Free The Smuggler Wore Silk by Alyssa Alexander

knew every jar, every bottle, every sachet.
    Using the pale moonlight gleaming through the window as a guide, she located the tinderbox on her workbench and quickly lit a candle. Lifting the candle high, she peered into the dark corners and perused the shelves and cabinets and cubbyholes. Her gaze fell on a short barrel of rose petals harvested that summer for use in perfumes, oils and potions.
    She strode forward and lifted the lid of the barrel. Pulse pounding, she used her hands to dig through the mass. Clouds of sweet, fragrant air floated into the room. She settled the folio at the bottom of the barrel, then covered it with the delicate petals before replacing the lid.
    Chased by fear, Grace snuffed the candle and darted from the stillroom. The folio buried beneath innocent rose petals contained a life and horror of its own.

Chapter 6
    J ULIAN SURVEYED THE revelers filling Lady Hammond’s salon over the rim of his punch glass. Silks, satins and muslins in an array of brilliant jewel tones and soft pastels twirled around the floor, accented by brilliant diamonds, bold rubies and cool sapphires. He did a quick study for familiar faces. He noted a few he’d seen in London over the past few years. But he saw no spies, no foreign agents he recognized. Nor did he see Grace Hannah. The guests appeared to be nothing more than local landowners and gentry mingling over music and food and laughter. Whether the traitor was in their midst remained to be seen.
    Terrace doors were propped open to circulate a breeze, but the humid September night intensified the heavy scents of perfumed women and potted flowers. His clothes clung to his skin in the moist air. Drawing a deep breath for fortification, Julian resigned himself to a hot, uncomfortable evening. He pasted on his charming Wandering Earl smile and prepared for the assault.
    It wasn’t long in coming. His hostess, Lady Hammond, wide of girth and well-endowed, cleaved through the crowd, her bosom leading the way across the congested floor. “My lord!” she called.
    “Lady Hammond.” Julian bowed over the hand she offered. “I can’t say how much I appreciate your invitation.”
    “Nonsense. I consider it my duty to introduce you. Come.”
    She took his arm and led him from group to group in a circuit around the room. Almost every group included an eligible young lady. It was the same each time: Lady Hammond would perform the requisite introductions, the young lady would say something witty and speculative gazes would flick his way to see if he approved. Society was certainly predictable. Already the gossips were considering who could be his prospective bride.
    He suffered through another round of introductions to a pair of matrons, a Lady Lintell and her companion, Mrs. Parker. He made polite responses to polite questions—are you enjoying the weather?—and fixed his smile more firmly as Lady Lintell’s incessant chatter began to grate. Then, abruptly, his attention focused in on their conversation.
    “My goodness. Whatever is Miss Gracie doing here?” The words were delivered by the rail-thin Lady Lintell. “It’s been—well. I don’t even
know
how many years since Miss Gracie joined us.”
    “At least seven years, Minnie.” Lady Hammond followed Lady Lintell’s gaze. “Long overdue.”
    “Quite overdue.” Mrs. Parker stood on tiptoe to see over the crowds. Julian doubted it would help, as she wasn’t even as tall as his shoulder. “It’s a shame she never attends.”
    “I wonder why?” Julian said, more to himself than to the older matron.
    Lady Lintell leaned close, her eyes bright with a conspirator’s light. “Now, I don’t know, but it’s been said Lord Cannon won’t allow her to attend. Why, everyone
knows
he just works that girl to the bone without giving her a
thing
in return. Not that Miss Gracie complains, mind you,” she added. “She takes her duties seriously and is always willing to lend a hand. Why, just yesterday she sent