leaned over the counter to drop a kiss on Jack’s cheek.
“It’s just as I always tell my Anna. The ladies love me.”
With another laugh, Grace turned in the direction he’d pointed. The village blacksmith and two other men sat at a table, heads together, talking in low voices. She threaded through the throng in the common room while patrons hailed her from all directions. Even as she answered the greetings from the fishermen and laborers, her focus was on the trio in the corner. She knew their expressions like her own and understood something was wrong. Her muscles tightened again as the tension that had drained away upon entering the pub roared back.
Three faces peered up at her as she approached. Each man stood as she reached the table, and one drew out a chair for her before they all sat again. There the propriety ended. Etiquette between the sexes was only a nuisance when it came to smuggling.
“Hello, Jem,” she said to the young man across the table. “How is Fanny?”
“Tired, and ready for the babe to be born.” Jem’s shock of flame-colored hair was mussed, no doubt by the sea wind given his occupation as a fisherman.
“There’s a few months left, I’m afraid, Jem.” She smiled, though her heart clutched. His brilliant green eyes were too anxious.
She looked to the side and studied the round, bewhiskered face of John the blacksmith. He leaned close to the narrow face of Thomas, a tenant farmer from a nearby estate. Worry etched both of their
A thin, gangly lad just shy of manhood darted forward to claim Demon’s reins.
“Be careful. He’s frisky tonight.” Her voice floated through the darkness.
“I’ll be careful, Miss Gracie,” the lad answered as he led the animal away.
Julian’s eyes narrowed as he watched his quarry stride to the door of the public house. Miss Hannah’s gait was sure, her chin held confidently high, her shoulders at ease. She looked more comfortable wearing breeches into a smuggler’s pub than wearing a lady’s gown in a salon.
Interesting.
Warm light and raucous laughter spilled out of the open door. Julian saw a man behind the bar raise his hand in greeting and beam out a delighted smile. Then the door slammed closed behind Miss Hannah and Julian was shut out.
__________
T HE COMMON ROOM smelled of ale and tobacco. Beneath that was the ever-present scent of fish and ocean, as most of the patrons made their living on the water—by means both legal and clandestine. It was a pungent mix, but comforting in its familiarity. The tension at the base of Grace’s neck eased slightly as she scanned the room.
The man behind the bar was stout, with a square face and a prominent nose. Wild hair sprung from his scalp in tufts that Grace knew he tried desperately to control with the queue at the base of his neck. He was a man with many roles: fisherman, pilot, sailor, publican—and smuggler.
“Hello, Jack,” she said.
“Now there’s a lovely lass come into my pub. A drink on the house? I have your favorite French wine.” Jack Blackbourn wiped the counter with a well-used rag, clearing a space for her.
“Thank you, Jack, but no. I’ve business tonight.” She held herself away from the counter even as Jack leaned companionably on it. She recognized his posture and knew he was preparing to settle in for a long talk.
“All work and no play again, my lovely?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Spend a few hours in my pub, and Jack will show you how to play,” he said with a wink.
“Your wife might object and skin you alive. Then where would I buy my wine?” she replied blandly.
“She might, Miss Gracie, she might indeed.” Jack guffawed and slapped his thigh before gesturing across the room. “Your business is in the corner, my lovely. But come back soon and share a bottle with Jack.”
“I will.” Giving in to affection, she rose to her toes and leaned over the counter to drop a kiss on Jack’s cheek.
“It’s just as I always tell my Anna. The ladies love me.”
With another laugh, Grace turned in the direction he’d pointed. The village blacksmith and two other men sat at a table, heads together, talking in low voices. She threaded through the throng in the common room while patrons hailed her from all directions. Even as she answered the greetings from the fishermen and laborers, her focus was on the trio in the corner. She knew their expressions like her own and understood something was wrong. Her muscles tightened again as the tension that had drained away upon entering the pub roared back.
Three faces peered up at her as she approached. Each man stood as she reached the table, and one drew out a chair for her before they all sat again. There the propriety ended. Etiquette between the sexes was only a nuisance when it came to smuggling.
“Hello, Jem,” she said to the young man across the table. “How is Fanny?”
“Tired, and ready for the babe to be born.” Jem’s shock of flame-colored hair was mussed, no doubt by the sea wind given his occupation as a fisherman.
“There’s a few months left, I’m afraid, Jem.” She smiled, though her heart clutched. His brilliant green eyes were too anxious.
She looked to the side and studied the round, bewhiskered face of John the blacksmith. He leaned close to the narrow face of Thomas, a tenant farmer from a nearby estate. Worry etched both of their
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